"Agratà was fantastic, but her opponent Saino wasn't bad either. Although his performance truly stood out only when he unleashed that technique, the sheer speed at which he moved in that moment was truly remarkable. Even I wouldn't be able to reach that level of speed, not even when using the physical enhancement spell at its very limit. And I can say with certainty that there are very few people alive who could achieve such speed. Unfortunately for him, his compatibility with Agratà was disastrous. The Falling Leaf style is based almost entirely on countering the opponent's attacks, redirecting their strength, and then finishing the fight with a single, decisive strike. Because of this, its practitioners constantly train their reflexes, honing them to respond to any movement that their opponents can produce, regardless of how fast it might be. Fo often comes to assist them with this training. So it's only natural that the prodigy—and likely future master—of this style was able to react and counter such a strike."
Aislyra let out a sigh before adding, half-complaining like a child, "What a pity. If he had been my opponent, I'm sure he wouldn't have backed down, and we would have had a much longer and far more spectacular fight!"
'She really regrets not being able to fight in the first match...' Lucas thought to himself, before asking aloud, "I understand that the Falling Leaf style is a martial art that originated here and is especially popular in our kingdom, and that Agratà is considered a prodigy in it. But as far as I know, she isn't the current master who teaches it. From what she said, this master is also competing in the tournament. Do you happen to know who this master is?"
"Oh, that's easy son, She's—" Sequoria began to answer, but before she could finish, an extremely quick hand covered her mouth.
"Don't worry, she's also taking part in this tournament. You'll understand everything when she steps into the arena for her own match," Aislyra interrupted with a mischievous smile, removing her hand only after she was sure Sequoria wouldn't reveal more.
Lucas thought, 'So they're deliberately keeping it a secret...' That confirmed it was someone he already knew; otherwise, there would be no reason to hide her identity. Considering how few people he had met in this world, it wouldn't be too difficult to guess, but he quickly decided to stop overthinking it. He truly enjoyed surprises, and this one had piqued his interest.
'Come to think of it, I shouldn't even have asked the question,' Lucas reflected.
"Fine, I won't ask again," he said aloud with a sigh, "but I hope it turns out to be someone who I don't expect."
Sequoria, now fully understanding Aislyra's intention to surprise Lucas—knowing how much Lucas cherished surprises—smiled softly, her heart brimming with joy. 'How wonderful it is to see my two children getting along so well.'
After a few more matches, which drew little attention either from the audience or the royal family, the sixteenth match of the day was about to begin—the very last of this first half of the first day.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Chiacchera's ringing voice resounded across the arena, "the participants of the sixteenth match are about to enter the field! As previously announced, after this match there will be a two-hour break, giving you all the chance to rest and enjoy lunch at your leisure. But for now, let us waste no more time and introduce the fighters who will mark the halfway point of this grand first day!"
Pointing toward the right-side gate of the arena, Chiacchera continued, "The contestant now entering from the right gate is a newly recruited member of the Royal Knights, admitted only recently for demonstrating extraordinary potential. He personally chose to participate in this tournament to sharpen his abilities and to prove to himself—and to all—that he is truly worthy of joining the most selective military force in our kingdom at such a young age..."
Chiacchera paused for dramatic effect, then declared, "Marco Bona!"
From the right-side gate, a very young-looking elf stepped forward. If he had been human, Lucas would have placed him at no more than sixteen years old. He had short blond hair, sharp brown eyes, and the pointed ears typical of his race. He wore the standard armor of the Royal Knights, without a single modification. His expression betrayed both nervous agitation and fierce determination.
"On the left side," Chiacchera began, reading from one of the reference sheets that contained detailed information on the tournament participants. These sheets had been given to her in case she forgot something or if there had not been enough time to brief her about a contender. Each page was marked with a number corresponding to the order of the matches, along with an 'R' or 'L' to indicate from which side of the arena they would enter. Since Marco's opponent had registered at the very last minute, there had been no chance to brief her in advance about who would be entering on the left. That morning, after the first matches, she had been handed this paper—one she had not yet taken the time to read.
But now, as her eyes scanned the page, Chiacchera froze in shock at what was written. The identity of the one about to step into the arena was staggering. Yet, being a true professional, she recovered almost instantly, her hesitation lasting barely a fraction of a second—so brief that most of the audience never noticed she had stopped at all.
"...a visitor is about to enter from the neighboring border kingdom of Oscuora. A former captain of the dreaded Dark Knights—each member said to be strong enough to defeat an army of a hundred men—he is now the vice-captain, having relinquished the title of captain to his son. He is infamous throughout the lands under the fearsome epithet of the Black Pit..."
From the left-side gate emerged a figure whose presence alone seemed to darken the air. His ash-gray hair fell neatly just above his neck. One eye shone with a piercing midnight-blue glare, so deep it bordered on black, while the other was hidden behind a stark black eyepatch. His expression was calm yet radiated a confidence so overwhelming it verged on threatening. His face was sharp, handsome, but edged with cruelty. He wore pitch-black armor adorned with subtle streaks of violet, the colors shifting faintly in the light. And his gait—steady, unyielding, almost arrogant—spoke volumes.
"Buio Raguidel!" Chiacchera declared, her voice ringing through the stadium.
Instantly, the entire arena fell into stunned silence before erupting into chaos. Some spectators were left speechless, frozen in their seats. Others glared at the dark elf with pure hatred, while many more trembled in fear at the sight of him. Yet one question echoed in every mind: What in the world is he doing here?!!
Aislyra and Sequoria themselves were visibly shaken by the man's sudden appearance. Lucas, however, simply blinked in confusion. He didn't know who the Dark Knights were, but even without that knowledge, the situation was unsettling. He understood the fragile relationship between Yggdora and Oscuora, and the presence of such an obviously important military figure from a rival kingdom, here of all places, was bewildering.
"What the hell is that bastard doing here?!" Aislyra snarled, leaping to her feet. The fury in her eyes and the sharpness in her expression made it clear to Lucas that she was ready to storm the arena right then and there to kill the vice-captain of the Dark Knights.
"Stop, Aislyra!" Sequoria's voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. "I understand your anger, but you know the rules. Anyone can participate in this tournament, no matter who they are or where they come from. If you attack him outside of an official match, you risk igniting a war—especially with how fragile our relations with Oscuora already are."
Aislyra let out a frustrated snort and sat back down with a heavy thud, folding her arms beneath her ample chest. "Yes, I know!" she muttered irritably, though her clenched jaw betrayed just how much it cost her to hold back.
Lucas studied her reaction carefully, mildly surprised. He hadn't expected her to be welcoming toward a clear enemy, but her rage seemed far deeper and more personal than mere hostility between kingdoms.
"Have you met this Buio before?" Lucas asked curiously. "From the way you reacted, it doesn't look like this is the first time you've seen him."
Aislyra exhaled heavily before answering her elder sister's question.
"Yes, it happened back when Mother was still queen and I was just a new recruit among the Royal Knights, training to become Alberia's personal bodyguard—since she was soon to take the throne. There was a skirmish, nothing too large, between a platoon of about fifty dark elves from Oscuora's army and a dozen of us Royal Knights, myself included, supported by around twenty of our regular soldiers. Leading that Oscuoran platoon was none other than Buio himself, who at the time still held the position of Captain of the Dark Knights. Fortunately, he was the only member of the Dark Knights present. Thanks to that, the clash ended in what could only be called a draw, both sides suffering nearly equal losses."
Her ice blue eyes darkened.
"During that battle, that bastard and I nearly crossed blades. He had already defeated one of our soldiers—a boy who had surrendered. Buio appeared to have accepted his opponent's surrender, and for a moment I was furious with the soldier for his cowardice rather than worried for his life. Still, I prepared to intervene, thinking he would be taken prisoner at best. But then... Buio truly seemed to intend to let him go. The boy believed his life had been spared. Hope filled his eyes. And then, in that same instant, Buio cut him down with a single merciless stroke. That was the first time I witnessed the exact moment when hope in a man's eyes shattered into despair. And honestly... I wish I had never seen it."
Her voice wavered between sorrow and venom.
"After that worm put on such a show in front of me, I was beyond furious. I charged toward him with the intent to erase him from existence. Two dark elves intercepted me, and of course I cut them down in less than a heartbeat. But by the time I had finished, Buio was already gone. That was the first and last time I stood against the former Captain of the Dark Knights. And to this day..." Her tone hardened into a blade's edge. "I regret not killing him when I had the chance."
As those final words left her lips, a strange mixture of melancholy and blistering rage weighed in her voice. Lucas could not be certain whether her fury was aimed more at Buio or at herself.
Now he finally understood his sister's violent reaction upon seeing the man again. Killing enemies on the battlefield was normal for her—a reality he himself would one day have to face. After all, one of the queen's unavoidable duties was leading armies into war. It was something Lucas dreaded deeply, something he feared to his very core. Yet ever since that day beneath the massive tree, he had promised Aislyra that he would carry Alberia's responsibilities in full. He was preparing himself, little by little, for when that burden inevitably fell on him. But Buio's crime, as Aislyra described it—the deliberate slaughter of a surrendered soldier—was beyond war. It was cruelty and depravity itself. That, Lucas vowed, was something he could never allow himself to become, no matter how many battles awaited him. He understood Aislyra's anger far more clearly now. Still, they were not on a battlefield, and for that reason, he sided with Sequoria: it was no excuse to kill him here.
"I understand... but mother is right. For now, let's stay calm and watch the match. Who knows, maybe later in the tournament you'll have the chance to face him and let out your fury," Lucas said softly, his tone gentle.
"Yes... you're right. I actually like that idea." A terrifying smile curved across Aislyra's face as she spoke.
By then Buio had already reached the center of the arena, moving with unnerving calm, until he stood across from his opponent.
Marco fought to keep his body from trembling. He had heard countless tales of the Dark Knights, none of them pleasant. But he was here to prove his worth. No matter the fear gnawing at him, he would not allow himself to be defeated without a fight.
When the two challengers stood face to face, Pinusal asked as always, "Is there anything you wish to say to each other before the match begins?"
"No, Mr. Pinusal," Marco answered, his voice unsteady with nerves.
Buio gave no reply. He merely let a smug smile spread across his sharp features.
"Good. Then the match will begin on my count." Pinusal raised his hand.
"Ready... set... go!"
It was over in an instant. Both the match—and the life of the unfortunate Marco.
Buio's sword pierced cleanly through the boy's skull. The flicker of pure terror in Marco's eyes before his brain ceased to function was savored by Buio like the finest wine. Then slowly, deliberately, he lowered his blade, splitting Marco's body into two lifeless halves.
Pinusal clenched his fists, his jaw tight. With his long years of experience, he knew that Marco would lose. But he had not anticipated that Buio would kill his opponent with the very first blow. He should have stepped in, should have stopped him the moment the blade was drawn.
"The winner of the match... is Buio Raguidel," Pinusal announced, his voice lined with frustration.
At that moment, Buio's smile twisted into something darker, more grotesque. He turned his gaze toward a particular spot in the stands, his voice ringing with exultant malice.
"I hope you enjoyed the show, my little nephew!"
Every letter dripped with pure ecstasy.