"The winner of this match is Miyamoto Musashi!" declared Pinusal, raising Musashi's arm high into the air.
The stadium erupted in thunderous applause, cheers rolling like waves through the crowd. Cries echoed everywhere:
"Thank you, Miyamoto! That arrogant bastard deserved a lesson!"
"Amazing! He defeated him with a single blow!"
"Miyamoto! Miyamoto! Miyamoto!"
Bathed in applause and gratitude, Musashi gave a faint smile and calmly exited the arena. Behind him, Gilciso—still unconscious—was lifted onto a stretcher and carried away by the medical unit.
"That was an excellent match. And the idea of arriving late to throw his opponent off balance? I must admit, it's a strategy I had never truly considered. Yet, seeing it play out was fascinating," said Sequoria, her voice tinged with satisfaction.
"Wait—was that really a strategy? Are you sure he didn't just oversleep?" asked Lucas, both surprised and doubtful.
Sequoria gave a small shake of her head. "I'm fairly certain. Perhaps not every detail was planned, but I'm convinced most of his behavior was intended to unnerve Gilciso."
Lucas's brow furrowed in thought. "Now that you mention it… I think I read once that Musashi used a similar tactic in one of his most famous duels back when he was alive…" he said softly, speaking more to himself than anyone else.
"I can't say I approve of it as a strategy," Aislyra interjected sternly, "but in the end, it's Gilciso's fault for failing to control his own temper."
Lucas sighed. 'Even so, Musashi didn't use his historical magic either. What a shame… If this continues, I won't see any historical magic until the real tournament begins…' His disappointment was clear.
Five minutes passed after Gilciso had been carried away. Once the guards confirmed that the next contenders were already prepared in their changing rooms, Chiacchera's lively voice once again echoed throughout the stadium.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The time has come to welcome another of the six great pillars who uphold our queen! Before being appointed as minister, she was the most celebrated doctor in the kingdom—renowned even beyond our borders as the White Phoenix of Salvation. Please welcome our Minister of Health…"
The right gate creaked open, and through it stepped a striking figure: an elf with snow-white hair that gleamed under the arena lights, her sharp orange eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. She wore a pristine white suit and gloves to match, her tie glowing the same vivid orange as her gaze.
"Heve Flamente!!!" Chiacchera cried.
The applause this time was more controlled, filled with admiration but lacking the feverish energy of Musashi's victory. Heve walked to the arena's center with composed steps, her cold aura commanding silence more than cheers.
When she was in place, Chiacchera turned toward the left gate. "And her opponent! A veteran Ranger, protector of our forests for more than a century…"
From the shadows of the gate emerged a different kind of elf. He wore a dark green cloak that concealed most of his body, leaving only his legs visible from the knees down. His short brown hair framed a face marked by quiet experience, and beneath his right eye, a thin scar stood as a silent testament to his long service. Though he still looked young, his eyes carried the weight of age and duty.
"Giuliano Proietto!!!" announced Chiacchera, his voice ringing with respect.
As Giuliano stepped into the arena and took his place opposite Heve, he remained silent. His silence, however, was not arrogance—it radiated respect.
Pinusal approached both fighters. "Before the match begins, do either of you wish to say something to the other?"
"No," Heve replied instantly, her voice cold and almost mechanical.
Giuliano, however, inclined his head. "Yes, I would like to address Minister Heve."
Pinusal gave a curt nod.
With deliberate care, Giuliano bowed deeply toward his opponent. "It is an honor beyond words to face you, Minister of Health Heve. This old elf will do his utmost not to bore you."
Heve gave no verbal reply—only a single nod.
Seconds of silence stretched between them, and when it was clear there was nothing more to be said, Pinusal raised his voice. "The match will begin on my signal. Are both combatants ready?"
Both elves nodded without hesitation.
"Very well then—ready… set… GO!" Pinusal cried, and the match began.
In the blink of an eye, Giuliano whipped out a firearm hidden beneath his cloak and fired, his aim locked perfectly on Heve's forehead. The bullet, far swifter than any ordinary round Lucas might have known in his own world, tore through the air and drilled straight into Heve's skull.
Gasps filled the arena. Lucas, along with much of the crowd, froze in disbelief at what they thought was the sudden death of the Minister of Health. But before panic could settle in, a soft green aura shimmered around Heve's body. With chilling composure, she raised two fingers, inserted them into the wound, and—swift, precise, almost surgical—plucked the bullet from her own head. The hole sealed itself instantly, flesh and bone knitting back together until no trace of the injury remained.
"Uh… it's not the first time I've seen you fight, Minister Heve, but your healing magic never ceases to amaze me. Even a demon would need minutes to recover from that kind of damage—especially since I'm sure that bullet pierced your brain," Giuliano admitted, eyeing her now flawless forehead.
"No, I am the one surprised, Mr. Giuliano. When I heard you were a veteran Ranger, I hardly expected you to rely on a gun. Many of the older Rangers still stubbornly refuse to use firearms, even when they are clearly superior to bows in certain situations. That kind of stubbornness is illogical. Instead, your decision to open the battle this way was entirely logical. You have earned my respect," Heve replied in her cold, measured, almost mechanical voice.
A faint smile curved Giuliano's lips. "Thank you. As for me, I believe a true Ranger must be ready to use anything to survive. The Yggdrasil Forest isn't merciful enough to allow fools to live, especially those who cling to pride instead of adaptability. And besides—bullets happen to suit one of my favorite spells quite well."
Even as he spoke, Giuliano murmured an incantation under his breath and leveled the pistol once more.
Heve's sharp gaze flickered. 'Those bullets… unnaturally fast. They must be the newly enchanted rounds infused with wind magic, able to surpass the speed of sound several times over. Dodging them completely would be… illogical.' She immediately dashed forward, closing the gap before Giuliano could fire again.
Giuliano retreated, springing backward, but his gun barked a second time. Heve snapped her right arm into the bullet's path. The round tore into her forearm, punching through flesh and embedding itself deep in the bone. Though it failed to shatter the limb entirely, the impact slowed her for a fraction of a second.
'It's illogical to assume Giuliano's assault ends here,' Heve calculated coldly, lowering her wounded arm but never breaking her charge.
Sure enough, Giuliano's lips curled as he invoked a new spell, his voice sharp as steel: "Explode."
The bullet lodged in Heve's arm detonated. Flesh and bone scattered, her forearm blown clean off and sent spinning across the arena floor.
'Perfect. This won't kill her, but the pain should buy me the time I need-' Giuliano thought, narrowing his eyes.
But to his shock, Heve didn't falter. Even maimed, she pressed forward without hesitation. That same eerie green light engulfed her body, and within an instant, her severed arm regrew in full, pristine as if nothing had ever been lost.
Before Giuliano could react, Heve's fist slammed into his face with brutal, inhuman force. His body hurtled backward, smashing into the arena's indestructible walls. The sound reverberated like a cannon blast.
Lucas watched wide-eyed. The sheer impact was on par with the power he had once wielded after drinking the White Potion—or the overwhelming strength his sister Aislyra displayed at her peak.
Giuliano's body crumpled, his consciousness fading instantly.
That single devastating punch had ended the fight. The veteran Ranger lay defeated, and victory belonged to the Minister of Health—Heve Flamente.
"Your plan was indeed logical and even elegant, but you made one critical miscalculation, Mr. Giuliano. It was illogical to assume that this level of pain would be enough to stop me, even for a single moment," Heve declared coldly, her body once again bathed in that glowing green aura.
Lucas sat frozen, struggling to process the fight he had just witnessed—or more precisely, the staggering level of healing Heve had displayed throughout it.
'Is she… immortal?!' he wondered, his mind racing. After all, she regenerated even faster than Ativ, a member of the demon race.
As if responding directly to his thoughts, his adoptive mother spoke with calm clarity. "Not entirely, though I understand why you would think so after watching her. What you are seeing comes from a general spell Heve casts upon herself whenever she must fight. It is called The Doctor Who Never Dies—a spell of her own invention. The spell guarantees that whenever its user suffers physical damage, the wound heals almost instantly and automatically. And by any damage, I mean any damage at all. Even if only a single hand of Heve's body remained, as long as the spell remained active, she would be restored in an instant. Unlike the regeneration typical of demons, which ceases if the head is destroyed, her spell has no such inherent weakness. However, she is not truly immortal, because unlike demons, she relies on mana. Every wound consumes a portion of her reserves, the amount scaling with the severity of the injury." Sequoria's voice was as beautiful as it was informative, carrying both authority and warmth.
"I see… so to defeat Heve, one would need to wound her continuously until her mana is completely drained," Lucas concluded, strangely reassured that such a force of nature stood as an ally among the queen's ministers.
"Yes, but it is anything but simple," Aislyra interjected. "Among the ministers, she ranks second in mana capacity—only Scuro and Lucrio tied for first place surpass her. On top of that, since her spell constantly heals her, she often ignores her body's natural limits. In combat, she can unleash strength equal to mine without ever needing to resort to physical enhancement spells."
Lucas exhaled slowly. "I understand… it seems she is not an opponent who can be easily defeated," he admitted, his mind already wandering to the troubling possibility that Heve would win the tournament and he would have to face her.
Aislyra smirked faintly. "Exactly. And what's more—Heve herself considers this spell we're praising so highly to be a failure."
"Really?! Why?" Lucas asked in disbelief.
"Because she cannot cast it on anyone else," Aislyra explained. "Her goal was to create a spell that could make another person functionally immortal until her mana ran dry. But in the end, the result was limited: the spell can only be used on herself. It requires such intimate knowledge of one's own body and mental state that only the caster can fulfill its conditions. For a long while after inventing it, Heve refused to use the spell at all. But my sister Alberia eventually convinced her otherwise—and thank goodness she did. Otherwise such brilliance would have gone to waste. Not only is it a marvel in combat, it is also one of the rarest of achievements: the creation of a new general type spell."
Meanwhile, inside the arena, Pinusal bent over Giuliano. Realizing the veteran Ranger would not be waking any time soon, he turned toward the audience, raised Heve's arm high, and declared, "The winner of this match is the Minister of Health—Heve Flamente!"
Thunderous applause erupted, filling the stadium with roars of admiration.
When the cheers finally subsided, Heve walked with calm precision to where her severed arm still lay. Without hesitation, she removed the glove—still perfectly white despite the ordeal—and slipped it back onto her newly restored right hand. Then she glanced down at her suit, now missing an entire sleeve, and remarked in her flat, robotic tone: "Remaining dressed in this manner is illogical. I require a new suit."
Without another word, she left the arena in brisk strides, as clinical and detached in her exit as she had been in battle.