"I mean, look at you now. After all that bold talk, you end up like this. Arenât you embarrassed?"
Dennis, wrapped in bandages and lying on the hospital bed, looked up at Maxime, Christine, and Charlotte with his usual nonchalant smile. Blood continued to seep through his bandages, yet his relaxed grin never wavered. Charlotte scowled at him.
"You fool! Why did you have to be so stubborn... What if something terrible happened to youâ"
She couldnât continue, lowering her head as her words trailed off. Dennisâs easygoing smile shifted to one of bitterness. Charlotte placed her hand on the edge of his bed, her shoulders trembling slightly. Maxime and Christine, sensing the need to give them a moment, sat back, keeping a respectful distance.
"Come on, Iâm fine. I might look a little roughed up, but Iâm alive, and itâs not like the match has been decided yet, right?"
Dennisâs brazen words made Charlotte lift her head abruptly to glare at him. Maxime, sitting beside her, could see her eyes reddening. Dennis let out a sigh.
"Did you think youâd leave me behind? Did Her Highness make you fight like you were ready to die?"
"...Sorry. I wasnât being rational."
Despite Dennisâs apology, Charlotteâs face contorted as she continued to berate him.
"Honestly, it was stupid of you! Even if you didnât win this tournament, thereâs always another chance."
"I said Iâm sorry. I just thought... if I held out until the end, an opportunity would come. Itâs not like my opponentâs aura is unlimited, after all."
"And how many knights have died in the tournament with that kind of thinking?"
As Charlotteâs voice began to tremble, Dennis stopped playing coy and simply looked at her, his expression softening as he saw her on the verge of tears. He gently lifted a hand to wipe her eyes. Far from calming down, her gaze grew more tearful as she looked at him.
"Donât leave me behind."
"I wonât. I promise."
An awkward silence filled the hospital room. Dennis glanced at Arsen and Christine, who sat a little distance away, clearly unsure whether to leave or pretend they werenât there. Smiling slightly, Dennis spoke again.
"Well, anyway, Arsen and Christine are here, so... ugh."
Charlotteâs hand struck Dennisâs neck, and he coughed, deciding it was better to stop teasing. At this rate, Charlotte might actually kill him before his injuries did.
"Well, it looks like I wonât be making it to the semifinals. Will they call for a rematch?"
"A rematch? After that disastrous defeat? No way."
Dennis turned his head to look at the ceiling. If he fought again, could he win? He felt the weight of the answer tipping toward âprobably not.â
"...I should have stopped him."
The regret in Dennisâs voice was unmistakable, and his face bore the same bitterness as someone forced to chew on gravel.
"I suppose... I still havenât let go of those memories."
Dennis thought back to Hans, his former subordinate, lost long before Arsen. Charlotte nodded somberly. She knew she wasnât the only one haunted by that dayâs memories, even if it went unspoken. She was well aware that Dennis, too, still suffered from the pain of losing Hans.
"Arsen is strong, Dennis."
She placed her hand on his, hoping her words might comfort him, however slightly. Dennis let out a faint, deflated chuckle.
"Yeah, probably stronger than I am. Maybe even as strong as Deputy Captain Aaron. Though that man... I donât even think heâs in the realm of humans anymore, so I wonât bother comparing."
Dennis glanced toward where Arsen sat. Maxime, noticing Dennisâs gaze, walked over and sat nearby.
"Itâs not like Iâm on my deathbed. No need to act so dramatic."
Dennis chuckled at Maximeâs swift approach but soon groaned as he clutched his wounds. The knight who had fought on his behalf lay without complaint on the bed, yet Dennis scowled as he looked at Maxime.
"Whatâs with that face? Donât make that expression. I didnât fight like that for your sake. And shouldnât someone preparing for the semifinals have better things to do than hanging around the infirmary?"
"Oh, wasnât it for my sake you fought so hard?"
"Get lost. I donât want to hear that crap. I have zero interest in hearing such sentimental nonsense from another man."
Maxime let out a chuckle at Dennisâs gruff words.
"Thank you for your hard work in the quarterfinals, senior."
"My match isnât over yet, so why are you thanking me? Just think of all the teasing Charlotteâs going to throw my way since she didnât make it to the semifinals."
Dennis grumbled but laughed. He still carried a hint of unease, along with memories and regrets from that day that would never fade. But maybe, with this kid... maybe it would be okay to trust him, just a little.
"Make it to the finals. And win there, too, so you can fulfill the mission His Majesty assigned us for my sake as well."
Maxime nodded solemnly. As Dennis mulled over the reason his match had been halted, he couldnât help but remember the sword that had intervened. It was a familiar blade, undoubtedly that of Theodora Bening, who wielded overwhelming skill.
"By the way, that sword that interrupted the match..."
As Dennis began to speak, Maximeâs face tightened, and he nodded. Dennis observed his expression closely, then shook his head. Now wasnât the time to bring it up.
"Never mind. Itâs not like sheâd be disqualified."
Dennis looked back at Maxime.
"I donât know how the quarterfinals will go, but I doubt theyâll wait until Iâm fully recovered. Even if they hold a rematch, Iâm likely to forfeit."
Dennisâs gaze met Arsenâs, his dark eyes holding something unreadable. But right now, those eyes seemed to convey an unspoken trust that made Dennis close his own.
"...I suppose I have no choice but to trust you, Arsen."
"Almost sounds like you didnât at first, senior."
"Show me something worth trusting, kid."
With a furrowed brow, Dennis put an end to the sentimentality. He wouldnât be moving forward. Count Agonâs knights had been eliminated, as had the knights of the First Prince and Princess, defeated by Beningâs forces. Only Arsen remained.
"Enough visiting. Take Christine and go. Get ready for the semifinals. The more I see your face, the more my wounds feel like theyâre reopening."
Maxime laughed at Dennisâs dismissive wave and stood up. Christine quickly followed suit, glancing back at Charlotte and giving a small nod before closing the door to the hospital room behind them.
"At least things are a bit quieter now. Charlotte, maybe you should go back and rest too..."
But before he could finish, Charlotte clamped her hand over Dennisâs mouth. Her determined gaze and resolute hand made Dennis momentarily widen his eyes before sighing in reluctant acceptance.
==
Leon Bening looked at the figure bound to a pillar in the dungeon. Beside him stood Lilia Bergman, the witch, crossing her arms with a meaningful smile.
"I told you, if youâre not going to use him as a disposable pawn, youâre better off not modifying him too drastically."
The man bound in chains was Javier Franco. His eyes had lost all semblance of humanity, his body gaunt, reduced to skin and bones by the dark magic that had converted his life force into mana. His body, pushed past its limits, had broken bones and dislocated joints, looking as though he could collapse at any moment.
Count Bening gazed impassively at Javier, who reeked like a rotting corpse in a gutter.
"So, heâs of no further use?"
"If youâd like, I can turn him into a zombie. Though heâd be a pitiful sight, unable to wield aura or a sword, emitting only beast-like sounds."
The interference in the quarterfinals had resulted in greater losses than expected. The curse of subjugation still seemed functional, as Javier stopped whimpering and looked up at the count as he approached.
"I suppose itâs time to dispose of him."
Count Bening tossed the lantern he was holding at Javier. As it shattered, flames engulfed Javier, and the sound of burning flesh filled the dungeon. Javierâs screams echoed horribly.
"Be quiet."
At Count Beningâs command, Javierâs screams ceased. All that remained was the crackling of fire, like dry wood burning. Javier burned, bound to the pillar, as thick smoke filled the room. Standing across from Lilia, the count called another figure into view.
"Bernardo."
"Yes, my lord."
"Dispose of the body."
With that order, Count Bening left the dungeon. The time to act was drawing near; there was no such thing as perfect preparation.
"Tepid peace has come to an end, Georges Loire."
The countâs lifeless eyes held a steely resolve, as though filled with lethal intent.
==
The verdict was suspiciously swift. The third quarterfinal match was quietly swept under the rug, as though it hadnât happened. Questions about who had thrown the sword, why it had been thrown, and why the referee hadnât stopped the match earlier were all dismissed with a single statement from the organizers.
"Theyâve ruled it was merely spectator interference, not an official intrusion in the match. As shameless as it is, they refuse to identify the culprit, even though everyone knows who did it."
Christine scowled in disgust. The organizers attempted to nullify the match and call for a rematch, but Dennis Amber, too severely injured, declared his intent to withdraw, burying the controversy around the third match. Soon, attention shifted as the fourth match began, an intense battle destined to go down in the tournamentâs history.
"Theyâll make sure she wins no matter what."
And in the first semifinal match that followed, Theodora easily defeated her opponent and advanced to the finals. Now it was almost time for Maximeâs match. However, no official approached him to summon him to the arena.
"...By the way, isnât this delay unusual?"
Christine seemed to feel it too, glancing anxiously at the door before looking back at Maxime.
"What exactly are they plotting...?"
Just then, the waiting room door burst open. Maxime and Christine looked up, startled, as an official entered. He glared at them before speaking in an authoritative tone.
"Sir Arsen Bern, your assigned opponent for the semifinals, Sir Javier Franco, has withdrawn."
Maxime turned to the official in surprise.
"What do you mean?"
"Just as I said, Sir Bern. Sir Javier Franco of the Crescent Knights has withdrawn, so there will be no second semifinal match."@@novelbin@@
Clearing his throat, the official continued.
"In light of fairness, the organizers believe itâs inappropriate for you to simply advance to the finals without due process. Therefore, a simple âassessmentâ will be conducted."
"Wait, an assessment? Whoâs conducting it, and where?" Christine interjected. The officialâs face twisted with displeasure as he answered her.
"Naturally, itâs an assessment of whether Sir Arsen Bern is qualified to enter the finals. As such, only Sir Arsen Bern and the organizers will be present."
"What in the world..."
Christine began to protest, but the official cut her off.
"If youâre dissatisfied, you can always forfeit. In that case, Lady Theodora Bening, the sole finalist, will claim victory."
"Seems like the finalist doesnât need such an assessment?"
"Thereâs no need for an assessment when Lady Theodora Bening stands as the only finalist."
The official dismissed Christineâs question, then looked at Maxime with a faintly provocative tone.
"So, Sir Arsen, will you accept the organizers' âassessmentâ?"
Maxime met the officialâs gaze head-on. There was no need to hesitate.
"Of course, Iâll take it."