Chapter 248: The Match Begins
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Flame Edge Arena! I'm your host for today's tournament, the one and only Greatmouth Mob! Please enter in an orderly fashion—no pushing now! The show's about to begin!"
With the booming voice of a rather peculiarly dressed announcer echoing across the stadium, the long-awaited knight tournament was finally about to commence.
Steven's gaze settled on the so-called Greatmouth Mob.
There was something strangely familiar about the man's getup—almost reminiscent of the winged hussars he'd read about back in the West.
At the very least, that bizarre armor on his back shared some visual similarities.
Then again, this was Kazimierz.
People wearing outlandish armor weren't even worth raising an eyebrow at. If anything, it just meant they had… unique taste.
"Twenty teams, twenty knights—today's match is a one-shot, all-or-nothing melee! Who will rise above the chaos and earn a place among the top eighteen? And who will fall, cast aside by fate? That, dear audience, is for today to decide!"
"But wait, there's more! You too can take part in the action by voting for your favorite knight! And if your chosen hero wins, perhaps a bit of that glory will rub off on you as well!"
And just like that, the host had already launched into promoting the betting pools.
Steven couldn't help but smirk.
Typical merchant tactics—focus on the money, not the match.
He doubted any of them actually cared who won or lost, just so long as the coins kept flowing.
As for whether the match was rigged? Please. There was no way something like this wasn't manipulated behind the scenes.
Still, he put on the mask of a good-natured spectator, calm and composed. He even threw in a bet—two thousand Zofia on her victory.
Not that he expected much return.
She was already a top favorite, after all, and the odds reflected that.
At best, it was just a way to make things a little more fun.
"And now—plunder, chaos, escape, pursuit! Every participating knight will unleash their true fighting spirit in this, the third-largest artificial arena in Kazimierz! Prepare yourselves for a battle of glory, blood, and spectacle!"
Mob was still busy whipping the crowd into a frenzy, but Steven could only chuckle at the absurdity.
"Before we get started," Mob continued, "I'd like to explain the rules of this battle royale to those of you joining us live for the very first time! Every clean hit landed on an opponent will earn the attacker points—your stepping stones to victory!"
"But wait! Today's special match comes with a twist! I know what you really want to see—fallen heroes, crumbling champions, and the crash of giants! So we're introducing a brand new point deduction system! That's right! Any successful attack will now steal points directly from the target!"
The moment that rule was announced, the entire arena seemed to pause. Even the knights down on the field stopped moving for a second.
None of them had been told about this beforehand.
Which meant the stakes had just skyrocketed.
Not only would they have to fight harder to earn points, but now they had to constantly watch their backs—or risk losing it all in an instant.
What was supposed to be a match of power and strategy had suddenly turned into a cutthroat battlefield.
"You thought you could drink wine and soak in the tub and still make it to the Championship Series? Then get ready to risk all your hard-earned points in today's bloodbath!"
Mob clearly didn't care how the knights felt. His job was to deliver the message from the organizers—and make it sound epic while he was at it.
"Sponsored by Raythean Industries, our state-of-the-art drones will broadcast every glorious moment of the match! And with eight certified referees from the Knights' Association watching, no dirty trick will go unnoticed!"
The crowd roared with excitement.
"How many rising stars will be born today? And how many knights will fall from grace?"
"Let us bear witness together!"
Say what you will about the rest, but at the very least, Steven had to admit: this Greatmouth Mob guy really knew how to hype up a crowd.
Even someone like him—an outsider who barely understood the ins and outs of the sport—couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation after hearing that passionate announcement.
But… was this really fair?
If those so-called "certified referees" were really as reliable as Mob claimed, then Centaurea wouldn't have whispered to him about what went on behind the scenes.
The truth was obvious—this tournament wasn't just a battle between knights. It was a game rigged by the powers above.
The officials, the referees, even the announcer… they were all part of the same system.
And if they wanted to cheat—who would even know?
What could a regular person do against that?
"Now then—let the knights enter the arena!"
As Steven continued grumbling in his head, the moment he had long been waiting for finally arrived. With a thunderous roar from Greatmouth Mob, the grand tournament officially began.
Dozens of knights, all clad in varying styles of gleaming armor, stepped forward from the waiting area and marched into the vast arena. Once inside, they moved with surprising discipline, forming a wide circle in the center. Each one quickly sized up their surroundings, identifying potential threats, rivals, and—most importantly—targets.
This was a free-for-all match, yes—but that didn't mean going in blindly. Picking your first opponent carefully, knowing who to avoid... That was how you survived.
Twenty knights. Twenty suits of beautifully crafted armor.
Just watching them stand there, facing one another with weapons at the ready, was enough to stir the blood.
Especially for someone like Steven—a diehard fan of heavy armor aesthetics.
Now he understood why Kazimierz citizens were so obsessed with knight tournaments.
Set aside the commercial exploitation for a second, and what remained… was something undeniably exciting.
The spectacle had real weight. Real stakes. Real people clashing with skill, grit, and power.
And now, that battle was about to begin.
DONG—!
A deep gong rang out.
In that instant, the carefully held standoff shattered like glass.
The arena erupted into chaos. Metal clashed against metal in a furious, deafening storm. Sparks flew as weapons struck. Flashes of Oripathy-powered arts lit the battlefield, adding bursts of magical brilliance to the raw, brutal melee.
Zofia, one of the top contenders in today's match, didn't waste a single moment.
Even in the chaos, she had already chosen her prey.
Despite the disorder of a free-for-all match, the chaos actually worked to her advantage. As a highly mobile duelist who thrived on hit-and-run tactics, this was her kind of battlefield.
She weaved between two knights who were locked in a fierce struggle, her whip-blade slicing through the air with a piercing shriek. It was over in a flash—two clean strikes, two points instantly added to her tally.
Swift. Efficient. Clean.
From here on out, her goal was simple: stay mobile, avoid being cornered, and rack up as many points as possible before the dust settled.
On paper, it was hardly an impossible task for her.
After all, there weren't many real threats in this match.
Even the Brassrust Knight—the other crowd favorite—was more of a direct brawler. The type who'd charge headfirst into an opponent.
The chances of him targeting someone as agile and elusive as her? Slim at best.
And besides, this wasn't a winner-takes-all kind of match.
As long as she scored enough points, she wouldn't need to be the last one standing—multiple knights could qualify.
That was why, when the new "point-stealing" rule was announced, she didn't show much of a reaction. If anything, it tilted the odds in her favor.
So long as she played smart, there was little reason to worry.
As long as nothing unexpected happened... victory was already in her grasp.
Even the Brassrust Knight—someone widely considered a favorite—had never had any real conflict with her before.
Logically speaking, if he truly intended to qualify, it would make far more sense for him to target easier opponents rather than wasting energy on someone as tricky as her.
Yet for some reason, Zofia couldn't shake off an unsettling feeling rising in her chest.
It was faint at first—more of an instinct than a thought. A vague sense of dread. As if something had already gone terribly wrong and her body just hadn't caught up to it yet.
She didn't understand why.
But then, as she landed another clean strike and swiftly dodged a sneak attack from behind, the truth began to dawn on her.
That wrongness—she finally realized where it was coming from.
The Brassrust Knight hadn't moved. Not once.
From the beginning of the match to now, the man she had been watching most carefully hadn't thrown a single attack.
And it wasn't just him.
Several other knights, ones who should've been scrambling to rack up points in the chaos, didn't seem all that interested in fighting either.
Instead, they were gradually—and deliberately—closing in on her from different directions.
Bit by bit, her escape routes were disappearing.
This wasn't normal.
The rules of this match made no mention of alliances, and none of these knights had looked like they knew each other beforehand.
So why…? Why were they suddenly ganging up on her?
The arena was far too chaotic for her to call out for clarification. No referee would hear her over the clash of steel and the roar of the crowd.
And then—it happened.
The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps rang out through the cacophony.
From across the battlefield, a figure finally began to move.
The knight known as the Brassrust Knight—real name: Olmer Ingra—strode forward, axe in hand, his movements unhurried and heavy.
Zofia knew that name.
She knew he was the youngest son of one of Kazimierz's old knight families—an aristocrat with a tarnished reputation.
And she knew something else.
Olmer had been disqualified multiple times for excessive violence during matches.
Each time, he'd been bailed out by the power and money of his family.
If she could help it, Zofia had absolutely no desire to fight him. But of course, things had already moved far beyond what she could control.
"Seriously, those old fools at home just love to nag," Olmer muttered, almost lazily. His voice was low, meant only for her ears. "As if I didn't know you were my target from the start. Why bother reminding me?"
His lips curled into a sick grin as he raised his rust-stained axe.
"Come on, princess. Let me see how that pretty little face looks when it's twisted in agony. I bet it's beautiful."
Zofia didn't respond.
She didn't have time to.
Olmer lunged forward, his massive weapon cleaving the air with terrifying weight. There was no way she could block it head-on. Instead, she instinctively rolled back—but that's when she saw it.
Another knight was already waiting in the space she'd tried to escape into.
A setup.
And she had walked right into it.
Without a moment's hesitation, the waiting knight brought his sword down across her chest. It scraped against her ornate armor, leaving a clear mark. The blow wasn't fatal, but it hit hard enough to knock the air from her lungs—and worse, it pushed her straight back into Olmer's attack path.
Clenching her teeth, Zofia barely twisted her body in time, the axe grazing past her shoulder instead of cleaving her down the middle.
She landed on her feet, breath ragged, mind spinning.
But now, there was no doubt.
She was being hunted.
Somewhere along the way, she had been marked—targeted—by forces she didn't understand. And whoever they were… they clearly had no intention of letting her win.
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