Although Yuri Briol had appeared suddenly, Leroy still harbored a faint hope.
The champion he had put forward was a paladin, evaluated as the one who would succeed the Holy Knight. At a young age, he had experienced countless battles and was famous for never having lost a single one-on-one duel.
Moreover, today, Yuri Briol was holding an unfamiliar weapon.
"The blade is curved?"
"I heard he used some sword called Guilty or whatever, but today, he's brought a scimitar."
"That sword looks kind of strange…"
He had appeared wearing nothing but training clothes, without even armor, and holding a long, slender scimitar.
If luck was on their side, they might win.
Even if the result wasn't favorable, at least they could say they fought well despite the loss.
That was what Leroy thought.
But it was all a delusion.
"The duel will end the moment one person dies, becomes unable to fight, or surrenders. If anyone has an objection, please raise your hand now. No objections? Very well. Then, begin!"
The moment the signal echoed across the dueling ground, the two standing atop it moved.
In an instant, their figures blurred.
Soon after, the two who had passed each other reappeared in sight.
At first, both stood still with their backs to each other. Then, after a brief moment, Leroy's champion sank to his knees.
"Urgh…"
His breastplate was dented.
There had been no real clash, yet the conclusion was clean.
It seemed as though the duel was over.
Turning his body, Yuri Briol spoke.
"Again."
"What?"
"Try again."
"Haa…"
Leroy's champion twitched his lips, then rose to his feet.
"Fine."
The two faced each other once more, glaring at their opponent as though reenacting the exchange just moments ago.
A fallen leaf, carried by the wind, fluttered in the air before settling on the ground of the dueling arena.
At that moment, sword light flashed.
Their forms crossed once again.
"…"
As before, the two stopped after passing each other. A hush passed over the arena, and this time, Yuri Briol's form began to lean ever so slightly.
It was the moment when Leroy's champion grinned and straightened his back.
His knees buckled.
"No!"
The champion collapsed limply to the ground. Lying there, he stared up in disbelief.
"How… how is it me again…?"
With leisurely steps, Yuri Briol approached, looking down at him with a grin.
"Again."
Leroy's champion frowned.
"Fine!"
He charged once more, and fell once more.
"Again."
"Damn it!"
The same scene repeated.
"Again."
"Aagh!"
"Again."
"Damn…"
"Again."
"Eugh!"
During the duel, Leroy's champion fell and rose countless times. His whole body was covered in dust, and his armor was dented all over.
In contrast, Yuri Briol was unscathed.
He hadn't even broken a sweat, as if he were merely out for a stroll.
"Again."
As soon as Yuri Briol spoke, Leroy's champion charged again.
With a flash of sword light between them, they passed each other. This time, they remained still longer than before.
But the result did not change.
After twitching several times, Leroy's champion collapsed flat on the ground.
"Urgh…"
Humiliated, he covered his eyes with his arm.
"Damn it…"
He muttered in a choked voice.
At that moment—
"Hey."
Yuri Briol walked up to Leroy's champion.
"That last attack wasn't bad. Now I'm curious about your name."
Leroy's champion raised his eyes. Through his blurred vision, Yuri Briol's face came into view.
Blood was seeping faintly from a wound on Yuri's cheek.
After flailing without so much as grazing him before, his repeated challenges had finally succeeded in leaving a scratch.
"Ah…"
Yuri grinned and extended his hand.
"What's your name?"
Leroy's champion stared blankly at the hand for a moment, then let out a small laugh and wiped his eyes with his gauntlet. He grasped the offered hand.
"Bailey, sir."
"Bailey. I'll remember it."
"It's an honor."
With Yuri's help, Bailey stood up.
"Wait…?"
He suddenly flinched upon seeing Yuri's sword.
He had known Yuri carried a scimitar today. But its shape was strange—the blade was blunt, and the spine of the sword was instead sharply edged in blue.
"A reverse-blade sword?"
"That's right."
"And you only realize that now…"
Bailey flushed with embarrassment.
Even after crossing swords so many times today, he had only just realized that the edge of his opponent's weapon was reversed.
That was how fast Yuri's sword had been—too fast to see properly.
"Don't tell me the reason you brought that sword is…"
"It's exactly what you think."
"I knew it…"
Bailey couldn't lift his head. He had come today prepared to kill, yet his opponent had chosen his weapon with the intention of avoiding killing him, even by accident.
"You never intended to harm me from the start."
"Of course not. Today, I wanted to use a swordsmanship that saves, not kills. This duel is, after all, part of saving the Holy Kingdom."
"Such deep thought…"
"Don't forget today's duel. What you learned from me today will protect you one day on the battlefield."
"And I didn't even realize…"
"Now you do."
"Urgh…"
Today, Yuri had repeatedly urged him to come at him again. Bailey had tried many different attacks, only to be countered each time.
Through this process, Bailey had grasped the principles of the sword.
It was essentially a one-on-one lesson.
With Yuri grinning, his sword slung over his shoulder, Bailey bowed deeply.
"Your Highness, thank you truly!"
"Good."
"But you know…"
"Hmm?"
"That's a reverse-blade sword."
"That's right."
"And if you keep carrying it like that without armor…"
"Hmm…?"
Yuri glanced at his shoulder.
Because the reverse-blade sword was slung over it, blood was running down freely.
Despite being reversed, it was incredibly sharp.
"Blood, you're bleeding!"
"Y-you should stop the bleeding."
"Ow!"
"Priest!"
Though there had been a commotion, in any case, the duel ended in Yuri Briol's victory.
Luther's side was in a festive mood, while Leroy's side wore utterly rotten expressions.
"This can't be…"
"To think there was such a difference!"
"That useless bastard Bailey…"
At a glance, it might have looked like a beautiful duel, but in reality, it was nothing more than an overwhelming defeat. On top of that, it looked as if they had even received a favor from the opponent.
Watching Bailey, moved by Yuri Briol, bowing his head again and again, Leroy closed his eyes.
It was, quite literally, a complete loss.
The journey toward the throne had ended so vainly.
As he stood there clenching his fists and trembling, Luther approached first.
"Brother Leroy."
"Luther…"
"You lost, but you fought well."
"Yeah."
Leroy's hand tightened even more. Hearing "you fought well despite losing" coming from the victor's mouth was unbearably irritating.
Luther continued.
"Don't be too discouraged. Your opponent was me."
"I lost to Yuri Briol, not you."
"Same difference."
"Same difference?"
"Yuri and I are friends now."
"…"
"You know the kind of close friend I mean? The kind who'll step in if someone touches me, the kind who'll quietly stab someone in the dark of night."
Understanding the threat laced in Luther's words, Leroy let out a long sigh.
"Fine."
Having lost in the champion's duel, there was no easy way to reverse the situation. He decided to accept the result cleanly and remove any possibility of trouble later.
"Alright, Luther. I'll give up my right to the throne and support you."
"You've made the right choice."
Luther patted Leroy on the shoulder.
"Brother, let's work well together from here on."
Leroy, being a quick-witted opportunist, was someone who would become an ally once the advantage in the succession was clear. Luther knew this well.
As if reading Luther's mind, Leroy said,
"If anyone tries to stand in your way, I'll block them for you. Just make sure you take care of me."
"Don't worry."
"We're allies now."
"Yeah, yeah."
Luther had little real interest in the throne or royal authority, so he wasn't concerned about what lay ahead. If Leroy ever tried to pull anything, that black-haired lunatic would just start swinging his sword.
The two burst into loud laughter, each harboring entirely different thoughts.
"But is your friend alright? His shoulder's still bleeding."
"Leave him be."
***
Cory picked up a discarded newspaper from the ground.
It said that Sibylla had died, and that someone named Luther had become the new king of the Holy Kingdom.
"Ah…"
Seeing the sentence about Sibylla's death, Cory let out a heavy sigh.
Many things had happened on the continent while he had been away. He wanted to return to Yuri as soon as possible, to help him.
But reality was not going the way he wished.
"Hey, you damn Orc."
When Cory turned his head, members of the circus troupe were standing there.
"An Orc reading a newspaper? Are you showing off because you can read?"
"I'm not an Orc, I'm Cory. And I'm not showing off, I was just reading a discarded newspaper."
"Well, well, now you're talking back too."
Despite his appearance, Cory was eloquent and possessed knowledge in various fields. He even told stories about Yuri Briol, whose fame was known across the continent.
Of course, no one truly believed everything he said, but the facts didn't matter. The simple fact that a small, ugly, half-blood Orc could tell interesting stories drew people's attention.
So, every time they performed, Cory's popularity was high.
This, however, stirred the jealousy of the ordinary circus members who earned their keep with physical feats.
"How about we make sure that fancy tongue of yours never works again?"
Several troupe members rolled up their sleeves and approached. Cory, stepping backward, glanced behind him, but found himself cornered by a wall with no escape.
In the end, Cory was thrown to the ground and beaten.
"You Orc bastard!"
"Filthy scum!"
"You should never have come here!"
Baseless hatred poured onto Cory. Even as he curled up, bleeding, the kicks didn't stop. In fact, the attacks only became more vicious.
"Should we rip his tongue out?"
Hearing that, Cory shook his head.
"No, don't—"
"Don't what?"
One of them grabbed Cory's head.
"You ugly bastard…"
"Where's the tongs?"
"Making him mute might be pretty funny. The customers would like it even more."
They had been sold into the circus as slaves, living at the very bottom, and were filled with resentment. There was no hesitation in tormenting someone else.
Just then—
"What are you all doing?"
The circus master stood there, holding a whip.
"I told you not to cause trouble."
At his appearance, everyone froze in fear.
"S-sorry!"
The master swung his whip. Skin split open under its lash. Everyone panicked and fell flat to the ground.
"Cory."
"Yes…"
But then, the master struck Cory as well.
Cory screamed.
"I-I only got hit! I didn't do anything…"
"That's a problem too."
The master looked down at him with cold eyes.
"They say even a worm will squirm if stepped on. But don't even squirm. No one steps on a dead worm—it just dirties their shoes."
With that cold glance, the master turned away.
Tears welled up in Cory's eyes.
It didn't take him long to realize that the promise—that if he earned enough money, he could be freed from his status as a circus slave—was a lie.
The circus contract was arbitrary. The more he earned, the more debt he accumulated. They adjusted the interest as they pleased, trapping him so he could never escape.
This was the human world.
A race no different from Orcs.
Cory's dream of living together with humans was gradually becoming tainted.
"Damn it…"
That was how he learned to curse.
Spitting out the blood pooled in his mouth, Cory got up. Enduring the looks of disgust from the other members, he staggered away.
The circus quarters were no different from livestock pens.
If only he could use magic, he would have burned it all down.
Now, Cory's only desire was to break the chains that bound him.