The Inner Sanctum of House Altis
In the depths of House Altis, in an underground training hall untouched by any prying eyes—designed solely for Eden by Mion—Eden placed his hand on the sacred relic.
A low hum vibrated through the air as the shield-shaped relic's divine power was drawn into him. He focused, and the absorbed power began swirling around his body—rough, unyielding energy of the earth. It was Terra's relic.
Channeling Terra's divine power, he began integrating the foreign energies already embedded in his body. It was a familiar process he'd repeated many times, and he settled the power into himself with practiced ease.
He turned to the other relics before him and repeated the ritual. Terra's divine power. Celioum's. Mare's. A swelling sense of fullness surged within him.
But he knew he couldn't stop there. Divine power merely amplified strength; to wield it fully demanded martial prowess to match.
Eden's gaze fell on the longsword laid out last. It gleamed pure white. He'd heard it was hard to obtain—even for Altis's eldest daughter, who could procure most relics with ease. For someone like him, from a marquisate that wasn't exactly thriving, it was beyond dreaming.
Gratitude toward Mion welled up again as he gripped the hilt. Divine power churned wildly. This was no ordinary blade. Where on earth did she find it?
"Oh? Already got your hands on it."
Mion's voice rang out. Golden hair, molten like threads of pure gold, cascaded forth. Though singed and dirtied during the semester's trials, meticulous care kept it radiant.
"...How is it?"
Eden raised the sword, infusing it with the enhanced power of three divinities. The blended energies flowed along the blade like pristine white light.
"Wow. Impressive."
Mion marveled at the sight. He could feel the massive currents of power coursing through it. Beside her, Eden sensed his body's efficiency with the swirling energies had improved. Strength overflowed beyond his norm; he felt capable of anything.
"...Incredible."
Pure awe slipped from his lips. Curiosity laced his question to her. "What's this sword's name?"
"Salus. I got it by chance, so I don't know the details. But... yeah, it's something special. Feeling more confident now?"
Eden let out a hollow chuckle at her query. "No way. Not a chance. The gap between him and me is still vast. Even this stronger, I'd be no match."
"...Then give up?"
"No. Still... with this, I might land at least one solid hit."
"That should be enough."
"It is."
They exchanged a distant gaze. Impossible now. Maybe forever. Ludenberg Lavante was a wall to them.
But if they could land that one strike... wouldn't that suffice?
Ludenberg and Ashytara reveled in the festival until the Glory Festival began. They wandered the streets, sampling street food, strolling nostalgia-tinged paths, and visiting spots missed during the prior Solenute raid. Each moment layered new memories upon them.
At last, the day of the Glory Festival arrived.
"Today's the day."
"Yes, Mother."
"Have fun out there."
"I will."
Asha smiled casually at Ludenberg. "Do your best."
"Yes, sir."
Duke Leonard sent unyielding trust his way. Ludenberg nodded and strode toward the arena's center.
The grand arena still bore the pristine sacred flame lit at the empire's founding. Led by first-year Innocence students, upperclassmen from second and third years gazed at it with tense anticipation.
They scanned the crowds—visitors from across the Solemnute Empire, drawn to the capital. The roaring spectators brimmed with anticipation for the high-level clashes ahead.
A choir appeared, singing hymns. The students joined in. As the hymns faded, the figure Ludenberg awaited emerged before the flame: Ashytara Solenute.
Clad in neat priestess robes with the pendant he'd gifted gleaming atop, she surveyed the students with reverent eyes. Bathed in the white flame's glow, she evoked a goddess.
Ashytara began explaining the Glory Festival in a soft voice.
"This year's Glory Festival will proceed as follows."
First: the Sacred Flame Scramble.
"The Sacred Flame Scramble is just that—seizing the flame. Grab one of the torches scattered around the arena."
She produced a large hourglass from her bosom. "Keep the flame lit on your torch until this fully inverts. Drop it or fail to secure the flame, and you're out."
There weren't many torches. Meaning: brawl for them, then light your prize.
"Next, after the first round ends, duel one-on-one, wagering your flame."
Her explanation continued. Victors claim the loser's flame; losers forfeit theirs. Each student fights three duels total—only those securing two or more flames advance to round three.
"Round three follows last year's format: survivors pair randomly into brackets... then duel once to decide the winner per pair. Winners re-bracket repeatedly until two remain for the finals."
After outlining the basics, Ashytara added details.
"Participants may equip personal arms. Good gear is part of skill. Use what suits you."
Students' eyes gleamed.
"Finally, severe injuries mean automatic elimination... Mare priests stand ready, so unleash freely—even lost limbs are fine. But killing intent disqualifies immediately."
As she finished, students scanned warily, sizing up threats.
"Explanation over. The Glory Festival begins now. Fight well."
Her gaze flicked to Ludenberg. He caught it, nodded back. That was enough.
As Ashytara vanished behind the flame, students surged toward the circular arena walls.
But Ludenberg didn't charge. Time was ample; no need to dive into the melee yet. He'd pick off torch-holders one by one.
His eyes swept the field. Torch-holders already clashed to defend theirs—eyes on future edges, fewer rivals meant better odds.
Weapon clashes rang out sharply.
Ludenberg observed amid the chaos: weapons, standout talents.
No rush for a torch early. Survival with flame lit till the end was key.
First caught his eye: Dalia. Torch at her waist, she menaced with her axe-spear, checking rivals. Her brutal exhibition-match ferocity and aura cowed foes into retreat—but she pounced relentlessly.
Next: Eden. Wielding the glowing white sword, he repelled attackers. Ludenberg noted his prowess had soared—fiercer aura, sharper bladework.
Can't take him lightly.
Assessing more, marking threats, Ludenberg moved. Libera slid free... and he advanced.
A boom echoed through the arena.
His goal: victory. No mercy within.
He charged a torch-bearing student, who tensed sharply, honing divine power...
But it couldn't halt Ludenberg.
The student spotted him too late. "…!"
Top of his year, he backpedaled, thrusting calmly at Ludenberg's center. Celioum's power granted superhuman speed; needle-like strikes flew.
Ludenberg battered them aside with Libera, seized the collar, and slammed him down.
Boom!
Amid the roar, Ludenberg snatched the torch from the unconscious foe and scanned around. Spectators erupted in frenzy.
The Glory Festival had truly begun.