The morning sun reflected its light onto the arena, family flags fluttering in the wind. The second day of the tournament began. The atmosphere was no less boisterous than yesterday, even more heated. Of the 64 names, only 32 remained. Each participant now received greater attention, for they were no longer just young nobles, but future heirs in the making.
I stood beside Leonel in the waiting room, clutching a small cloth to wipe his sweat before the match. "Young Master, your opponent today is Arven from the Drenhal family," I said cautiously.
Leonel glanced over briefly. "What do you know about him?"
"The Drenhal family isn't as large as Ignaros or Frostbane," I replied. "But they are renowned as tactical experts. Arven often wins not through brute strength, but through cunning and unpredictable techniques. His aura is at level three, slightly above yours."
Leonel gave a faint smile. "Good. That will be good practice."
I fell silent for a moment, then said, "I… I don't like it. An opponent like that could make the Young Master fall not because he's stronger, but because of traps." The word "I" slipped out unconsciously. I quickly bowed my head, feeling strange.
Leonel simply patted my shoulder. "It's fine, Rian. I'm glad you can speak more freely. From now on, don't hesitate."
I nodded slowly, my chest feeling warm.
When Leonel's turn was called, the arena filled with cheers again. Many were curious whether yesterday's victory was just a fluke or a true sign of resurgence.
On the other side, Arven Drenhal was waiting. His body was slender, his face full of a cunning smile. His sword was thin and long, more like a rapier than a knight's blade.
"Leonel Kaelthorn," he said loudly. "Truly fortunate to have come this far. Unfortunately, your luck stops here."
Leonel didn't answer, merely raising his sword calmly.
The bell rang.
Arven moved first, not with a powerful attack, but with small, confusing steps. His sword vibrated faintly, thrusting quickly towards vital points. Each thrust wasn't meant to kill, but to weaken gradually.
Leonel defended patiently, his blade moving in short, precise motions. But Arven didn't stop, his movements constantly changing. Once to the right, once to the left, then suddenly retreating, disrupting his opponent's rhythm.
The crowd cheered, some already convinced Leonel would struggle.
I clutched the cloth in my hand tightly. "Young Master…"
Leonel began retreating a few steps, his face still calm. His blue eyes observed, as if calculating something.
Suddenly, his sword parried to the left, then thrust forward with lightning speed. Arven was startled, hastily jumping back, nearly hit by the slash.
"Quite dangerous," he said with a laugh. "But you're still too slow."
He attacked again, this time faster, his rapier thrusts like a shower of needles. Leonel retreated again, blocking only when necessary.
From the nobles' stands, sounds of sneering could be heard.
"As I thought, yesterday's win was just luck."
"Arven is far more skilled. Kaelthorn doesn't stand a chance."
I wanted to shout in protest, but my voice was stuck. I could only watch Leonel, hoping.
Amidst the pressure, Leonel suddenly gave a faint smile.
In his heart, the system's voice emerged.
[Skill Observation Lv.1 → Lv.2]
[New Passive Triggered: Pattern Recognition]
His eyes caught the pattern in Arven's every step, in every rapier thrust. The rhythm that was once confusing now became clear.
He stepped forward. Not back, but forward.
Arven was shocked, not expecting Leonel to enter the rapier's range. He thrust quickly, but Leonel's sword was already there, deflecting it at a perfect angle.
Once, twice, three times. All thrusts failed to penetrate.
Leonel swung downward once, forcing Arven to jump sideways. At that moment, he stepped forward again, his sword aimed straight at his opponent's shoulder.
Arven managed to block, but his face turned pale.
"How… can you read my movements?"
Leonel didn't answer. His sword moved again, faster, sharper.
The fight shifted direction. This time, Leonel was the one pressing. Every move Arven made was read, every rapier thrust was diverted to a harmless angle.
The crowd began cheering again, this time not in mockery, but in admiration.
Arven tried hard, but sweat began soaking his face. "Impossible… you're not the weak Leonel everyone knows!"
Leonel looked at him coldly. "I am no longer weak."
With one powerful slash, he knocked the rapier from Arven's hand. The weapon flew far, landing on the arena floor. Leonel's sword rested against Arven's neck.
Cheers erupted, filling the air.
The overseer raised his hand. "Winner: Leonel Kaelthorn!"
I shrieked with joy, jumping to my feet. "Young Master! I knew you could do it!"
Leonel lowered his sword, then looked at me from the arena with a faint smile. The glint in his eyes seemed to say that this was just the beginning.
In the stands, some of the major nobles were now whispering seriously amongst themselves. The name Leonel Kaelthorn was no longer a subject of mockery. It was beginning to become a factor to be reckoned with.
And I knew, today the world recorded something again: that the failed heir of the Kaelthorn family… had truly risen.