Round 3's Unlikely Rival
Round 3 had brought out its most surprising contestant, yet the winner had not been toppled by some overlooked academy student. The champion had simply collided head-on with another elite contender.
Sozeta stood on the stage, his eyes calm and unflinching as he regarded the silver-haired girl before him, her expression one of stunned bewilderment.
Sozeta vs. Violet.
Two of the strongest finalists had met in the quarterfinals.
If they fought with full intent, both would be drained and battered no matter the outcome. The loser would face ruin; even the victor might stumble into the next round against another top contender.
With fewer rivals, someone might have defaulted, but Violet showed no intention of yielding.
“This is going to be fun,” Violet said, her eyes bright with anticipation as she stared at Sozeta.
Sozeta, likewise determined not to retreat, drew his sword.
The student audience erupted in cheers at the matchup of two rumored champions.
At the first instant they launched into one another, swords flashing with blinding speed.
There were no flashy, theatrical displays of magic or overwhelming power.
Yet the velocity of their blades and the subtleties within their strikes held the crowd utterly captive.
Violet darted everywhere, her movements fluid and multi-directional.
Sozeta’s sword remained steady, employing simpler forms and basic footwork.
His combat style was static, hers that of a water-stepping cat leaping in all directions.
CRASH!
Violet planted her feet with crushing force, the stage fracturing into a shower of dust and stone that hovered in midair.
“Hah—!”
Violet drew a deep breath, her body accelerating as though infused with magic itself.
She stepped on the floating debris, her actions becoming a dizzying blur even to the eyes.
Now dominating not only the ground but the air as well, she charged like a tempest, launching relentless assaults.
In the eye of the storm, Sozeta calmly catalogued every floating fragment and predicted Violet’s trajectory.
SWOOSH.
With the sound of wind slicing through the air, Sozeta swung his blade toward the spot Violet intended to occupy.
She twisted aside, retreating a step and then two before planting one foot and balancing on the other, her posture tilted in a peaceful sway as though walking atop a low wall.
“How did you know?” Violet asked, eyes sparkling as she looked at him.
Sozeta regarded her silently, then sheathed his sword.
“I forfeit.”
“Why? Let’s keep playing.”
Sozeta had appeared on the verge of delivering a spectacular victory when he suddenly withdrew.
The referee, caught off guard, belatedly announced Violet’s win.
As Sozeta made his way back to the waiting room, Violet pursued him, calling out.
He seemed uninterested in conversation.
“I thought you were made of stone. Surprised you’re not as dull as I expected.”
Rai, seated in the stands, smiled faintly.
By reading the situation, he had bought time; Violet’s win probability had risen for the next round.
Of course, compared to the original ten-percent estimate, the odds were still higher that Violet would prevail.
Yet at his vigorous age, Rai had analyzed calmly and sought ways to improve that rate.
That alone was a passing grade.
Even without an obvious answer, one could still discern faint possibilities by piecing together fragments.
And the victors who would one day be remembered in history had almost all refused to abandon their will.
While Rai silently praised Sozeta, Leila approached and took the seat beside him.
The moment she sat, Rai felt the air shift around him and chuckled.
“Now even a mage could make small talk? Natural as can be.”
“Thanks to you.”
“No, it’s thanks to me. My skill has risen because of you.”
Leila had grown so accustomed to using soundproofing magic during conversations with Rai that she could do it unconsciously.
Glaring at him as though to say “Stop talking nonsense,” she scanned the stands and spotted a man in a gray robe seated near the third pillar, beside Della.
“You met Ermene.”
“You know his identity? A wanted felon is strolling around openly, and the Empire is just sitting on its hands?”
Rai laughed at Leila’s immediate recognition of the resistance leader.
She spoke with perfect composure upon discovering the head of a resistance capable of immediate capture or death.
“Multiple interests overlap. Right now it’s difficult to touch him.”
“Ah, the Imperial Intelligence Department’s vice-director got caught and still no action? Must be a bigger wound that will finally shake some sense into them.”
“It’s not that simple. This is also about extracting the poison that has seeped into the Empire.”
Just as the Empire had manipulated Keilen Kingdom, the Kingdom had operated with countless hidden agents.
Yet when the Kingdom fell, the Empire’s spies lost their purpose.
Some clung desperately to their positions; others secretly aided the resistance, still loyal to the Kingdom.
The Empire had no intention of forgiving any of them, regardless of their motives.
It was different from those like Melanie, former garrison commanders who surrendered and submitted.
The Empire would not tolerate those who, whether loyal or not, swallowed the Empire’s corruption without purging their accumulated sins or fulfilling their duties.
It was clearing out the deeply entrenched infiltrators from the Intelligence Department and other agencies, and now it was working to eliminate the last remaining ones.
When the Empire conquered Keilen Kingdom, it would have been ideal to obtain secret documents related to this matter, but by the time the royal palace was reached, all the documents had already been burned.
Hearing Leila’s account, Rai smiled with amusement.
“The Empire must be pulling its hair out over Margos’s cowardice.”
“I agree. His malice is quite potent.”
Leila nodded and surveyed the attendees in the stands.
Only prominent figures had been invited, so while Rai knew most, there were still several he did not recognize.
“Did you find the rat?”
“Third pillar, the gray-robed man next to Della.”
Leila stared intently at the man Rai pointed out, then rose from her seat.
Rai sensed her aura vanishing as she headed for the exit.
“You cursed like crazy and still used Administrator Authority as you please.”
Muttering to himself, Rai glanced at the empty seat where the man had been.
That individual was gone, and first-year Della, who had nothing better to do than spectate after being eliminated in the losers’ bracket, looked bewildered beside the suddenly vanished man.
***
The losers’ bracket for Round 3 erupted into chaos.
Sozeta had fallen into the losers’ bracket.
That meant the probability of facing him in the next match was low, yet possible.
Among the students desperately hoping they would not draw Sozeta, Zeroa appeared.
Having been eliminated in the quarterfinals by a fourth-year finalist with a bitter expression, Zeroa now stood before the losers’ bracket pairing list, his opponent revealed as Sozeta.
Students in the waiting room exhaled relieved sighs, yet directed looks of sympathy toward Zeroa.
Zeroa had grown accustomed to such gazes.
Quietly preparing for the match, he stepped onto the stage and offered a light nod to Sozeta, who was already waiting.
Clenching his teeth, he forced his fighting spirit to ignite.
He had never considered himself inferior.
Within an academy filled with talented students, Zeroa had endured because he understood his own place.
He had quietly carried out his duties while observing the others’ rapidly improving skills.
He could not match them, yet he was not weak.
He could advance in the middle of any task and learn quickly.
As Rai had said, even without shining as brightly as his peers, he could stand alongside them.
That single belief had carried him through until now.
But the incident with Orlet had revealed how powerless he truly was, and the blow to his pride while losing to Mia had shattered his self-worth.
Heroines sung by wandering bards would appear exactly like this.
From learning one skill to becoming an entirely different person overnight, the surrounding students had changed.
Zeroa had felt himself shrink to nothingness.
Gentle Mia had begun to pull ahead, and repeated dreams of Asran, Philia, and Abigail leaving him behind haunted him.
In the end, Aria had looked at him with sorrow and walked forward.
The young Zeroa in that dream desperately pumped his short legs to chase them, only for the distance to grow ever greater.
Finally alone, the child Zeroa wept bitterly, yet no one paid him any heed.
“You seem thoughtful. I’m sorry, but could you please focus on me?”
Sozeta unleashed an invisible pressure that made Zeroa’s sword flash forward.
Zeroa braced his shield in defense and retreated step after step.
“I am not a simple opponent that you can defeat while thinking of something else.”
He knew that.
But he did not know the truth: he could not win.
BOOM.
Sozeta frowned at Zeroa’s dark expression and kicked the shield.
Even though the shield absorbed the blow, the impact jolted Zeroa’s bones; he gritted his teeth and swung his sword.
The strike, hidden beneath the upward-moving shield, would have been invisible from Sozeta’s perspective, yet he easily dodged and closed the distance again.
“Did I overestimate you? Where did the spirit you showed Aria go?”
It was a reference to last year.
Sozeta from last year differed from this year’s, yet the Sozeta of last year and this year’s were identical.
Sozeta had soared to an unreachable height, while Zeroa still crawled on the ground.
Spotting the slight shift in footwork, Zeroa immediately reacted, lowering his stance and raising his shield.
He successfully deflected Sozeta’s heavy downward strike with the shield, yet Sozeta did not falter, pressing his body against the shield to deny Zeroa any room to attack.
Zeroa, thinking that thrusting his sword at a locked shield would invite a counter, wrenched himself free with all his strength and retreated.
His back struck the barrier, blocking further movement; he poured out even the last of his strength and charged at Sozeta.
Dozen upon dozen of exchanges followed, and although Zeroa’s simple yet powerful attacks were formidable, the advantage clearly tilted toward Sozeta.
At first glance Zeroa appeared overwhelmed, yet Sozeta was fighting with genuine intent.
p>Zeroa’s training under Rai had focused on defense and simulated real combat, with him sparring dozens of times a day.
He had faced aggressive Abigail and systematically approached Philia, built experience, faced brute-force Asran, and endured repeated bouts with mana-dominant Mia.
Before entering the academy, his adventuring life had allowed him to observe their fighting styles up close, and as a porter he had even crossed paths with them.
Zeroa, possessing overwhelmingly more real combat experience than his peers, held his own against seasoned knights despite the unfavorable skill gap.
The problem was that he himself did not realize how far he had come.
His timid expression and frustrated aura filled the air, yet Sozeta, watching Zeroa block blow after blow with unyielding defense, frowned in irritation.
Anyone would grow angry at a defense that looked unbreakable while he wore an expression that screamed “I am trash.”
Zeroa neither swayed nor fell for tricks, ignoring deliberate openings with perfect calm.
When Sozeta pressed with raw power he deflected; when he tried to overpower with skill, Zeroa shielded himself and charged forward to block.
Sozeta shook his head at the repulsive sight of Zeroa, who resembled a turtle with a hard shell.
“Your defense is excellent. I still don’t understand how your senior defeated you.”
“That’s all I can do.”
“You’re deluding yourself.”
Sozeta found Zeroa’s response unsatisfactory and bared his teeth, gathering mana around him.
Zeroa, without hesitation, charged at him.
This was the orthodox method against mages unfamiliar with combat.
Yet many failed to follow it; overwhelmed by mana or hesitating to read the timing, they paused for a fraction of a second.
Zeroa showed no hesitation whatsoever.
To the opponent, this was an infuriating combat style.
“I had no idea how impressive your ability to act like nothing is truly is.”
“Anyone can do it.”
Sozeta suspected that Zeroa was deliberately provoking him to anger.
Looking at the aggravating personality from combat style to character, Sozeta swung his shield with surprising force.
It was an attack relying on Sozeta’s atypical power, yet Zeroa retreated weakly while thrusting his sword forward to prevent a follow-up.
“This technique wasn’t visible even when I won last year.”
A resonant hum emanated from Sozeta’s sword.
The blade, which appeared to lack consistent thickness due to its rapid vibration, swayed fluidly like water with every movement.
“I don’t know what happened, but get angry and admit it. This isn’t humility; it’s an insult to your opponent.”
“…”
Zeroa remained silent, shielding himself with his shield.
Watching the gap between his words and actions, Sozeta laughed.
“You are strong enough to bring out my full power. I’ll go ahead, so catch up next year.”
Sozeta swung his sword.
The blade, stretching like a whip, pressed in from every direction.
Zeroa, who had been moving his shield and sword to block Sozeta’s attacks, saw the blade wrapping his ankle and quickly tried to step away, but it was too late.
His vision warped rapidly, the world spinning.
Follow-up strikes slammed into his body, and as he began to lose consciousness, Zeroa locked eyes with Sozeta, who stared at him with fierce intensity.
Zeroa could not understand what the genuine determination in those eyes meant when facing a strong enemy.
Perhaps, as Sozeta had said, he might understand it next year.