Mad Dog Izeltier (1)
Even at Pantheon Academy, where skill was everything, two instructors stood out: Daren and Mithers.
They had come to Wilhelm Arena, the underground fighting pit hidden beneath the imperial capital's pleasure quarter.
Lately, an anonymous tip had come in about a cadet participating in the arena's matches to earn pocket money. The pair had decided to check it out themselves.
"Of all places, it's called Wilhelm Arena. Surely it's not named after that famed margrave?"
Daren's question drew a nod from Mithers.
"That's what I hear. I chatted with some arena staff during a previous visit. The owner here is apparently a die-hard fan of Margrave Wilhelm."
"Hmph. To slap the name of the hero who saved the empire on a seedy underground pit like this... I wonder if he'd take offense."
Daren spoke cautiously. Margrave Wilhelm was the hero and idol of every swordsman—no, every citizen of the empire. It clearly irked him to see his revered margrave's name bandied about in such a place.
"Eh, probably not. Folks from Essenmont are famous for loving a good fight, after all."
With that, Mithers scanned the arena.
"It's filthy huge for something underground. I get shocked every time."
"They said this is where the swordsmanship tournament finals are held. I didn't realize it rivaled the size of our Roia Order's grand training grounds."
Daren was right. The vast underground space was the size of a parade field, with a massive sword-fighting stage at its center.
Mages had conjured illusion magic screens in the air, letting distant spectators watch the matches clearly.
It wasn't just swordplay. The crowd could bet on the fighters too, blending thrilling combat with gambling for an eyesore feast.
By rumor, Mithers had heard the Wilhelm Arena's owner raked in money like shoveling dirt.
That explained the hefty prize for the season's tournament winner—not just cash, but all sorts of rewards.
Shouldn't he pay royalties to the margrave, then?
But no. This was an underground fight pit. Strictly illegal under imperial law.
A chunk of the profits no doubt went to lobbying Grious Cardinal.
No matter how devoted a fan, he wouldn't ship tribute all the way from the capital to distant Essenmont.
"While we're here, wanna place a little bet?"
Mithers joked, but Daren's face hardened.
"As if. We're not here to goof off. Let's scout the place quick. If any Pantheon cadets are here, we grab 'em and drag 'em out."
True to form for the by-the-book Daren. (Mithers had already placed his bet, though.)
Keep that from Daren.
Mithers trailed the briskly moving instructor.
"The tip was about Fabian, right? Makes sense—who else has the guts for a dump like this?"
"Yeah, but Fabian's got skill, honestly too frivolous. If he'd buckle down on the sword, he could rival Rip, our order's top cadet."
"Better than whoring at salons or dive bars, no? Real combat experience, even."
"Problem is, he does both and slacks on training. And didn't you say this arena's too dangerous for cadets?"
No sign of Fabian, though. Daren sounded oddly disappointed.
"Good, he's not here. But we got word he entered prelims for another sword guild. Weird."
Mithers pondered briefly.
"Dropped in the prelims, then. Surprising. Finals are tough, sure, but Fabian should've breezed through qualifiers."
Fabian was in the gold reserve squad, so even as Gold Wing overseer, Mithers knew his talent despite different orders.
"Lost, huh. Hmph. A Roia cadet beaten at swordplay? Stings the pride if true. Better not to enter at all."
A proper thrashing here could toughen a swordsman. Daren's subtle regret made sense.
Daren's strict, but he cares for his pupils.
Just then, a young man and woman brushed past them.
***
A dazed-looking guy and a blonde woman grazed Daren.
Strangers, but early-20s faces matching Pantheon cadets' age.
Both wearing swords.
Plenty of young spectators, but their gait screamed seasoned swordsmen. Mithers spoke up, having noticed too.
"Hm. Young, but steady breathing and steps. Tournament fighters?"
Daren felt the blonde woman oddly familiar. No blonde swordswoman acquaintances, though.
Imagination? Resembles one of our Roia cadets...
She was strikingly beautiful, sharp-eyed but still—pupil-age, no romantic spark.
Mithers, however, lit up.
"Whoa, a stunner that young in the tourney? Standards are rising. Shall I chat her up?"
"We're not here to play, Mithers."
"C'mon. No Pantheon kids around. You're married; I'm single."
Daren's deadpan stare made Mithers pivot.
"Anyway. Roia Order talk—after Rip and Fabian, he's the hot topic, right?"
Daren knew exactly who.
"You mean Count Yulian."
"Yep. Last year, those two shone in Combat Order. This year? Different story."
"'Different' doesn't cover it. You saw Gold Wing reports, didn't you?"
True. Yulian's skill matched order reps, per combat logs.
But he'd skipped freshman reserve basics.
Gold Wing group training started post-midsems, after reserve reshuffles.
Mithers hadn't witnessed Yulian swing a sword himself.
"Schedule meant no live view—just reports, evals, record mana stones. How's he really?"
Daren paused, then:
"Not for cadets' ears, but no need to hide from you. Count Yulian is a genius. Unprecedented in Pantheon's history."
Mithers blinked. Daren never praised lightly, not even himself.
But Mithers knew: the art-faking wastrel of freshman year had transformed sophomore year.
Absurd. Mana awakening, then a 3rd-form beast in a month.
Plus, top across orders already.
"I figured. Power eval: beat Chloe and Rozette for first, even scouted 2nd-forms with 'em. Undeniable. More shock from me, knowing the wastrel."
Daren agreed.
"Blood will tell. Awakened last winter, now 4th tier in months. Son of the Lion, indeed. Explains the impossible growth otherwise."
Mithers nodded eagerly.
"Must be fun molding pupils like Rip and Fabian—solid, if average. Gold Wing's got talents too, mind."
"True. This class brims with promise. Though strictly, Yulian's Jedin holy priest, not Roia. And..."
Daren added intriguingly.
"Roia's got another genius. Not Gold, so you might not know. Midsems after, she'll likely go Gold. Might see her soon."
"Another? Roia's blessed. Name?"
"Lucia Mei. Different genius vibe from the count."
Daren mused on them.
Current Combat cadets stuck at sword forms. Advancing to stances? Only Yulian and Lucia.
"Lucia? New to me. Girl? Intriguing..."
That instant—
KABOOM!
The arena shook with thunderous blasts. Conversation halted; heads turned to the source.
Arena center. The match stage. A crater gaped mid-stage.
Before it loomed a hulking man. Their faces hardened at the sight.
"That crater and boom... his doing."
Daren nodded at Mithers. The giant's aura and glare hit Daren instinctively.
Strong. Matches us, at least.
Speechless, they watched the stage.
***
I hadn't expected Daren and Mithers here.
(My incubus trait disguised me completely. But Lucia with me startled.)
"C-Count! Daren won't recognize me, right?"
Lucia wore a butterfly hairpin artifact: round eyes sharpened, pink all-over to blonde blue-eyed.
Face mostly same sans eyes...
Her pink image too iconic; hawk-eyed Daren missed it.
I soothed her fears.
"No worries. Brushed past 'em—they didn't clock us."
Lucia relaxed. Her match was next week anyway. Her swiftblade might tip Daren; good no bout now.
Smart to disguise early.
Tourney entry honed her too. Prep paid off.
Then—
KABOOM!
Blasts echoed. Our eyes snapped stageward.
"What the hell! Start the damn match! Bored to death here!"
Brown long-haired musclebound brute rampaged onstage. Lucia gaped.
A massive crater scarred the stage—new.
"Wh-what happened?"
"He stomped that pit with his foot!"
Crowd reactions confirmed: his handiwork. Lucia:
"Insane strength. Mana-enhanced?"
I shook my head. Arena artifacts sealed mana use.
Pure swordplay rules.
Raw leg power alone. And spotting him, I knew instantly.
Mad Dog Izeltier.
Byrea Mercenary Company. Execution Squad's action captain for special ops.
First live sight, but iconic brown locks, bulk.
Above all, feral glare and rough antics sealed it. Squad's brawler swordsman. Mid-boss villain in Demon Lord Slayer 2 Part 2.
Not even hiding.
Execution Squad: Byrea's elite. Here for capital underworld turf wars as mercs.
No need to hide in underground pits. Maybe a challenge to Carmen's faction.
Surface excuse.
True aim: sow capital chaos. Duke Pedro's goal, puppeteering Byrea.
The wilder they rampaged, the better for their duke master.
Rene's there too.
Orange bob under witch hood, afar. Low-rank squad's Rene. Face unreadable at distance.
Sucked him dry yesterday; she won't look fresh.
As I watched, tense Lucia whispered:
"That guy's... terrifying."
Her fusion method sharpened senses lately. Right—Izeltier was terrifying.
Even full power, I'd lose now. But that thrilled me. His roar boiled my Reinhardt blood.
I'd watch his match.