The Round of 16 had ended, and now even the quarterfinals were over.
Only four remained in the semifinals.
[Jousting Tournament Semifinal Bracket]
Valoshi Vienderk (1st Year Top Student) VS Rob Kaelin (4th Year Top Student)
Ruina Verchev (2nd Year Top Student) VS Kunz Bayer (3rd Year, Rank 12)
The audience marveled at how there was one student from each year still standing.
But the first-year wasn't Aint.
That spot should have been mine!
It should've been my name in the paper!
I even slew a demon! Why? Why?!
'It's not that serious. I was wrong, okay? Please, just stop…!'
Aint set the newspaper down, and only then did Gardner's voice fade.
Pathetic brat. A thousand years ago, knights of your caliber were so common they littered the ground.
"…They littered the ground? Really?"
Well, not literally.
Aint let out a small sigh of relief at that minor consolation.
Still, I was somewhat surprised. This era is incredibly abundant. I didn't expect that even after absorbing Saintbird's Heart and Andromalius's power, your aura wouldn't stand out much.
On average, Aint's aura was indeed vast. But by Gardner's standards, in this era the average was too high.
Aura and mana weren't things you could build up overnight by simply training diligently.
That abundance meant there were far more auxiliary means available. For example, elixirs.
Of course, elixirs didn't automatically increase aura without limits.
If not that, then maybe that Almon brat's family is extraordinary.
"The Donertz family isn't anything impressive."
Then he must be sponsored by someone wealthy. Some rich patron.
"…Senior Fernan?"
Not him. I don't sense any goodwill there.
Fair enough—Fernan wasn't the only rich man in the Empire.
The Pellenbergs might be the wealthiest family on the continent, but they weren't the only wealthy ones.
After finishing his exchange with Gardner, Aint checked the time, washed up, and changed into casual clothes.
He was heading out to watch the semifinals.
He especially wanted to see Ruina Verchev and Rob Kaelin—one of the strongest favorites to win—with his own eyes.
"Wow, if it weren't for Senior Fernan, I never would've gotten a ticket."
That's why having rich fools around is convenient. They're like universal artifacts—able to solve most problems with ease.
Aint didn't think of them as artifacts, but he couldn't deny the convenience.
As he took his seat, he realized he had neighbors.
"Aria? Berian?"
"Aint? This is your seat?"
"So you also got a ticket from Senior Fernan, huh."
Looks like these brats also owe their tickets to that rich fool.
That seemed about right.
"Aria, aren't you going to watch the Magic Tournament?"
"I wanted to, but Senior Fernan only gave me tickets for the joust. I don't know why."
Because Fernan wanted the three who would one day face demons together to bond more closely.
Especially Aria, who was the prophesied companion of Aint.
But to Aria, who didn't know that, it just felt like she'd been forced to attend a match she wasn't interested in.
The match soon began.
"Rob Kaelin!"
At the announcer's cry, Rob Kaelin stepped onto the field.
His build radiated solid strength. At the same time, there was a gentle air about him—an oddly contrasting impression.
A well-honed blade, despite his mild features. Worthy indeed of last year's champion.
Gardner judged him to be a man who could truly contend for the mantle of Royal Knight.
"Rob Kaelin!"
"Win again!"
"We've bet everything on you!"
"Rob! Rob! Rob!"
The deafening cheers rang out, most of them tied to money and wagers.
"…Are betting shouts always this common?"
"You didn't know? Senior Fernan promised rewards for those who made the most accurate bets."
That explained why more people than ever were gambling compared to previous festivals.
"To turn a sacred joust into a gambling den…"
"True. But it's funny, since the prize is coming to me anyway."
"…Wait. To you?"
Berian tilted his head. Something didn't add up.
"Don't tell me…"
"What?"
"Don't tell me you bet too?"
"I haven't missed a single one so far."
Berian stared, dumbfounded.
"…Aren't elves supposed to be detached from wealth?"
"We just don't obsess over it. But why refuse to earn what can be earned?"
He couldn't argue with that logic, so Berian shut his mouth.
"Valoshi Vienderk!"
On the opposite side, Valoshi entered.
Despite the feverish cheers of the crowd, he carried himself with his usual calm demeanor.
"…Valoshi Vienderk."
"What do you think of him?"
"You're close with him, aren't you?"
"You used to be close, right?"
"…Not exactly close. I just wanted to be."
"But he never gave you the time of day. Ouch."
"Shut it, Aria. You're one to talk?"
"At least I'm not ignored."
While the two bickered, Aint kept his eyes on Valoshi.
He's an ambiguous one. Berian may seem like a fool right now, but his ability is nothing to scoff at. I hear the Kalburden marquisate is among the most powerful in the Empire.
And yet Valoshi treats Berian with cold distance, while being oddly warm to someone like you who has nothing.
Gardner's doubt echoed Aint's own.
'Maybe he's just like Aria—favorable only to the Elector families?'
No. That elf doesn't show favor only to the Electors.
If that were the case, he'd never have befriended Berian Kalburden in the first place.
That was true. Which made it all the stranger. What exactly was Valoshi after?
"No matter who you are, Valoshi won't be an easy opponent."
Berian spoke suddenly, referring purely to swordsmanship.
Aint had defeated Andromalius, yes—but even he couldn't deny how much the unique nature of Armian power had contributed.
'Not to mention, as Gardner said, Senior Fernan's help was crucial too.'
That golem was a weapon unlike anything else in the world. He never would have imagined it could actually hold its own against both a demon and a giant.
Aint had slain the serpent weakened by his power, and had even managed to press a demon halfway.
The more he thought about it, the more curious he became about Fernan than about Valoshi.
'Just what kind of person is he?'
Why did he build such a golem, and why carry it around?
'Could it be… he knew demons would be summoned in advance?'
That's nonsense. Unless that brat knows the future, there's no way he could've prepared like that.
And knowing the future was impossible.
'Well… true enough.'
The most plausible explanation was simply that Fernan was fanatically cautious and insisted on being prepared for everything.
After all, he always carried countless potions, reagents, and artifacts in his subspace.
"Begin!"
By then, the match had started.
Without even a moment of probing, the two contestants urged their horses forward.
─!
─!
─!
Exactly three collisions later, they dismounted and drew their swords.
After exchanging hundreds of blows, the victor was decided.
"Valoshi has lost."
"So last year's champion really is strong."
His swordsmanship is nearly perfected. Looks like a Royal Knight trained his grandson properly.
Just as Gardner said, even to Aint's eyes, it was Rob Kaelin who had steadily maintained the upper hand.
But something's strange.
'What do you mean?'
There's no tension.
'What?'
He's faking it.
And that was when—
"…Huh?"
Rob Kaelin leveled his sword at Valoshi's throat.
To escalate his aura like this after the match was already over was unprecedented.
"Who the hell are you?"
Rob laughed. His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not. He looked down at the fallen Valoshi with an icy gaze sharp as frost.
"What exactly do you think you're playing at?"
"To hear such words after you've defeated me… I'm rather taken aback, Senpai."
"You think I'm an idiot? That if I won, you'd bow your head and say 'thank you'?"
From the outside, it had looked like the fiercest of battles. But unless you were one of the fighters clashing swords, or even then only barely, you wouldn't have noticed the truth.
"I didn't expect that, but if you did, I wouldn't complain. Still, I assure you I gave it my all."
"You're going to keep insisting?"
Rumble—
Rob's aura shook the entire arena.
"Unbelievable arrogance. You've insulted me, the Academy, and by extension, the Empire itself."
"I did my best. I only lost because you were stronger."
"Still defiant!"
"Enough!"
At that moment, the referee intervened, stepping between them.
"The match is over, Rob Kaelin. What is the meaning of this?"
"..."
"I asked you, what's going on?"
Rob glared at Valoshi, then after a brief pause, answered.
"…Nothing. The fight was more intense than expected, and I'm still caught up in it."
"Surprising. I never thought you of all people would say that. Truly, the Vienderks are remarkable. But be careful from now on."
"Yes, sir."
Moments later, the referee raised Rob's arm.
"Winner! Rob Kaelin!"
Waaaaaaaah—!
"…Forgive me, but I've no hobby of wasting my time on meaningless things. Nor do I see the point in exerting effort when the outcome is obvious."
Valoshi's quiet murmur was drowned out by the roar of the crowd.
During the Academy Festival, three or four banquets were held each day.
Sweet music delighted the ears, beautiful statues and chandeliers pleased the eyes, and fine food and wine made tongues and lips dance.
"…Hmph."
But Fernan stood apart from the revelry and luxury.
Glass of champagne in hand, he remained quietly at the edge of the hall, observing the crowd.
"Lord Fernan, what brings you here?"
"Lord Fernan!"
"Fernan, would you care to dance with me…?"
People who recognized him approached, but Fernan offered only polite greetings before moving on.
"There, young master."
Hyde spotted a middle-aged man mingling easily among the guests.
Fernan walked up and offered his greetings.
"It's an honor to meet you, Count Rodos. My name is Fernan Pellenberg."
"Pellenberg…? Ah, forgive me. I am Rodos Franz."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've long wished for the opportunity."
"…Me, you say?"
The count blinked in surprise at Fernan's sudden approach.
"Might we speak privately for a moment?"
"Privately?"
Fernan discreetly handed him a slip of paper.
The count's pupils quivered as he read it.
"With me?"
"Yes."
"…This isn't the place for such a conversation."
The count glanced around; the unexpected approach had drawn murmurs and distance from the nearby guests.
"I've prepared a room. If it's not too much trouble, may I guide you there?"
"…Very well."
Together, Fernan and the count ascended to the third floor.
The third floor had special lounges reserved for distinguished guests, and Fernan had already booked one.
"What tea would you like?"
"…I never thought I'd have the Pellenberg heir serve me tea. Green, if you please."
Fernan personally brewed from the selection provided and handed him a cup.
"Now then, speak. You said the Golden Turtles wish to do business with me… Hm. You brew quite well."
"Thank you for the compliment."
"As the lord of my domain, it pains me to admit, but there's nothing special about my lands. They're barren."
Fernan already knew that. Count Rodos Franz's territory, like much of the Prajia Kingdom, was harsh and infertile.
There was little arable land for farming, the mountains and forests were dense, and monsters that had not been properly culled nested all throughout.
It was a poor domain, without any notable local products.
"That's why the Golden Turtle Company only bothered to set up a single branch in my territory. So what kind of business are you proposing to do here?"
"At present, nothing concrete. Just a plan. We believe there's a vein in Franz County."
"A vein?"
Count Rodos frowned.
"Hate to disappoint, but yes, there are mines in my land."
But those mines were already developed and being worked under the Count's supervision.
They weren't particularly profitable. At best, they produced iron ore or copper—just enough for the commonfolk to scrape by.
And even that required significant upkeep because of constant monster infestations.
"Every workable spot has already been tapped. To find anything new, you'd have to push deep into the mountains, where monsters are far more numerous. Even if you found something good, it'd cost more than it was worth…."
Count Rodos trailed off when he noticed Fernan's utterly unchanged expression.
"…Hah. I suppose I've been babbling nonsense in front of a merchant. You'd know better than me."
"Not at all. I appreciate the honest perspective."
"Yet you still seem intent on pushing this idea."
"Yes."
"Then what exactly? What kind of vein has the Golden Turtle Company discovered in my land?"
It wasn't the Golden Turtle Company that discovered it.
It was in the prophecy—where Aint and Gardner had found it.
"To speak plainly: blacksteel ore."
"Blacksteel…? Truly?"
Count Rodos's eyes gleamed with greed.
Blacksteel couldn't compare to the highest-tier metals like mithril or adamant, but it was still quite valuable.
"Yes. But we need further confirmation of its quantity, quality, and how many monster nests may be nearby."
"And where is it?"
"That, I cannot disclose until after a contract is signed."
"You expect me to let you scour my land for veins, then force a contract on me? You think that makes sense?"
Fernan shook his head.
"We haven't scoured anything. We received a report."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"Believe it or not, the truth doesn't change. And this is simply our proposal to you."
Fernan handed him a contract.
"This is absurd. I haven't agreed to anything, and yet you shove a contract in my face? Is this how the Golden Turtle Company does business?"
"Please, read it first."
The contract was long, but its essence came down to five clauses:
[Golden Turtle Company shall be referred to as Party A, and Count Franz as Party B.
Should Party A discover a vein within Party B's domain, Party A shall hold the right to develop it.
Party B shall grant Party A a perpetual lease on said vein.
Party A shall pay Party B 30% of the mine's profits as rent.
All costs for development and defense shall be borne entirely by Party A.
If no vein is discovered within one year, the contract is void.]
"You mean to say the Golden Turtle Company will cover all development and defense costs themselves? With no aid from me? And I'd still receive thirty percent?"
Count Rodos instantly realized how advantageous this was.
Even putting aside whether a blacksteel vein existed, he had already exploited every workable site in his territory.
The only area left… was the Verdg Mountains.
He had written it off as a loss—the monsters were too dense, the risks too great, and the costs higher than any potential gains.
There was no way to develop or maintain it with his own resources.
And now the Golden Turtle Company wanted to dig there on their own dime—and still hand over a hefty share of profits.
All without Franz County shouldering a single burden.
And they weren't even guaranteeing that the vein truly existed.
"Is this for real?"
"Yes, it is."
Fernan nodded.
Ordinarily, the Golden Turtle Company would never offer such terms. But this time there were two reasons.
First: the prophecy confirmed the blacksteel vein's existence.
And with demons liable to descend at any time, there was no time to waste in haggling.
Second: according to prophecy, the 64th-ranked demon, Paimon, would first appear at a fortress located right next to Franz County.
It was heaven-sent.
The prophecy not only provided intel on the blacksteel vein—it placed it near a prophesied battlefield.
Blacksteel is valuable enough that even higher upkeep costs won't matter.
And beyond that—
It's the perfect cover.
No one would question a merchant company developing a new mine.
They could move in without resistance. With Golden Turtle Company branches already spread throughout the Prajia Kingdom, infiltration would be seamless.
And with monsters swarming the area, the need for stationed troops was obvious.
Thus, he could establish a garrison right where he needed one—and when the time came, march against the demon naturally.
"The Golden Turtle Company aims for mutual prosperity. Since we're making use of Count Franz's resources, it's only proper that you be fairly compensated."
He raised his coffee cup with elegance.
"So—shall we sign?"
"…There's no reason not to."
"An excellent decision."
Count Rodos signed.
And immediately after—
[With regards to the business venture, I respectfully submit: a new vein has been discovered at the Golden Pillar….]
"Send this to Father. Priority courier."
The letter Fernan drafted sped away toward House Pellenberg.
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