"Ladies and gentlemen! I hope that thrilling first match served as a proper warm-up after our short break—because one of this tournament's most anticipated fighters is about to step into the arena!" Chiacchera announced with uncontainable energy and enthusiasm.
She stretched her arm dramatically toward the left side of the stadium. "He is a multiple-time champion of this tournament, the great rival of the renowned Aislyra, and one of the most admired and handsome figures in the entire kingdom… the captain of the Royal Knights—" Chiacchera's voice rose higher and higher with every word, her excitement filling the air.
From one of the left gates, a knight emerged—helmetless, clad in radiant white armor adorned with blue accents. Each step he took was calm and deliberate as he walked toward the center of the arena. The sunlight caught in his pure white hair, making it glimmer like fresh snow kissed by dawn. A simple sword hung at his right hip, sheathed in worn leather, while on his back rested a longer blade in a white scabbard trimmed with intricate golden designs. Etched upon it was the sacred emblem of the Royal Knights—a tree illuminated by divine light.
His face bore an expression of composed elegance, though for Lucas, that impression was immediately ruined when he noticed the man's eyes fixed squarely on Chiacchera's ample chest.
"The strongest knight—Fortore Biancqua!"
At once, an eruption of applause and shrill cheers filled the arena. The roar was so loud that the entire stadium seemed to tremble. The female spectators were especially deafening, waving banners that read "I love you, Fortore!" and "Fortore, you'll always be the strongest—and the most handsome!" Among the storm of voices, however, Lucas caught one particularly unsettling shout:
"FORTORE! GET ME PREGNANT!!!!"
He grimaced. Regardless, there was no denying the crowd's overwhelming excitement at the entrance of the kingdom's most celebrated knight.
"And facing this impenetrable wall of steel," Chiacchera continued, doing her best to maintain composure despite Fortore's unrelenting gaze, "is an adventurer from the city of Leore! He claims to be the second strongest adventurer in his guild and the rival of the mighty Blasto—nicknamed the Golden Red Storm! Please welcome…"
She gestured toward the right side of the arena. But the moment she did, the audience fell into a tense silence.
Everyone remembered what had happened in Aislyra's match—her opponent had forfeited before the fight even began. The spectators were desperate to see at least one of the three strongest figures in the kingdom battle that day. Aislyra had won by default, and "Alberia" would only fight in the tournament's final stage, which meant this match was their only remaining hope for action. But considering Fortore's reputation, there was a very real fear that his opponent might also flee before the match even began.
Seconds passed in uneasy quiet.
Then, from the right gate, a man finally emerged—his stride confident, his expression sharp. His long, flame-red hair rippled in the wind like a burning banner, and his light crimson armor gleamed brilliantly under the sunlight, trimmed with gold that matched the elegant glint in his eyes. His face held the same poised grace as Fortore's, though his demeanor was more detached, almost arrogant, and notably devoid of any lustful interest—his gaze never once strayed toward Chiacchera.
At his hip hung a slender rapier, its handle shaped like entwined rose petals.
"FERNINAND VON ROSE!!!" Chiacchera announced with a flourish.
He approached the center of the arena with unhurried elegance, his every movement smooth and deliberate.
"Aha, I knew it," said Larc from the stands, his body still covered in bandages, barely able to move. "So Ferni decided to show up after all. I guess he has the same goal as me…"
Next to him sat Emeralda, her eyes glued to Fortore's gleaming armor. Hearing Larc speak, she blinked and asked absentmindedly, "So, you know that guy who's about to lose to Fortore?"
Larc groaned in disbelief. "Don't you remember, Emeralda? Sure, he might be exaggerating when he calls himself the second strongest adventurer in the Leore Guild—but he's definitely one of the top. Like me, he's a gray-ranked adventurer—the second-highest rank you can achieve. And as much as it pains me to admit it, he's stronger than I am, even though I reached the gray rank faster!" He crossed his arms in irritation before adding with an exasperated sigh, "But seriously, did I really need to explain all this to you? I'm pretty sure you've met him more than once! He used to come to Master Blasto's house all the time, trying to challenge him!"
Emeralda rested her chin thoughtfully on one hand, studying her beloved Fortore's opponent with a curious gleam in her eyes. After a few moments of silent observation, she finally said, "Ah, right! He's that strange but rather handsome guy—though nowhere near as handsome as Fortore—who once tried to challenge Master Brasto to a duel. But when Master refused several times, he ended up challenging him to a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors instead."
Larc managed to lift one trembling hand to his face, his expression collapsing into pure embarrassment. "Yes… something like that happened," he admitted in a tone drenched with regret. "Damn it, why did I just admit I'm weaker than someone like that?"
Emeralda blinked, confused for a moment, before offering him a radiant smile. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder and said sweetly, "Don't worry, Larc. Neither you nor that odd adventurer are anywhere close to Fortore's level."
Her words were meant to be comforting, but they only made Larc groan louder as he buried his face deeper into his hand.
"What an honor it is to meet the famous Fortore—the mightiest knight of this great elven nation, and by many accounts, the strongest knight on the entire continent," said Ferdinand with refined confidence, his voice brimming with elegance and enthusiasm. "I admit that defeating you isn't my ultimate goal in this tournament, but having the chance to challenge someone of your caliber truly makes me happy!"
A few seconds of silence followed.
Ferdinand quickly realized he had been completely ignored. After giving him a single, disinterested glance when he entered, Fortore's eyes had once again drifted—locked shamelessly onto Chiacchera's curvaceous figure.
Still, Ferdinand pressed on, his composure unbroken. "I imagine you must be wondering who my real target in this tournament is, aren't you?" he asked, only to be met with continued silence.
He exhaled softly and continued regardless, clearly used to being overlooked. "It's simple. You've surely heard of Brasto—the adventurer who, until recently, was considered the strongest in all of Leore. He's my rival. Unfortunately, I've never managed to defeat him in combat. After my hundredth defeat, he stopped accepting my challenges altogether! That's why I began facing him in all sorts of other competitions—games of strategy, contests of speed, even Rock, Paper, Scissors! Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost—but it never felt like a true victory. I never felt that I'd truly surpassed Brasto."
He paused dramatically, raising a gloved hand as if unveiling a grand revelation.
"But then… a few months ago, a new door opened. A young man named Enea appeared in the city of Leore."
The mere mention of that name made Fortore finally shift his gaze toward Ferdinand—if only for a brief moment—before returning to his usual fixation on Chiacchera's chest.
Ferdinand continued, his voice swelling with theatrical passion. "And in just a few short months, that boy accomplished what I had failed to do in nearly a lifetime—he surpassed Brasto! Most in my position would have seen this as a humiliation, but I saw it as opportunity! If Brasto refuses to face me, then I'll challenge the one who surpassed him. If I can defeat the man who bested Brasto, then in essence—I'll have surpassed Brasto myself! Unfortunately, before I could challenge him, Enea had already left the city with the new Hero's Party. But when I learned that the great Hero Caesar and his companions would be participating in this very tournament, I came here at once!"
"I apologize for interrupting, Mr. Ferdinand," said Pinusal courteously, cutting through his speech. "But I believe it's time to begin the match."
"Ah, of course! Forgive me, Mr. Pinusal—I got a little carried away," Ferdinand replied with a charming smile and a graceful bow. "I'm always ready."
Pinusal nodded approvingly before turning toward Fortore. "Sir Fortore, do you have anything you'd like to say to your opponent before we begin?"
But the elven knight didn't respond. He hadn't heard a single word. His attention was still entirely consumed by Chiacchera's body.
"That idiot…" muttered Aislyra, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation.
Pinusal's expression suddenly darkened, and when he spoke, his voice boomed across the entire stadium like a thunderclap.
"Kid, answer my question now! Otherwise, tonight, when the day ends, I'll make sure you go through that special training you enjoy so much…"
That single sentence was enough to snap Fortore out of his trance. The color drained from his face, and cold sweat instantly formed on his forehead.
"But since you're such a big boy now," Pinusal continued, his tone deceptively pleasant, "I think ten times the usual routine should do. So, answer my question immediately. I'm quite sure you heard it."
A terrifyingly gentle smile spread across the instructor's face.
At once, Fortore snapped to attention, spine straight as a lance. "NO, SIR! I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO MY OPPONENT!" he shouted, his voice rigid and overflowing with panic.
"Good." Pinusal nodded curtly, lowering his hand. "Then this match will begin at my signal."
He raised his arm and declared, "Ready…"
At that moment, Fortore's gaze shifted toward Ferdinand—though it was painfully clear that his eyes still weren't truly focused on him.
Ferdinand ignored the insult. His resolve was unwavering—his mind filled only with one name. Enea. He would defeat that man someday, and nothing else mattered.
"GO!" bellowed Pinusal, dropping his hand.
The battle lasted barely a heartbeat.
In fact, it was so brief that it seemed even shorter than Buio's earlier match. Only the time it took Ferdinand to realize he had been defeated made the two bouts appear equal in duration.
When the dust settled, Ferdinand lay on the ground, writhing in agony. The chest plate of his armor had melted, exposing an ugly burn seared across his bare skin.
Almost no one in the stands had been able to see what had happened. Only a few—Aislyra, Pinusal, Cesare, Lucas, and Emeralda—had managed to follow Fortore's movements. Yet even among the crowd, no one seemed surprised. This was far from the first time they had witnessed the strongest knight dispatch his opponent in a single, overwhelming strike.
"Damn it, Fo!" Aislyra snapped, folding her arms. "You finally get an opponent who's actually willing to fight—and not a bad one at that—and you waste the opportunity like this! If I'd been the one facing him, it would've been a real show, not this boring one-hit match."
Despite his reservations about Fortore's personality, Lucas couldn't deny being deeply impressed.
Thanks to his sharpened perception—further enhanced by his own physical enhancement—he had managed to catch a glimpse of Fortore's incredible speed. In less than a second, the elf had cast a spell—likely the same one he had tried to use during his practice duel with Aislyra a few days earlier—and, as if wielding an invisible blade, had slashed his opponent's chest and the armor melted away on contact.
The title Strongest Knight suddenly didn't seem exaggerated at all.
Pinusal turned toward Ferdinand, waiting a moment to see if the adventurer could stand. But the combination of the burn's pain and the molten metal clinging to his skin was too much to endure. Seeing this, Pinusal stepped forward, grasped Fortore's arm, and raised it high.
"The winner of this match," he announced to the roaring stadium, "is Fortore Biancqua!"