"He... he became the champion?!"
The crowd stood in absolute silence, their faces etched with disbelief. In the center of the wreckage, the boy maintained his winning stance. Giyo had proven himself to be not only the strongest in that arena but also the most determined to win, no matter the cost.
Paola couldn't hide her wide, excited smile, while Hiro looked calm, relieved that the worst hadn't happened during that final collision. All the captains were stunned by the feat, an achievement that even caught the King off guard.
"He became the champion...?" the King thought, the weight of the moment sinking in.
The audience finally reacted. Shouts of glory began to echo, chanting the boy's name and replacing the years of contempt he had endured with pure admiration.
"W-what is this?" Giyo asked, his voice weak and trembling. "Are they calling my name? But... why? All I did was... win this... tour-nament..."
Preventing him from collapsing, Hiro appeared in front of him, catching his bruised and shaking body.
"Good job, kid... You finally made it as far as you promised."
"Hi-ro?" Giyo looked up, his vision slowly fading from exhaustion.
"Don't push yourself anymore. I'll make sure your wounds are personally tended to."
"Th-thank you..." With that, Giyo finally allowed himself to black out.
Watching from the King's side, Neru appeared unmoved, but beneath his helm, a cold gaze of suspicion was hidden.
"That body, that strength... he can't be one of them," Neru thought, his eyes fixed on the fallen champion.
Considerable time passed after the tournament. While Giyo slowly recovered from his injuries, the kingdom witnessed drastic changes in its hierarchy. Officially, Arthur declared Forge Vermilion as the Captain of the 1st Division, while Neru took command of the 4th Division. However, not everyone was celebrating.
"I cannot believe you kept him as champion! DON'T YOU SEE?! There is so much wrong with that boy and what he carries!"
The raised voice and aggressive tone echoed through the royal hall. Greiton could no longer mask his true face beneath his religious robes.
"How... how dare you speak to your King like that?" Arthur raged, his voice thundering with authority.
"And how do you dare go against the dogmas of the Church?" Greiton shot back, his hands trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer audacity of confronting the crown. "What I am saying is that this boy should not receive such glory. Did you hear about his techniques? 'Demonic Technique'... using that name as if it were a simple abbreviation for a skill is dangerous folly in this corrupted world!"
"Indeed, that troubled me as well," Arthur admitted, softening his tone but maintaining a firm stance. "However, there is no proof that Giyo is actually Demonified... let alone a Demon."
Drawing something from beneath his robes, Greiton tossed an old journal onto the floor. The sound of leather hitting marble echoed through the silent hall.
"Do you recognize this journal, Your Majesty? It is the personal record of the former Captain of the 1st Division. As soon as my followers were sent to investigate what remained of the manor, they found this."
"But... what is this?" Arthur leaned forward, his expression shifting from sternness to genuine concern. "He... Jack would never hide something like this from me."
"That's what we all thought." Greiton knelt to flip through the yellowed pages. "This journal is written in an ancient Norse tongue. It tells a story much deeper than we ever imagined. Countries we've never seen, unique beasts far beyond our comprehension... A magical world that exists beyond our known borders."
Greiton stopped at a specific page, his gaze growing even darker.
"This is only the first volume. It details part of Jack's journey until he reached this kingdom and how he struggled to act like a... 'simple human.'"
"What do you mean, 'simple human'?" Arthur rose from his throne, incredulous.
"Resistance beyond the norm, strikes capable of toppling Dragonoids with bare hands... Jack Sun was indeed the strongest among all generations of Captains. But this... this clarifies where that strength came from." Greiton snapped the book shut and tucked it back under his cloak.
"You think, then, that his son..."
"No... not just the son, but the sons," Greiton corrected, walking to the throne room window. He looked out at the distant, ruined arena. "That collision between Law and Giyo was something we haven't seen in decades of tournaments. No student should be capable of that level of adaptation or power."
Greiton turned, staring fixedly at the King.
"The Sun Clan... that name defines something that goes far beyond what we know as humanity."
Arthur watched as Greiton made a slow, dark gesture, sliding a finger across his throat—a clear insinuation of a blade.
"I cannot allow such a threat to grow. Tell your followers to keep their eyes open," the King ordered. "If anything suspicious happens... INTERVENE!"
"As you wish, my lord," Greiton knelt in a deep bow, hiding his smirk beneath his robes.
"I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying... Is it such an important matter by any chance?"
The strange voice emerged from the shadows like a crack of thunder. Both the King and the Pope jolted, standing up in shock.
"WHO IS THERE?!" Arthur shouted, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "SHOW YOURSELF, AND PERHAPS I WILL CONSIDER PARDONING YOU!"
Stepping out of the darkness, a knight's armor gleamed under the dim torchlight.
"How dare you, you...!"
Arthur stopped Greiton from finishing, silencing the Pope with an authoritative wave. He narrowed his eyes at the figure before him.
"Do you realize the trouble you've gotten yourself into by overhearing confidential information?" Arthur said, his voice heavy with arrogant leadership.
"King Arthur... we have shared information much more confidential than this," Neru said, the sound of his boots echoing against the marble. "It surprises me that you are talking about that boy as if he were the biggest problem on our hands."
Neru then pointed directly at the Pope, his voice rising with a contained fury that made Greiton take a step back.
"What truly interested me in your conversation was something else... Tell me: who was Jack Sun?"
"It surprises me that a knight from another kingdom wouldn't know who he was..." Arthur stepped away from his throne, standing beside Greiton. "Jack Sun was the greatest captain we've had in ages. The strongest and the most skilled." Arthur turned to gaze at the landscape. "Unfortunately, he died during our attempt to sail the sea..."
"To the sea? Impressive that you even tried, despite the prohibition... but I have a brief question." Neru gripped the hilt of the sword behind his waist. "What do you intend to do with the boy?"
"Y-you dare threaten us?!" Greiton stammered, terrified by the knight's reaction.
"We will simply watch him. We won't do anything beyond that," Arthur replied coldly, turning to look at Neru with a stern gaze.
"If you ever dare to kill him... I will hunt every last one of you down myself," Neru threatened, finally releasing his sword and walking toward the exit.
"Your interest in the boy is strange. I thought only witches were of interest to you," Arthur noted.
"I have my suspicions. It's something I cannot share with you... just leave the role of watcher to me."
Meanwhile, in another kingdom...
"KAAA RA RA RA RA!" A strange, guttural laugh echoed through the stone hall. "So you finally dared to defy your father? You are a very bold girl, Milica."
In a completely different realm, surrounded by frozen mountains and an eternal winter, lived beings of overwhelming presence. Their horns were long, sharp, and had a slight, characteristic ripple... They were the Dragonoids.
"YOU'VE GONE MAD, FATHER!" Milica shouted, her voice thick with distress. "How can you simply decide to leave our kingdom just to search for an opponent worthy of killing you?!"
The King of the Dragonoids ignored the plea, downing a massive gulp of mead. His size was extraordinary, easily reaching three meters in height—a mountain of muscle and scales.
"Milica, understand that in this world, the strong are destined to die in combat," the King rose from his throne, his smile widening maniacally. "I have never heard a story of a true warrior who didn't seek honor on the battlefield. But the thing is... your father is too strong!"
He roared in fury, smashing his mead bottle against his own forehead in a gesture of pure frustration.
"I have lived for ages! I fought against empires and led great wars... yet, no one has ever managed to kill me. Only two men in history were capable of defeating me... and neither of them had the courage to finish the job!"
"Are you talking about the Captain of the neighboring kingdom?" Milica stepped forward, desperately trying to change her father's mind. "That man would never allow you to fight him again!"
"KAAA RA RA RA RA!" The King roared with laughter, brushing off his daughter's logic. "No... I want to go further. Milica, have you ever heard the tale of the Spirit King?"
"BUT... BUT THAT IS ABSURD!!" Milica was fuming. Hearing her father talk about fighting to the death and then immediately citing a fairy tale felt like a personal insult. "How can you simply chase after a being that no one even knows is real?!"
"But he exists. I had the chance to see him with my own eyes, just once..." The Dragonoid King's gaze turned distant, almost nostalgic, before regaining its brutal intensity. "It is decided! My destiny lies in the Spirit Realm!"
In another kingdom...
"Miss? Are you alright, by any chance?"
An angelic voice called out, drifting into her mistress's line of sight, making her realize she had been overthinking.
"Oh... yes, thank you," she replied, snapping out of it.
"You seemed lost in thought. Is something wrong?"
"No... nothing is wrong..." She turned back to gaze at the landscape from the small bedroom window, slipping once more into her reflections.
In that abandoned kingdom, moss claimed every piece of rubble and debris, silent testaments to a war that had likely caused all that destruction. The woman sitting by the window appeared calm, but it was a stillness that differed from who she truly was.
Knock... Knock...
The rhythmic sound of knuckles on wood echoed. As the door opened, a man of overwhelming presence entered.
"Grand Emperor," the maid greeted, bowing immediately in reverence.
His hair was shaved on the sides with a slight mohawk in the middle. A prominent scar marked his right eye, running across his head, and his long goatee highlighted a face carved by conflict. The Emperor's gaze was serious as he stood there, watching the woman in silence.
"You need to eat. You look too weak."
"I don't want to!" she replied firmly, despite her fear.
Following her answer, the man slammed a brutal punch into the wall beside her. The entire room shuddered from the force of the single strike, dust shaken from the ceiling.
"Your disobedience is loathsome. Obey me and eat!" he commanded, his voice like thunder.
Under his command, the woman reached for the plate beside her and began to eat the served food slowly. Her hands were shaking violently—so much so that she could barely hold the spoon steady.
"Oh... are you afraid of me, by any chance?" he asked, his tone now tinged with a cruel sarcasm.
"O-of course I am!" she stammered. "You simply snatched me from my kingdom and are keeping me here as your prisoner!"
He merely sighed, bored by the accusation. With a simple glance, he signaled the maid still in the room to leave. She bowed one last time and hurried out, closing the door behind her and leaving them alone in the oppressive silence of the ruins.
"The Demi-Human Kingdom would not have been good for you. They despise people like us," he said clearly, his hands behind his back, exuding dominance.
"'Us'? Do not include me in whatever you have done to them... I have nothing to do with it."
"Helestria Thunder, the last of your clan."
When the man spoke her name, the woman stopped eating instantly. Her gaze rose to finally lock onto his.
"I understand what it's like to be the only one left of your own people. Believe me, I am the last of mine as well," the man said, moving toward the window to observe the scenery. "You haven't heard anyone call me by my name, only as 'The Emperor'... but my name is Drake Bernhard, the last living member of my bloodline and the rightful heir to my empire."
Turning around, Drake approached Helestria, extending his hand in a surprisingly calm manner.
"You and I share common enemies. Join me, and I give you my word: you will never be defeated again."
Something is about to unfold... destinies are being forged, battles destined for some and others, each following their own path. And yet, the world remains in silence—the one at the peak stays silent about the suffering of those who live and those who are yet to live...
(TO BE CONTINUED...)