Chapter 130

"Oh my, oh dear! So much for my warning—it's absolute chaos out there! Salvator and the Allied Knight Order have started clashing over the beasts!"

The Guild's main hall was packed with spectators.

Edwin and Julien blinked beneath the booming voice overhead. While the announcer narrated the unfolding situation with undisguised relish, the screen at the front of the hall displayed a brawl in full swing.

"Haha! This beetle belongs to the Knight Order! There are no points left for you Salvator lot to—"

"Oh, would you look at that—last hit's mine. Should've stayed sharp till the end."

"Yes! That's our young mas—I mean, Lloyd!"

Edwin watched the two sides tangled around the beasts for a quiet moment, then scratched the bridge of his nose and muttered.

"Julien. That mess in there—Mikhail started it, didn't he?"

"Mm. Based on the circumstances, yeah."

"And meanwhile he's parked in the safest spot at the back, just lobbing spells?"

"Mmm, that's also true."

Julien answered without missing a beat. Edwin let a short hum trail out, tilted his head, and spoke.

"Well… he's probably got his reasons, right?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he does."

Questions and answers stopped flowing after that. Edwin puffed out a breath, then curled the corner of his mouth upward and added one more line.

"Right. Then that's good enough. He knows what he's doing."

"Yip! Yip yip!"

Han and Ul barked as though agreeing with Edwin's words.

In that same instant, a whistle signaling the end of the second stage cut across the air.

TWEEEEE─

The movement on screen slowed to a halt alongside the signal, and the announcer's bright voice carried the flow into what came next.

"And that concludes all stages of Round Two! While points are being tallied, each faction will be given a rest period. Everyone, regroup your formations and follow the guide who'll be arriving shortly to move outside the ruins!"

The screen showed participants nodding in acknowledgment—then went dark.

But the proceedings weren't finished just yet.

The sound amplification device installed in the hall crackled with static a couple of times before a conspiratorial voice filled the space.

"Ah, ahem. Now, what I'm about to say… should only be reaching our audience members here! While we have a bit of downtime, it might be a good idea to think about which faction caught your eye or which one you'd like to cheer for!"

The announcer tied off the hint with a loaded tone, and murmurs erupted across the main hall.

The spectators who'd been watching the campaign in hushed silence seized the opening as though they'd been waiting for it.

The chatter revolved around two things.

"If you broke combat strength down by category, the rankings might shift a little, but looking at the full picture? Salvator was clearly the most impressive."

"The way they handled zone selection at the start of the second stage was sharp, too. Factoring in what the other side was thinking—that's not the mark of someone with tunnel vision. You could even call it flexible."

"Either way, I'm looking forward to the next round. I've got my eye on a few groups already—just hoping we get more chances to see what they can really do."

First: which factions had demonstrated the kind of combat prowess and decision-making that commanded attention in Round Two.

"About that standoff between Senit and Fischer, though. It's such a shame we didn't get to see what happened before the whistle."

"I can pretty much guess without seeing it. Fischer screaming his head off while Senit leaves a massive barrier right in front of him and just walks away. That composure alone puts them in different leagues. Even without the footage, Senit was obviously the one in control."

"At this point, I'm genuinely curious. If he had that kind of skill all along, why did he never step into the spotlight before?"

"You don't think Joseph Senit was secretly raising his son as some kind of weapon, do you…"

"Good lord—! Would you stop popping up out of nowhere like that, Editor? You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Second: the bombshell of the current northern heir—shrouded in mystery until now—decisively overpowering the former northern heir.

Hmmmm.

Edwin leaned in toward the voices drifting from the clusters of people draped in ornate accessories.

He angled his ear toward the remarks that piqued his interest most, then shifted his gaze to the tables near the entrance where the betting had taken place.

The area around the tables had grown packed at some point, crowded with people talking over one another in animated bursts.

"Oh god… my emergency savings. They're gone. I put everything on Verte."

One person sat in hollow-eyed devastation.

"Hey, I definitely wrote down Senit on my slip. But something's off with this. Check it again for me."

Another was busy denying reality.

"……"

Edwin watched the commotion play out, then turned to face forward again.

What surfaced, drifting up through his thoughts, was Mikhail's voice. A single exchange before the campaign had started.

If a betting pool opens up on the results, put down as much as you can. I'll make sure you win big.

"Heh heh… heh."

Edwin bit down on his lower lip, fighting back a giddy grin.

He'd seen impressive sums on paper before—stolen glances at the ledgers his family's butler managed.

But the feeling that hit when he'd confirmed the number in front of him was nothing like what he'd felt back then. How to put it… it was more the kind that swelled his chest with pride and made his shoulders rise a little higher.

"Ahem."

Edwin cleared his throat for no particular reason, scrubbed the tip of his nose, and looked ahead again.

Before he knew it, the campaign had only its final round remaining.

Come to think of it… the last round will be in the cave again, won't it?

The venues for Rounds One and Two shifted from year to year, but the location of the final round never changed.

A massive cave at the edge of the plains, its unusually high ceiling studded with luminous mana stones—a place said to be so beautiful it looked as though someone had transplanted a starlit sky underground.

You reach the end of the cave, activate the escape formula, and get transported back to the entrance… that's all there is to it…

Edwin was narrowing his brow, retracing the campaign's customary finale like an annual ritual, when—

Rustle.

Julien flinched beside him and whipped his head around, scanning in every direction.

A flicker of surprise mingled with something guarded danced across his darting eyes.

Edwin stared at him point-blank and asked.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Julien kept his gaze fixed toward the back of the hall and spoke in a dazed voice.

"No, it's just… I thought I heard my brother's name just now."

"Huh? Your brother?"

"Yeah. Someone said Cashion… it wasn't loud, but."

Edwin scanned the surroundings the same way Julien had, but all that entered his sweeping field of vision was an unremarkable crowd.

Judging by appearances, they were local dignitaries, high-ranking officials from private institutions, Guild members—nothing out of the ordinary.

Edwin pulled his gaze back from the faces and turned to Julien.

"Maybe there's someone else with the same name? Or it just came up in passing as part of a conversation. Your brother's pretty well known, after all."

Julien swallowed. But before long, he withdrew the eyes that had been sweeping the area and rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish look.

"Yeah. You're right. I probably overreacted."

"Oh, speaking of which—weren't you stuck at school cleaning the archives and copying formulas a thousand times over? Maybe the fatigue from all that is catching up and making you hear thin—ACHOO!"

A sneeze burst out of Edwin as if it had been lying in wait. Julien watched the spectacle and broke into a bashful grin.

SNAP!

In that instant, every light in the hall went out at once.

While the sudden blackout had everyone craning their necks, the announcer's voice seized every eye and ear in the room.

"Now then, has everyone had a good chat? Before the participants' final scores are tallied, there's one little favor we'd like to ask of our audience!"

The voice ringing through the pitch-dark air drew in a deep, theatrical breath—then drove full force into the next words.

"That faction you just thought of—the one you want to cheer for! This is your chance to send bonus points to the faction of your choice! On the slip that'll be passed around shortly, write the number of the faction you'd like to encourage and send it to the front!"

---

Meanwhile, at that very same moment.

The whistle announcing the stage's end had echoed through the ruins, and the beasts inside rippled violently before losing their forms and fading from existence.

The room where Salvator and the Allied Knight Order had been clashing was no exception.

With the beasts gone, the only ones left standing in the middle of the space were the members of both sides who'd been fighting moments before.

"……"

There was nothing left to gain from going at each other any further.

Sharing that unspoken understanding, both factions lowered their weapons and ceased hostilities.

"Hrrgh… you Salvator punks. Next time we meet, we won't go easy on you! Mark my words!"

"Interesting way you people fight… especially the black-haired boy! You caught us off guard good, but that's not all our Knight Order has to offer! Next time, we'll show you what real coordination looks like!"

Mikhail watched the knights file out of the room, chests puffed with ambition and voices ringing with bold declarations.

The air settled into silence once they were gone.

Mikhail stood in place, then glanced down at the magic tool on his wrist.

[310pt]

Combined total of 1,530 points… first place is a foregone conclusion again.

Mikhail pulled his gaze from the number and scanned the Salvator members gathered around him.

Everyone looked like the skirmish had burned through a fair amount of stamina.

Some wiped the sweat streaming down their cheeks. Others set their weapons aside and sank to the ground one by one.

"Haaah… those merciless stamina freaks. What makes them… so damn strong? I couldn't push them back in close quarters at all."

"But still… they did seem a little slow to react when something unexpected happened. Each of their attacks carried a heavy tempo, too."

Even gasping for breath, their eyes were bright as they dissected the clash they'd just been through.

Mikhail watched the group trade observations for a quiet moment, then folded his arms and leaned back against the wall.

Everything's tracking the way I expected.

Which meant the next round should deliver the result he was counting on, too.

Round Three. The Cave of Contemplation and the basilisk.

Mikhail was blinking slowly, tracing through the main storyline's approaching finale and its progression, when his fingertips gave a small twitch and his gaze shifted.

His eyes, moving in silence, came to rest on Ethan—leaning against the wall a few paces away.