Once the chaotic opening matches concluded, Yujin prepared for the second round.
He had become something of a mockery in the media for finishing Murchal Ingra in under a minute, but Yujin ignored the noise. If it were up to him, he would have broken both of Murchal‘s arms so he could never lift a pair of axes again.
"The next opponent... the Knight of the Iron Arm," Daniel muttered, scanning the official announcement on the Merchant Association‘s website.
Iron Knight and Iron Arm Knight. The titles sounded similar, but their skill levels were worlds apart.
Comparing Murchal, the "Devil" who trampled opponents with his twin axes, to the noble Campaign Knight known as Iron Arm was an insult to the latter.
His title was earned on the battlefield. There was a legend that when his weapons shattered, he had torn through enemy lines using nothing but his bare arms. The Knight Association had bestowed the title upon him, and he wore it with pride.
"If Murchal was a Sport Knight in essence, this man is different. He is a Campaign Knight through and through."
"…A knight who actually fights on the battlefield."
Yujin studied the photo on his tablet. The knight was posed to show off his massive forearms. It looked... interesting.
[Knight, shall I begin the analysis?]
PRTS offered its assistance, but Yujin had already decided to fight this duel blind. No information, no analysis.
[Are you serious?]
"Yes. Technically, he doesn't have any data on me either. I need to... verify something."
Officially, Yujin‘s only record was his match against the Iron Knight. Since he had ended it in a single exchange, there was no usable data for his opponents to glean.
Conversely, there was plenty of data on the Iron Arm Knight—tournament records, qualifiers, even battlefield reports. Yujin could find it all if he wanted.
But he wanted to test himself. If he faced a top-tier Kazimierz knight with zero prior knowledge, could he still secure a perfect victory?
Here, in the arena, variables were controlled. But in the real world, facing unknown enemies in life-or-death situations was common.
"Are you sure about this?" Daniel asked.
Yujin‘s skill was genuine. Even restricted to the Nearl style, he was on par with the best in Kazimierz. Daniel had seen too many arrogant warriors fall, so he asked out of concern, but Yujin nodded firmly.
Honestly, Yujin couldn't gauge his own level accurately because his sparring partners were anomalies like Buldrokkas'tee and Netsalem. Even Theresa and Kalaisha were monsters in their own right.
Since the Champions League wasn't just filled with brawlers like Iron Arm or Murchal, he had to be ready for anything.
"I have restrictions... but I don't plan on losing."
The Nearl Blade. The Nearl Arts.
This remained one of Yujin‘s biggest concerns. The only true inheritor of the style was the butler, and even he used an unorthodox whip-sword. Frankly speaking, the Nearl style didn't suit Yujin perfectly.
He had already developed his own swordsmanship—a style forged not by lineage or instruction, but by his own habits and experiences. Even if he adapted and improved upon the Nearl techniques, he couldn't unleash his full potential while restricted to them.
[Just like in the past. You are arrogant.]
"The way you talk sometimes... sigh, forget it. I‘m not engaging."
Whenever PRTS hinted at knowing him from "before," Yujin would try to dig deeper, only to be hit with the "Insufficient Authority" wall. It was blood-pressure-raisingly annoying.
[Is there a problem?]
He could almost see the smug "lol" face the AI would make if it had one. A vein popped on Yujin‘s forehead.
He gripped the tablet tight enough to crack the casing. He wanted to smash it, but that would just be a pointless tantrum. He took a deep breath and set the device down calmly.
"I‘m going out."
[Where are you going, Knight?]
"To cool my head."
Leaving PRTS on the desk, Yujin walked out. He pulled on a mask as he left the main gate; he had learned his lesson after being mobbed by reporters the last time he went out unprotected.
He walked to the park where he used to meet Kiril and Kisha. Sitting on his usual bench, he stared blankly at the sky. Next to him, an old man was feeding pigeons.
"Heh heh. You look like you have a lot on your mind."
The old man looked at Yujin. Though his face was covered by the mask, the old man spoke as if he could see right through it.
"…Is it that obvious, sir?"
"Staring blankly at the sky gives it away. Besides, aren't you a celebrity?"
The old man‘s eyes twinkled from beneath his deep fedora. Yujin touched his face, wondering if his disguise was that poor.
"Don't misunderstand. This old man just has sharp eyes."
A hunched back, leaning on a cane. Yet, Yujin felt a distinct sense of unease. It was an instinctual warning—a feeling of déjà vu.
Reflexively, Yujin scanned the old man. The hunched posture, the trembling hand on the cane... but something was wrong. It felt like an act.
His fingers were unnaturally thick. The muscles seemed alive beneath the skin, and dense calluses covered every inch of his hands.
"…It doesn't matter. I only wore this to avoid annoying crowds."
Yujin ripped off the hood and mask. His eyes never lied. Once his instincts flagged something, they were rarely wrong.
"You seem quite leisurely. Darkiron."
At the mention of the name, the old man chuckled softly.
"Young man, you have excellent eyes. It‘s a shame you didn't take up the bow."
"I can use a bow well enough. Just not as well as a sword."
This was no disguise. The old assassin had come to see him in his true form. When they first met, he had been clad in armor, hurling spears masquerading as arrows. The greatest archer in Kazimierz.
"What brings you here?"
"If I said I just bumped into you while taking a walk, you wouldn't believe me, would you?"
"No."
Coming to the exact park Yujin frequented, sitting on the exact bench next to him... it was too coincidental.
The old man straightened his hunched back and set down his cane. His body, suddenly revealing its true stature, looked impossibly robust for an elder.
"Tsk tsk. Even if I'm healthy, I'm still an old man. The younger generation has no respect for their elders."
"I don't think you need any."
Looking closely, the man‘s build rivaled Yujin‘s own. He had seemed smaller while sitting, but standing straight, his presence was overwhelming.
"Even if I told you to stop, you wouldn't give up, would you?" the old man asked.
Yujin‘s answer was predictable. "I started this, so I have to see the end. I have no intention of stopping halfway."
"I thought so. Bah, wasted trip."
The old man turned to leave. Yujin stood up.
"Is that it? You came all this way just to ask that?"
"When you live as long as I have, you see more than others. Others think differently, but I felt... pity."
Pity? From the man who tried to kill him?
"Getting old makes you sentimental. I thought it was a waste of your talent, so I came to say a word. But... you aren't the type to be swayed by words."
There was no further conversation. The old man melted into the crowd and vanished instantly. Yujin didn't chase him.
"…If we fought, would I have won?"
Yujin clenched and unclenched his fist. He didn't think he would lose, but the old man‘s eyes weren't those of a knight. They were the eyes of a hunter waiting by a trap.
Troublesome opponents. There were three of them, and if they decided to hunt him in earnest using their methods... Yujin wondered if he could truly survive the onslaught.
"Still... a long way to go."
But walking that path wouldn't take much longer.