The grasslands were where Benjamin and his compatriots stood. This land was theirs, and within a matter of hours they had dominated nearly every creature that drew breath beneath the open sky—and even those that lurked within the cold depths of the rivers. All beasts were prey before the young Vermillion and his compatriots.
"I think we've slain more than enough beasts," Adrian said as he pulled his spear from the mangled corpse of yet another fallen creature. "We've built a sufficient buffer. We can move against other groups without worrying about the repercussions."
Benjamin turned his gaze toward the Adrian with clear disgust, disappointment etched deeply across his face as he leaned against a nearby oak tree.
"The fact that you fear losing the crown is irritating," he said coldly. "Do you even know who our competitors are?"
Adrian turned to look at Benjamin.
"Yes, I—" he began, only to be cut short by the sharp shake of Benjamin's head.
"You do not," Benjamin interrupted. "So allow me to enlighten you. We face a team of marksmen, a group of lower-tier nobles, and another team not even worth mentioning. These are our competitors. Do they truly strike you as those capable of threatening us?"
Benjamin chuckled at the very thought. The idea of being defeated by a lesser was impossible, and watching one even attempt such a thing would be more entertaining than the victory itself. Of course, defeating a lesser might bring fleeting satisfaction, but it would never bring pride. It served no long-term ambition.
So why pursue it?
The answer was simple: hate.
The hatred Benjamin felt for lessers—especially Tristan Merigold—ran deep. Nothing would place a wider smile upon his face than defeating someone beneath him. Yet defeat alone was not enough. He wished to crush them entirely—mind, body, and soul—forcing them to sink even lower than where they already stood.
That was his desire.
"If we do not utterly demolish the competition," Benjamin declared, "then we have failed as a team."
Adrian said nothing, yet the expression on his face betrayed every unspoken thought. He did not like Benjamin; their alliance was born purely of necessity. To claim they had synergy would be a lie. They disagreed on nearly everything. Adrian was methodical and strategic, while Benjamin charged forward recklessly, without plan or restraint. In that regard, they could not have been more different.
"What?" Benjamin asked sharply. "You disagree with me?"
"Actually, yes," Adrian replied evenly. "We should not underestimate anyone—especially Miss Amelia's team."
Benjamin burst into laughter, an almost ungentlemanly sound. A tear even formed at the corner of one eye.
"What?" he scoffed. "So now you fear Miss Amelia's team?"
He wiped the tear away and composed himself, though the smug smile remained.
"So you underestimate them?" Adrian asked
"It's not that I underestimate them," Benjamin continued. "You simply overestimate them. Miss Amelia is the only true threat among them. As long as we isolate her, the rest will fall easily."
Adrian let out a short chuckle.
Benjamin raised an eyebrow. "Did I say something amusing?"
The chuckle faded, leaving behind a knowing smile.
"Why don't we stop lying to ourselves?" Adrian said calmly. "We both know Tristan and Garfield are not to be underestimated. You saw Tristan's potential—and his rapid growth—with your own eyes before the game even began."
The two continued to clash verbally, their opposing views grinding against one another. Yet a third presence remained silent, unwilling to involve herself.
Adelia slowly approached the flowing stream. She crouched down, cupped her hands, and splashed cool water across her face. Both boys turned toward her in surprise, their eyes drawn to the white-haired girl.
She wiped her face with a cloth, then seated herself upon a fallen log nearby. She did all of this without uttering a single word, never once looking in their direction.
"Adelia," Adrian asked cautiously, "do you have nothing to say?"
She glanced briefly at Adrian, then at Benjamin.
"No," she replied coolly. "I would rather let you two fight amongst yourselves like the apes you are."
Annoyed by her words, Benjamin snapped, "How dare you call me an—"
His sentence died instantly.
The sharp tip of a dagger hovered mere inches from his throat.
It was Adelia's—black-bladed dagger, a rare weapon even in Constella. Yet the blade itself was not what shocked them most.
It was her.
Neither Adrian nor Benjamin had seen her move. Had there been even the slightest motion, they might have read it—but there was nothing. It was as though she had moved without moving at all.
A bead of sweat rolled down Benjamin's cheek as he stared at the black blade so close to his skin.
"If you ever speak to me in such a condescending tone again," Adelia said calmly, "I will cut out your tongue. Understood?"
Benjamin remained silent. That silence irritated her. She pressed the dagger closer. Cold black steel kissed Benjamin's flesh.
"Understood," he replied stiffly.
Adelia withdrew the blade, returned it to her Celestial Forge, and resumed her seat upon the log.
The bickering ceased immediately, replaced by the quiet fear she had instilled.
"Was that House White's special ability?" Benjamin whispered.
"I believe it was," Adrian murmured. "A truly terrifying power."
...
Tristan sat upon the sand, balanced on the edge of sleep. His eyes fluttered, held open only by sheer determination as his head dipped and rose while he drifted in and out of consciousness.
"Brother." A voice called out. The voice was familiar—raspy, dry, deprived of water.
Tristan's heavy eyelids snapped open as he turned toward the bound Garfield.
"You're awake," Tristan said cautiously. "Are you… normal?"
"Normal?" Garfield asked weakly. "What do you mean? And why am I tied up?"
Tristan walked over to his compatriot, loosening the rope binding Garfield's legs while leaving the restraints around his torso intact.
"You're not going to untie the rest?" Garfield asked.
"Not yet," Tristan replied. "I still don't know if you're fully in your right mind. But with your legs free, you can go drink from the pool."
Tristan helped him to his feet, and Garfield staggered toward the water. He collapsed to his knees and drank deeply, greedily. Tristan sat beside him, suspicion etched across his face as uncertainty lingered. Yet another question weighed heavily upon his mind.
"What happened to your sister?" Tristan asked, his expression grave.
Garfield nearly choked, coughing violently as he fell onto his back. When the coughing subsided, he looked at Tristan in disbelief.
"How did you…?"
"Like I told you," Tristan said quietly, "you weren't yourself. So are you going to tell me—or not?"
Garfield fell silent. Sadness replaced his usual cheer, doubt clouding his eyes as he wrestled with memories of what he might have done.
Tristan sighed and stood.
"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it."
Garfield remained still for a moment longer, his thoughts settling. Finally, he turned toward Tristan.
"I'll tell you," he said.