Sven grabbed his nose.
It hurt, and yet, he felt exhilarated.
Tears streamed down his face from the pain in his nose, but the sensation lingering in his hand told him that his sword had cut somewhere on Oliver's body.
Breathing through his mouth due to the nosebleed, Sven barely managed to raise himself.
"Huff, huff..."
Blood was flowing down Oliver's thigh.
"You, you bastard..."
A murderous look filled Oliver's eyes. He looked like he wanted to lunge at Sven right then and there, but the wound made it impossible to walk properly—he limped heavily.
Sven grinned.
The area beneath his nose was soaked in blood, revealing teeth stained bright red.
"Heh heh, hehehehehe..."
His body had already reached its limit. The pain from his broken nose was excruciating. And yet, as the adrenaline surged, he instead entered a strange state of exhilaration.
"I, Sven Gane. Even if I die, I'm not dying alone."
Watching Sven grinning with a bloodied face, the audience was swept up in a strange emotion.
In some ways, he looked ridiculous, in others, terrifying, and somehow, also awe-inspiring.
"Berserker..."
Someone murmured that word.
And they were right. Sven, baring his bloodstained teeth and swinging his sword at Oliver, looked like a mad warrior from legend.
"Sven!"
Citizens from Liberda began chanting Sven's name.
At first, it echoed only around him, but soon, the entire crowd surrounding the arena was calling out his name.
"Berserker Sven! Berserker Sven! Berserker Sven!"
Sven burst into laughter as he looked at Oliver's face.
When would a moment like this come again?
In the roar of the world shouting his name, he charged toward Oliver Elgast, the Empire's proud knight.
The enemy was stronger.
He admitted that fact.
But something beyond mere skill was pushing his back.
Fortune.
And it was aligning for him.
Oliver no longer moved with the same leisure as before. With a face like a demon, he slashed his sword at Sven.
The attacks rained in from all directions like a violent storm. And yet, every trajectory appeared oddly clear.
In his hyper-accelerated thoughts, Sven suddenly had another idea.
Yuri Briol.
What if the one standing on this stage had been the third prince of Briol?
No, that was a foolish thought.
Not even worth considering.
Sven laughed loudly and counterattacked.
Their swords clashed. A sharp sound rang out, and the two broken blades spun high in the air before crashing back down onto the stage.
Both their weapons had shattered.
Now, only their fists remained.
Without either making the first move, they both swung.
Oliver was faster. Sven was repeatedly struck, driven backward.
"Die, you damn bastard!"
Oliver's fist struck Sven in the stomach.
"Guh!"
Sven clutched his belly, blood bubbling up from his mouth.
Still holding his stance, Sven grinned at Oliver.
"Hey. You wouldn't even hold a candle to that third prince punk."
"What did you say?"
"The guy I can't even beat properly..."
With that, Sven collapsed to the floor.
Oliver had won.
The referee raised both hands and declared the victor.
[Victory goes to Oliver!]
The audience erupted in applause and cheers.
At that moment, Oliver fell to his knees.
"Ugh..."
At the final moment of their brawl, Sven had kicked Oliver's thigh.
It had struck the already slashed area, causing the wound to deteriorate further.
Oliver couldn't stand and remained frozen in place.
The referee approached.
"Are you all right?"
"I can't walk."
"I'll bring a stretcher."
"Damn it..."
In the end, both the winner and the loser were carried off the field on stretchers—a rare spectacle.
Oliver had won, but the crowd was chanting Sven's name instead.
***
An unexpected turn occurred.
Oliver had defeated Sven, but due to the injury he sustained, he was no longer able to continue in the tournament.
The remaining three in the semifinals were Laurent, Hasan, and Froin.
Laurent, who had been scheduled to face Oliver, defeated the imperial knight who replaced him.
Froin gave a valiant effort against Hasan, but was ultimately defeated in a close final exchange.
And then, two remained.
Laurent and Hasan.
Thus, they stood on the brink of their final battle, wagering their honor in a tournament where the Emperor's medal was at stake.
"This is the VIP section, Your Highness."
"Right."
And so, Yuri came to the stadium to watch the finals.
With Laurent making it to the finals, he couldn't not come to support him.
"But, Your Highness, why are you covered in so many wounds?"
"I met a new teacher and trained."
"Again? You sure have a lot of teachers."
"I'm not officially a disciple, but I consider them a teacher."
"Please take it easy for once."
The teacher Yuri was referring to was none other than Inariel. With Ernando's oddly resigned permission, Yuri had been training diligently with Inariel at his workshop.
But Simon, unaware of this, took Yuri's words as just a lighthearted joke.
"Anyway, Sir Laurent has made it to the finals."
"Laurent versus Hasan, huh..."
"Who do you think will win?"
"Are you seriously asking?"
"Of course it's going to be Sir Laurent!"
Yuri crossed his arms and looked down at the stage.
The referee stepped onto the stage, holding an artifact and drawing everyone's attention.
[We've finally reached the final stage of the tournament. It's been a long journey. Many knights have tasted both the joy of victory and the bitterness of defeat on this stage. We have witnessed, with our own eyes, the blood and sweat they've shed.]
Unlike before, the referee took his time.
After building up the atmosphere for a while, he pointed to one side of the stage.
[Here he comes. Briol's genius knight, Laurent Flandre!]
Laurent walked out with his sword in hand. A faint smile played on his lips. He showed no signs of tension.
[Facing him is the pride of the Empire, the rising star who appeared out of nowhere and defeated every strong opponent to reach the finals—Hasan!]
From the other side, Hasan appeared. As he walked toward the stage, he briefly stopped and looked over the audience.
His gaze locked on Yuri, who was seated in the front row.
With a firm expression, Hasan stared at Yuri for a moment before continuing up onto the stage.
Yuri muttered to himself.
"What're you staring at?"
Before the final began, the referee pointed to the VIP section and shouted.
[Before the finals commence, His Majesty the Emperor has graced us with his presence to honor this occasion. All loyal subjects, please rise and pay your respects.]
At the highest seat overlooking the stage and the stands, the Emperor and his family were seated. Ekaterina stood at his side.
Everyone except the royal family rose to their feet and gave their respects.
After a brief moment, the referee raised his voice once more.
[Now, it is time to decide who is the strongest. Briol's genius knight, Laurent, and the Empire's rising star, Hasan, are preparing for a battle where their fates are on the line.]
The two stood calmly, staring at each other.
[Now then, let the duel...]
The referee glanced briefly toward the VIP section.
Then, a knight standing beside the Emperor blew a horn.
[It begins!]
The referee stepped back.
At the same time, the two swords collided.
A sharp sound rang out once, then began to repeat.
Like a woodpecker pecking a tree, the two swords continuously struck at each other.
Their speed was so fast that, after clashing and vanishing at one end of the stage, their figures would suddenly reappear at the opposite end.
There was no sign of probing the opponent, nor exchanging words.
As if defeating the opponent swiftly was their only purpose.
The unrelenting exchange of blows drew constant gasps from the audience. Even at a glance, the level was clearly very high.
The crowd began shouting the names of the knights they supported.
"Win, Laurent!"
"Hasan! Defend the Empire's pride!"
Yuri spoke.
"Jared, Simon, Guinness."
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Support him."
As soon as he finished speaking, the three stood and began cheering for Laurent.
The supporters of Laurent and Hasan were roughly equal in number.
Not only the people of Briol, but also those from Liberda, Bursen, and the Holy Kingdom, were all united in cheering for Laurent. Even among the Empire's citizens, some shouted Laurent's name rather than Hasan's. Sometimes, appearance mattered more than nationality.
Amidst the uproar, Yuri leaned back in his seat and closely observed the fight between the two.
Though it looked like they were clashing recklessly, in truth, both were setting traps.
"As expected..."
Laurent was subtly repeating a specific motion, trying to deceive Hasan into thinking it was a habit. In contrast, Hasan held his sword short to mislead Laurent's sense of distance.
They were both laying groundwork for a single opportunity.
Yuri watched the fight with interest, wondering who would be the first to spring their trap.
"There you are."
Just then, a voice reached him. Turning around, he saw Jose making his way across the stands to sit beside him.
"May I sit here?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
Simon, Guinness, and Jared scooted closer together to make room.
Jose's build was quite large, making it a tight fit, but they managed to sit together.
"Your Highness, who do you think will win?"
Jared, sitting next to him, answered instead.
"Of course it'll be Sir Laurent. Come, let's cheer for Sir Laurent!"
He immediately began shouting Laurent's name.
But Jose didn't seem to agree.
"Well, aside from cheering for our ally, I mean objectively, based on their actual strength."
"Sounds like you think Laurent will lose."
"Personally, I lean that way."
Jose leaned forward.
Laurent and Hasan's figures were clashing near the side of the stage closest to where Yuri and Jose were seated.
Hasan thrust his sword toward Laurent's side, and Laurent calmly blocked it before counterattacking. Hasan rolled away along the ground to dodge, then widened the distance.
The two began circling each other on stage, watching carefully.
It was the first stalemate since the duel began.
Neither made the first move.
"Hasan is hiding his trump card. He's got two traps. Meanwhile, Sir Laurent has only one."
"Besides holding his sword short, what's the other?"
"So you noticed."
Jose grinned.
"The other is a secret. Wouldn't be fun if I spoiled it."
"How do you know?"
"Forgive me, but I sparred with him a bit."
"With Hasan?"
"Yes. A few days ago, he came asking if I'd take a look at his technique. On the condition I keep it secret."
"And the result?"
"I couldn't block it. If I had known beforehand, maybe. But without knowing, I couldn't react."
Yuri looked at Jose.
For a knight of his caliber to fail to block Hasan's technique meant Laurent could fall to it too.
"What kind of technique is it?"
Yuri also knew techniques that could only be countered if you were aware of them—like the "Feigned Injury Trick" he once taught Simon.
Yuri glanced at Simon.
"Could it be that move?"
"Sorry?"
"My feigned injury..."
"No way."
Yuri tilted his head and looked back at the stage—just in time.
Laurent made the first move.
The specific action he had been repeating was opening his hand, then lightly wrapping it around the sword's hilt. After doing so, he would always raise the sword and strike down with force.
This time too, Laurent opened his hand, then gripped the hilt.
Hasan instinctively tensed and prepared to defend.
But it was a trap.
Laurent feinted as if raising his sword, then twisted and slashed at Hasan's lower body instead.
"Damn..."
Yuri let out a low groan.
Laurent's sword cut cleanly into Hasan's leg, which had momentarily been left unguarded.
But Hasan quickly retreated and barely avoided the attack. Though his thigh was scratched, it wasn't a deep wound.
The problem came next.
"Laurent!"
Hasan swung his sword horizontally, almost mechanically, in counterattack.
Given the gap created by dodging Laurent's strike, the sword shouldn't have reached him.
And yet—
Suddenly, Hasan's sword extended.
He grabbed the end of the hilt and thrust the blade out farther.
Laurent, retreating with ease, failed to react to the suddenly elongated blade, and was struck in the chest.
Blood sprayed.
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