I didn't look towards Randor.
I turned my gaze to where the Vinni Family knights were standing. Their armour was immaculate, and their eyes were unwavering. There were no signs of disappointment or disturbance.
"The lineup of those who are used to winning..."
At that moment, I realised one thing:
Our recent consecutive victories did not scare them. Instead, they made them more cautious.
A gust of wind blew through, carrying with it the scents of blood, rusted iron, and weapon grease.
For ordinary people, it is the smell of war.
For me, that's memories.
Memories of the collapsed towers, of names that no one remembers anymore.
I tightened my grip on the axe.
Much like me right now, the axe blade is sharp and silent.
"They regard this as a noble battle... a game of honour."
I looked up at the noble stands.
Duchess Angelie sat there. There was no cheering or clear display of emotion.
On the other side stood Count Vinni, still wearing his usual smile. But there was something cold and venomous in his eyes. He was like a snake wrapped in a fox fur coat.
"If those nobles knew... among the mercenaries, there is someone who is not human..."
I closed my eyes.
"Not a knight."
"Not a mercenary."
".. an organism they were never prepared to confront."
Then, the trumpet sounded again.
It was long and echoed unusually.
Angelie stands up.
"Vinni Count, you..."
The sentence ended abruptly. She couldn't say.
Gray stepped forward immediately, reaching out in time to support her elbow.
Not to maintain formality.
That was to prevent her from collapsing.
Beside, Vinni stood up calmly, as if he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
He gently smooths down the pure white layer of fox fur that covers his shoulder.
Elegant gestures. But the eyes are not.
"Little Angelie, it's all because of you..."
His voice sounded gentle but full of pity.
Angelie restrained.
"You..."
Her gaze stopped.
Under the stands, a figure stepped out into the arena.
The white armour bore no symbols.
He carried a hammer bigger than an adult on his shoulder.
With each step he took, it seemed as though he was extinguishing a spark of hope.
Heavy.
Danger.
Gray had a lump in his throat. "That person is... ?"
Angelie didn't look back.
"Harold Cesper."
A wave of shock swept through the ranks of mercenaries.
"...What? The saint knight Harold?!"
"Wasn't he convicted of plundering an entire village?"
"How did he arrive here?"
"Damn it! I'm leaving. I won't die just for a few hundred gallons!"
The disorder was spreading like wildfire.
Some threw their helmets away, while others retreated to the edge of the stands, looking around nervously as if searching for an exit.
The initial murmurs from the stands had turned into loud noise.
"Is that him?"
"The slaughterer from the church..."
"Convicted, but still alive?"
"What is the church doing?"
The air became heavy with tension. It felt as though something was weighing down on everyone's shoulders.
Randor was still standing. But the smile that usually graced his face had vanished.
He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. He never took his gaze off Harold.
In the stands, Angelie seemed to turn to stone.
"Miss..." Gray said hurriedly, "If the match isn't cancelled immediately, someone may die."
"We can't.."
She shook her head. Her voice was hoarse, as if caught in her throat.
"We have already accepted this match. If we withdraw now, the Blade House will be left with nothing."
Gray clenched his teeth.
__
Harold Cesper stopped in the middle of the arena.
He slowly put his heavy weapon to the ground.
RUMBLE.
The ground shook violently. A cloud of dust rose in its wake.
He glanced at Randor.
His mouth curved upwards in a half-smile, half-disdainful expression.
"I hope you will help me 'entertain' a bit..."
Randor did not reply.
He rushed over.
The greatsword is raised high above the head and swung downwards.
Harold didn't evade. Instead, he raised the hammer horizontally.
CLANG!
The sound of clashing metal reverberates around the arena.
Sand flew up at his feet.
Randor was pushed backwards, leaving a long trail of footprints behind him. Harold, however, didn't move.
No retreat. No wobble.
"Hmph, not bad," Harold muttered, stepping forward.
The hammer sweeps across in a wide, strong, fast swing.
The air shrieked as though the grim reaper's scythe were gliding over the stands.
Randor managed to dodge it.
Nevertheless, the force of the blow still caused him to stumble.
"Damn..."
Randor gritted his teeth, lowered himself to his knees and then stood up again.
He roared and charged again.
This time, he altered the angle of his attack, striking Harold's hip with his greatsword.
But—
Harold leaned over.
His speed was simply too great for his heavy armour.
BOOM!
The hammer handle was thrust into Randor's chest.
Unable to react.
He collapsed, arching his back and clutching his chest. Then Harold hit him with a powerful punch.
The stands fell silent.
Nobody dared to say anything.
Randor gasped for breath. Blood poured from his mouth. Yet he still wouldn't let go of the greatsword.
"Go.. back to your church!"
Despite having blood in his throat, he struggled to speak.
Randor raised the greatsword one last time.
His arms were trembling. His face was pale.
And then…
RUMBLE.
In the blink of an eye—
A direct blow downwards.
No blood.
No screams. Only the heavy sound of armour collapsing like a pillar being cut in two.
__
Angelie was stunned on the stands.
She didn't blink.
All she could do was stare at the spot where Randor had fallen.
Her eyes were wide open, but empty. It was as if she had not just witnessed a defeat, but seen a part of herself being crushed.
A thin line of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth.
She hadn't realised she had bitten it so hard.
Gray stood still for a few seconds.. then suddenly leapt down into the arena.
"Help him!" he shouted at the soldiers, signalling for them to take Randor away.
There is no response.
Everyone bows their head.
Fear. Chills. Stiffness.
Beneath her silver armour, Angelie's shoulders tremble slightly.
Just a little. But to her, it felt as if the whole world was tilting.
Then — that voice rang out.
It didn't really echo outside.
But she could still hear it.
"So.. the young Duchess is only skilled with words."
It's Vinni.
Not through words. Through his eyes.
He had a half-smirk of arrogance on his face, as if he was revelling in a remarkable tragedy.
Angelie once thought that she could be like her father.
She believed that if she stood tall and didn't bow her head, nobody could look down on she.
She used to think that courage was what stopped a person from giving up.
But at that moment...
Amidst a hundred pairs of eyes watching and waiting for her to fall..
She knew that courage alone would not be enough to keep her standing strong.
__
Randor had fallen.
He lay motionless on the sand.
That posture... I'm familiar with it.
Many times. On many battlefields throughout history.
Those nameless battlefields.
And the deaths that no one wants to remember anymore.
I was still standing on the edge of the yard in front of the panicking mercenaries.
Nobody looked at anyone else.
All eyes were fixed firmly on Harold Cesper, as though he were the very personification of death.
I knew...
What had just happened to Randor was more than just a hammer blow.
It was a judgement.
Cold, unfeeling, and stamped by the distorted nature of this political struggle.
I used to be a pawn in those schemes of interest.
The battlefield.
Fire.
Shouts were interrupted by death.
I have walked through it all. I once believed that I felt nothing anymore.
Angelie remained standing. But her eyes were vacant.
It was as if the faith she had placed entirely in Randor had been destroyed by that final clash.
And Harold...
He was still standing there, the hammer on his shoulder.
No pity. Not tormented.
He was simply a tool that had become too adept at taking lives.
__
The next trumpet sounded.
The stands now fell silent.
The sounds of betting have stopped.
No more cheers.
Only the heavy, fearful gaze of thousands of eyes is fixed on the sand of the arena where Randor once stood.
"Blade Family,"
The commentator's voice echoed.
"If no knight steps forward, victory will belong to Count Vinni."
No one was left moving.
Not a sound could be heard.
The mercenaries had disappeared.
They had been swept away like mist by the wind.
And that was the moment...
From somewhere no one had noticed, a small figure emerged. A knight.
A small, hunched figure in oversized armour. With each step, the long sword dragged along the sand, leaving behind a thin trail.
The helmet was tilted slightly to one side.
With all that was left of its will, the small hand gripped the hilt of the sword.
Nobody knew who that was.
There was nobody giving orders.
Yet somehow, he was standing there. Facing Harold Cesper.
Harold frowned. The hand on the hammer's shoulder moved slightly, as if trying to stop itself from laughing.
"You.."
His voice rang out, filled with disdain. "A little brat, huh? Do you think this is a game?"
The little knight did not respond.
He simply adjusted his helmet. Then, slowly, he raised his sword.
The trembling action.
Clumsy.
But not backing down.
Harold spat on the sand.
"So boring,"
The match began - If you can call it a 'match'.
Harold launched his attack with the first blow. His hammer came down like a bolt from the blue.
RRRRumble!
The tiny body was flung across the arena.
Yet he was still trying to crawl upwards. Each movement was slow and painful. Still, he did not let go of the sword.
Many people in the stands shook their heads.
Some turned their faces away.
"Please, someone, stop this match quickly!"
"Why is this child being made to fight?"
Harold stepped forward. His face showed a mixture of contempt and boredom. "Not dead yet?"
It was as heavy a kick as a rock.
Bang!
The small body hit the stone wall with a dry sound.
The armour was damaged. A large crack appeared on the shoulder. Blood began to seep through the metal.
Coughs of blood echoed continuously.
Yet he still tried to lift the sword once more.
Hands trembling.
Like a dry leaf fluttering in a snowstorm.
I gritted my teeth.
A cold feeling surged back into my chest. I couldn't take my eyes off the knight. I had seen him before.
In the corner of the yard.
He stood quietly among the laughing mercenaries.
He held an old sword.
It wasn't because the sword was sharp.
It was the first sword that Randor had given her.
Now, the girl raised her head.
Her loose helmet had fallen, revealing a strand of hair cascading down her bruised cheek. The corner of her lip was stained with blood. Her gaze had faded.
Yet not a single tear fell.
No resentment. No begging.
It's just a stubborn look... to the point of despair.
I was frozen.
My mind went blank for a moment.
A name left me numb.
"Chloe?"
A second later, Harold raised the hammer.
This time, he was going to finish her off.
No one could stop him.
No one dared to intervene.
There was no shout of warning.
Only that figure remained: small and hunched over, gasping for breath beneath the ruined armour.
And I...
I stepped forward.
Not by command.
Not for any noble reason.
It's just that there's something inside me that can't stand still any more.
Nobody saw me rush in.
All they know is that, when Harold brought the hammer down, the hammerhead did not hit Chloe's head. Instead, it hit a black axe.
"RRRR!"
The terrible impact tore space apart. A shockwave rippled across the surface.
A whirlwind formed a circle around me, creating a boundary.
Harold was taken aback. He took a half-step back.
Chloe fell down, unconscious. Her blood-soaked hair covered her broken mask.
Her small body could not withstand any more blows.
I stood between Chloe and death.
Between her and Harold.
I held an axe in my hand.
I didn't turn to look at the girl.
I only look at Harold.
My gaze is darkness - not a vague darkness.
It is the darkness of thousands of deaths. And now it is burning.
Burning powerfully with anger.
___
Angelie stood up on the stand. She couldn't take her eyes off the spot where Harold's hammer had just been blocked by a black axe blade.
Who was holding the axe?
A mercenary?
Or maybe a nameless knight ?
Or something else entirely?
She didn't know.
All she knew was that he was standing there.
No fear. No stepping back.
He was standing between a child and death.
Angelie soon realised that her hand was gripping so tightly that it had turned pale.
It was not because of fear.
It was because she had been awakened.
She thought she could see through people — nobles, mercenaries and knights alike.
She once believed that everyone in this arena had a reason for being there, such as money or status.
But Hades did not.
He didn't come to get them.
He only stepped out when there was no one else left standing.
Gray was about to say something, but hesitated when he saw her gaze.
Angelie remained silent.
The wind blew through her silver hair and caused her cloak to flutter. For the first time in her life, she felt unable to understand that person.
She was unable to control him.
She was unable to command him.
She could not label him as loyal, a knight or an assassin.
Meanwhile, down below, Hades was still taking no action.
He took a small step back, standing in front of Chloe like a wall of bronze and iron.
In that space, there were only two shadows:
One that had once been a saint knight.
The other was not mentioned in any prayer.
Angelie let out a sigh.
She wasn't sure whether it was because she was choked up or because of another, unnamed feeling.
"Who.. who is that knight?" The question had no answer.
But for her, the gaze had changed.
No more doubt.
No more calculation.
It was hope.