TOPWL 122

The boy clutched his wrist. Drip, drip. Blood poured from the severed limb, soaking the arena floor. Hiore, as if his fury still hadn’t subsided, stared down at the boy with a merciless gleam in his eyes. The boy, even with his hand cut off, couldn’t even scream properly—his face had gone deathly pale.

“I… I forfeit…”

The boy barely managed to choke out the words. The referee, casting him a brief look of pity, called out:

“V-Victory to His Highness Prince Hiore Friedrich Adanauer!”

A few voices—likely plants hired to cheer—shouted out in support. Some applause followed, but it was half-hearted. Not only the commoners, but even the nobles were left speechless by the brutal scene.

In what should have been an honorable first match, Hiore had gone too far. He was clearly taking out his anger from the waiting room incident. As the dazed boy stared at his missing right hand, Yudit felt a twinge of guilt.

After Hiore left the field, the medical team rushed in to carry the boy off. The arena was a mess of blood. Servants swiftly wiped the floor with practiced efficiency. It didn’t take long for the match that had just ruined a young man’s future to vanish without a trace. But the atmosphere hadn’t recovered.

“P-Prince Hiore is… rather different from you, Prince Yudit…”

The weaponsmith, visibly cowed, whispered the words cautiously. Yudit tried to pull the corners of his lips into a reassuring smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.

Yudit turned his head. Since they were seated in a box reserved for royalty, the adjacent one also held royal family members. The Emperor, Aisa, and Azil were there. Aisa had gone pale from shock, clutching Azil tightly.

“…That fool.”

The Emperor scowled. It was clear Hiore’s actions had greatly displeased him. This first match had been a chance to showcase the dignity of the Empire—but Hiore had chosen cruelty instead. The Emperor made no attempt to hide his displeasure. Yudit wondered how this incident would affect Hiore going forward. It didn’t bode well for him.

The next match began promptly. Since the combatants waited just beside the arena, they were even closer to the carnage than the Emperor had been. Perhaps because of that, their fighting spirit was dampened. After a sluggish exchange, the brown-haired youth narrowly won.

The third and fourth matches passed without incident. Many noble youths were participating, so familiar faces appeared now and then. Then came the fifth match—and finally, someone who could lift the mood appeared.

“Kyaaa! Lord Licht!”

“Over here—look this way!”

Golden hair like melted honey, striking features, a face caught between boy and man. He looked like the embodiment of every young girl’s first love and fairy-tale prince. The moment he stepped forward, noble and commoner girls alike screamed in delight. Licht waved back at them like he was used to it. Their shrieks echoed once more through the arena.

Curious, Yudit craned his neck to look. Thinking he was wondering who it was, Shane leaned close and whispered into his ear:

“Licht Alpine, second son of the Count of Alpine. He’s standing in for Prince Reginald.”

“Ah.”

Yudit had heard the name before, but hadn’t expected him to be such a beauty. At a glance, one might even mistake him for an Omega. But judging by his strong build and tall frame, he was likely a Beta or Alpha.

“But…”

A troubled look crossed Shane’s face.

“His opponent is Kassadin Alpine—the Count’s eldest son.”

Yudit turned his eyes to Licht’s opponent. His appearance was average—not bad, but no match for Licht. They didn’t even look like brothers. A rude thought crossed Yudit’s mind: perhaps they had different mothers. Kassadin stood quietly, listening to the cheers and praise raining down on his younger brother alone.

Soon, the referee announced the beginning of the match.

It was intriguing from the start. The plain-looking eldest son of the count versus the striking younger son. Was it truly coincidence they were pitted against each other? Given that Licht was Reginald’s proxy, there had no doubt been some behind-the-scenes influence.

Licht gripped the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it with a graceful spin. It was flashy, but ultimately showmanship without substance. Still, there were those who thrilled at the display—the young girls. Their screams erupted once again.

“Kyaaa! Lord Licht—!”

“I love you, Lord Licht!”

Licht gave a relaxed wave toward the crowd. That was when Kassadin finally lost his patience and hurled his sword at Licht. Licht twisted his own blade to meet Kassadin’s. Clang! Their swords clashed, and in the same moment, Kassadin raised his blade vertically and struck down with deadly force—as if he meant to take his brother’s handsome head right off. The girls in the crowd screamed.

But the fight did not go as Kassadin had hoped. Licht slipped aside, diverting the force of the blow. With his opponent suddenly gone, Kassadin couldn’t keep his balance and crashed face-first into the sandy arena. When he rose, blood was trickling from his nose. Licht, though fully capable of ending the match, merely stepped back and waited.

Kassadin clenched his teeth and charged again.

It happened several more times after that. Kassadin hit the ground over five times. Each fall left him more disheveled—his face slick with sweat, speckled with sand, blood mingling with the grit beneath his nose.

He collapsed flat once more.

“Brother, don’t you think it’s time to yield? As a brother who loves you, this is my sincere advice.”

Licht called out in a voice loud enough for others to hear, wearing an expression of genuine pity. Kassadin, aware of what he was doing, spat on the ground and glared at him.

“Bullshit.”

Once again, Kassadin lunged at him. But not a single person in the audience believed he would win now. The difference in skill was too obvious. Licht, still wearing that same regretful look, gripped his sword tightly and struck. Kassadin’s blade went flying, spinning with a whistling sound before crashing outside the arena. Sitting flat on his rear, Kassadin stared in stunned silence at his lost weapon.

Licht had kept deflecting his blows, so Kassadin had thought it would be the same this time. He’d charged without his full weight behind the strike—but this time, Licht had countered with full force.

Licht offered a respectful bow, then held out his hand to Kassadin.

“It was a fine match, Brother.”

Kassadin glared at him with murder in his eyes, then slapped his hand away and stormed out of the arena. The referee declared Licht the winner. Another round of shrieks filled the air from the girls in the stands. It had been, by all accounts, a splendid match.

Yudit had no doubt in his mind—this had been orchestrated by Reginald.

There was, however, one lingering question—Licht’s actual skill. He was good, certainly, but not exceptional. It was difficult for Yudit to trust his own judgment, so he asked Shane:

“Is he strong enough to win the whole tournament?”

Shane looked troubled and shook his head.

“I don’t believe so. He’s not weak, but he relies too much on flair. And I don’t think he’s aiming to win. At best, I’d say he could make it to the semifinals.”

Yudit had come to a similar conclusion. If Licht wasn’t aiming for victory, then why had Reginald chosen him as his proxy? Was it simply to win the crowd’s favor? Or was there something more?

Yudit looked once again to the Emperor. This time, he wore a satisfied smile—nothing like his reaction to Hiore’s match.

Suddenly, Yudit remembered that before Azil was born, Reginald had been the most beloved of the Emperor’s sons. What was the Emperor thinking now? It was clear he intended to make Azil the next Emperor. But in doing so, would he be willing to kill or imprison his other children?

Yudit could understand if it were himself, but Reginald and Hiore were both born of the Empress. Could the Emperor be planning to destroy the Empress’s entire house as well? What would happen to the nation caught in that storm?

Yudit stared at the Emperor’s profile, his thoughts spiraling without end.

Then he felt it—that uncanny sensation of someone watching him. A strange unease crept over him. He turned slowly, feigning nonchalance, and looked behind him.