Sven clutched his nose.
It hurt—and yet, he felt a strange surge of joy.
Tears welled up from the pain, but the sensation in his hand told him his sword had cut somewhere on Oliver’s body.
Breathing through his mouth because of the nosebleed, Sven struggled to rise.
“Huff, huff…”
Blood dripped down Oliver’s thigh.
“You… you bastard…”
A deadly gleam flashed in Oliver’s eyes. He looked ready to charge at any moment, but his injury made him limp unsteadily.
Sven grinned.
His nose was soaked in blood, revealing a mouthful of bright red teeth.
“Ha… ha ha ha…”
His body had reached its limit. The pain from his broken nose was excruciating, yet adrenaline surged through him, pushing him into a strange, heightened state.
“I am Sven Gain. Even in death, I won’t die alone.”
The crowd was swept by a strange mix of emotions as they watched Sven’s bloodied face twist into a grim smile.
It was ridiculous, terrifying, and somehow… impressive.
“A berserker…”
Someone muttered.
Indeed, Sven, baring his blood-red teeth as he swung his sword at Oliver, resembled a mad warrior from legend.
“Sven!”
Citizens from Liberta began chanting his name.
At first, only those nearby shouted, but soon the entire audience surrounding the stage joined in.
“Berserker Sven! Berserker Sven! Berserker Sven!”
Sven laughed as he looked at Oliver’s face.
When would a moment like this come again?
Amid the roaring cheers calling his name, he charged at Oliver Elgast, the Empire’s proud knight.
The enemy was stronger.
He admitted that.
But something beyond skill was pushing him forward.
Fate.
It was aligning perfectly.
Oliver no longer fought with the calm he once had. His face twisted into a demonic snarl as he swung his sword.
Attacks came from all directions like a torrential downpour. Yet, every strike was oddly clear and distinct.
In this accelerated state of mind, Sven suddenly thought of someone else.
Yuri Briol.
What if the child standing on this stage was the third prince of Briol?
No, that was a foolish thought.
No need to dwell on it.
Sven laughed heartily and met the attack head-on.
Their swords clashed with a sharp crack. The two broken blades spun through the air before falling onto the stage.
Both weapons shattered.
Now, only fists remained.
Without hesitation, they threw punches.
Oliver was faster. Sven took blow after blow, staggering backward.
“Die, you miserable bastard!”
Oliver’s fist slammed into Sven’s abdomen.
“Ugh!”
Sven clutched his stomach, blood rising in his mouth.
Still holding his ground, he gave Oliver a crooked smile.
“Hey. You don’t stand a chance against the third prince.”
“What did you say?”
“I’m someone who can’t even beat him properly…”
With those words, Sven collapsed to the ground.
Oliver had won.
The referee raised both hands and declared the victor.
[Victory: Oliver!]
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
At that moment, Oliver sank to his knees.
“Ugh…”
As he delivered the final blow, Sven had kicked his thigh.
The wound, already sliced open by the sword, was severely damaged.
Oliver couldn’t stand and froze in place.
The referee approached.
“Are you alright?”
“I can’t walk.”
“We’ll bring a stretcher.”
“Damn it…”
In the end, both winner and loser were carried off on stretchers—a bizarre sight.
Though Oliver had won, the crowd chanted Sven’s name instead.
An unexpected turn.
Oliver had defeated Sven but was too injured to continue in the tournament.
The semifinalists were now Laurent, Hassan, and Proin.
Laurent, who was supposed to face Oliver next, defeated the Empire’s replacement knight.
Proin fought valiantly against Hassan but lost in the final exchange.
In the end, only two remained.
Laurent and Hassan.
They were about to face off in the tournament for the Emperor’s medal, each fighting for their honor.
“This is the VIP section, Your Highness.”
“Alright.”
Yuri arrived at the arena to watch the finals.
With Laurent reaching the final, he couldn’t miss the chance to cheer him on.
“Your Highness, why do you have so many injuries?”
“I met a new master and trained.”
“Again? You have so many masters.”
“I’m not officially a disciple, but I consider him my master.”
“Make sure to rest.”
The master Yuri referred to was none other than Inariel. With Hernando’s reluctant permission, Yuri had been training diligently with Inariel in his workshop.
Simon, unaware of this, took Yuri’s words as a light joke.
“Anyway, Sir Laurent made it to the finals.”
“Laurent and Hassan…”
“Who do you think will win?”
“Do you ask because you don’t know?”
“Of course Laurent!”
Yuri crossed his arms and looked down at the stage.
The referee stepped up, holding an artifact, drawing everyone’s attention.
[We have finally reached the final stage of the tournament. It has been a long journey. Many knights have experienced the joy of victory and the sorrow of defeat on this very stage. We have witnessed their blood and sweat with our own eyes.]
Unlike before, the referee paused dramatically.
After building the tension, he pointed toward one side of the stage.
[Now, please welcome the genius knight of Briol, Laurent Flandre!]
Laurent stepped forward, sword in hand, a faint smile on his face. He showed no sign of nervousness.
[Facing him is the Empire’s pride, the rising star who defeated all challengers to reach the final—Hassan!]
From the opposite side, Hassan appeared. He paused briefly to scan the audience.
His gaze locked onto Yuri, seated in the front row.
With a firm expression, Hassan stared at Yuri before returning to the stage.
Yuri muttered,
“What’s with that glare?”
Before the final began, the referee pointed to the VIP section and announced,
[Before we begin, His Majesty the Emperor has honored us with his presence today. All citizens, please rise and show your respect.]
At the highest seat overlooking the stage and audience sat the Emperor and his family. Ekaterina stood by his side.
Everyone except the royal family rose to pay their respects.
After a brief moment, the referee raised his voice again.
[Now, it is time to decide who is truly the strongest. Laurent, the genius knight of Briol, and Hassan, the Empire’s rising star, prepare to fight for their destinies.]
The two stood comfortably, eyes locked on each other.
[Now, let the duel begin…]
The referee glanced toward the VIP section.
A knight standing beside the Emperor blew a horn.
[Begin!]
The referee stepped back.
At once, their swords clashed.
A sharp crack echoed, then the sound repeated rhythmically.
Like woodpeckers pecking a tree, their blades struck each other relentlessly.
Their speed was so fast that their figures vanished at one end of the stage only to reappear at the other.
There was no sign of probing or conversation.
It seemed their sole purpose was to swiftly defeat the other.
The crowd gasped continuously at the relentless exchange. The skill on display was clearly exceptional.
Voices rose, shouting the names of their favored knights.
“Win, Laurent!”
“Hassan! Protect the Empire’s pride!”
Yuri said,
“Jarred, Simon, Guinness.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Cheer for him.”
As soon as he spoke, the three stood and began cheering for Laurent.
Supporters for Laurent and Hassan were nearly equal in number.
Citizens from Briol, Liberta, Bursen, and the Holy Kingdom all united in cheering for Laurent, while some Empire citizens shouted Laurent’s name instead of Hassan’s. Sometimes appearance mattered more than nationality.
Amid the clamor, Yuri leaned back in his chair, watching the fight intently.
Though it seemed like a straightforward clash, both were actually setting traps.
“Indeed…”
Laurent cleverly repeated certain moves, trying to trick Hassan into developing a habit, while Hassan gripped his sword shorter to deceive Laurent’s sense of distance.
Both were carefully setting the stage for a single decisive opportunity.
Yuri watched with keen interest, wondering who would make the first move.
“Ah, there you are.”
Suddenly, a voice called out. Yuri turned to see Jose crossing the stands toward him.
“May I sit here?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Simon, Guinness, and Jarred scooted closer to make room.
Though Jose’s large frame made it cramped, they managed to sit together.
“Who do you think will win, Your Highness?”
Jarred answered for Yuri.
“Obviously Sir Laurent. Let’s cheer him on.”
He immediately shouted Laurent’s name.
But Jose didn’t seem so sure.
“Come on, I’m not just rooting for my side. Objectively speaking…”
“Looks like you think Laurent’s going to lose.”
“Personally, I’m leaning more toward that, yes.”
José leaned forward.
Laurent and Hassan were clashing nearby, close to where Yuri and José were seated.
Hassan swung his sword toward Laurent’s side, but Laurent calmly blocked it and immediately countered. Hassan rolled to the ground to evade, then put some distance between them.
The two circled the stage, eyes locked.
For the first time since the duel began, they reached a stalemate.
Neither made the first move.
“Hassan’s hiding his true strategy. He’s got two tricks up his sleeve. Sir Laurent, on the other hand, only has one.”
“Besides the way he’s holding his sword short, what’s the other?”
“You noticed that too,” José said with a sly smile.
“The other one’s a secret. It wouldn’t be any fun if I told you in advance.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Apologies, but I sparred with him recently.”
“With Hassan?”
“Yes. A few days ago, he asked me to watch his technique. On the condition I keep it confidential.”
“And the result?”
“I couldn’t block it. Maybe if I’d known beforehand, but caught off guard, there was no way to defend.”
Yuri looked at José.
If a swordsman like him couldn’t stop Hassan’s technique, then Laurent was in real danger.
“What kind of technique is it?”
Yuri knew well the kind of move that could catch you off guard. The ‘Disguised Injury’ technique he had taught Simon was one such secret art.
He glanced at Simon.
“Could it be that technique?”
“Excuse me?”
“My disguised injury…”
“No way,” José said.
Yuri tilted his head, puzzled, just as Laurent made his move.
Laurent repeated a specific motion: opening his hand, then lightly curling his fingers around the sword’s hilt. After that, he always raised his sword high and struck down hard.
This time, Laurent opened his hand, curled it around the hilt—
Hassan tensed reflexively, preparing to defend.
But it was a trap.
Laurent feigned raising his sword, then suddenly shifted direction, slashing at Hassan’s lower body.
“Damn…”
Yuri muttered under his breath.
Laurent’s blade cleanly sliced through the space where Hassan’s leg had been moments before.
Hassan quickly stepped back, narrowly avoiding the blow. There was a scratch on his thigh, but no serious wound.
The real problem came next.
“Laurent!”
Hassan swung his sword horizontally, almost mechanically counterattacking.
The gap between them, opened as Laurent dodged, was too wide for the sword to reach.
Then—
In an instant, Hassan’s sword extended.
Gripping the end of the hilt, he lengthened the blade.
Laurent, who had been retreating casually, was caught off guard by the suddenly extended sword and took a hit to the chest.
Blood splattered.