Chapter 63
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: The Nightmare Stage
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And realistically speaking, there was a good reason why all the attention wasn't exactly welcome.
Because she had no clue what would happen next, or how things would unfold.
The story had already diverged quite a bit from Western Fantasy Romance Anthology Vol. 11: Pure Love Edition - The Princess Wants to Be Loved!
First off, Charlotte herself was inevitably the epicenter of the biggest change.
A character who was originally supposed to exit midway was still sticking around.
Her actions kept rippling across the stagnant lake like pebbles tossed in, refusing to let it stay still.
But up until now, those changes hadn't been all that massive.
They'd sparked plenty of minor shifts, sure, but nothing on the scale of a national incident.
Just subtle things around her immediate circle—like how people treated Charlotte in unexpectedly kinder ways, or Lancelot's swordsmanship improving by leaps and bounds beyond expectations.
That was about it.
'But from here on out, it'll be different.'
The tournament winner itself was going to change.
'I have to assume everything's really changed now. Every plot point I knew.'
Charlotte nodded firmly, as if sealing a vow.
For starters, with Ricardo already defeated, the winner was bound to be someone else.
The original champion had been the Second Prince.
Charlotte gazed out the window.
Even in that brief intermission before the finals, as the arena was being cleared, cheers kept erupting from the still-electrified stands.
"Little Giant Charlotte!"
"Isaac Setia forever!"
"Prince Joseph, we support you!"
"Byaki Setia forever!"
The boisterous roars and cheers mixed in the names of everyone who'd made it to the finals.
Little Giant? Who the hell came up with that ridiculous nickname?
But Charlotte, who had never once had a proper epithet back in her Dohwa days, let out a small chuckle. It wasn't half bad.
'Better than "Invisible Girl" or "Tall Lanky Loser," at least.'
Still, what really caught her ear were the cheers for Prince Joseph.
They'd started popping up at some point.
After his match with Russell, maybe?
Before the tournament even began, Prince Joseph had been treated worse than a traitor. The atmosphere had made it feel utterly natural.
If someone had dared cheer for him aloud during the qualifiers, they'd have been at the mercy of the Second Prince's whims—no questions asked.
'And yet, in half a day, things have flipped this far.'
More impressive than the mere existence of Joseph supporters was that they could cheer for him openly in the arena.
Charlotte took a quiet deep breath and turned her gaze to the sky.
The sun, which had blazed directly overhead at the tournament's start, had tilted noticeably, but the heavens remained a crystal-clear blue.
"And now, the long-awaited finals will begin."
Even the announcer's voice brimmed with excitement.
Charlotte shot to her feet and headed for the door her attendant was holding open.
The real spectacle of Shadow Blade Day began here.
The arena's ceiling was a vast circular opening, but the towering walls meant sunlight only flooded in briefly at high noon.
The moment the sun dipped even slightly, darkness swiftly blanketed the entire venue.
It was right then—as the sun crested the arena's western wall.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Beautiful orbs of light began floating up into the air, one by one. As dozens, then hundreds ignited, the crowd gasped in awe.
"The mages are coming out!"
"Finally...!"
Just like in the qualifiers, the walls of the rooms directly connected to the arena slid open, and the mages entered one after another.
Clad in cloaks with pointed hoods and faces thoroughly shrouded, they swiftly formed ranks. They spaced themselves evenly around the wide circular floor of the arena.
Once in position, without a word to one another, they moved their staves in unison.
Thud-thud, thud, thud-thud.
The mages tapped the ground in steady rhythm, their hands sliding bead by bead along long rosary-like bundles. Etched with inverted flags, swords, and other strange symbols, the beads shifted with each tap, all in perfect sync.
As the bizarre ritual unfolded, the spectators peered down at the arena in feverish anticipation.
The ground rippled, and translucent white lines connected the staves of opposing mages, etching across the dirt floor.
Thud-thud, thud, thud-thud.
The rhythmic taps echoed on until the lines were complete—then every mage froze.
In the ensuing silence, the mage in the tallest white hat—the apparent leader—spoke first.
"Come forth, O hidden earth from the depths!"
At that declarative command, the entire magic circle glowed, and impossible structures erupted from the ground: a seething lava plain crisscrossed with tangled stone bridges, and a single soaring spire so tall the crowd had to crane their necks just to glimpse its peak.
The floating orbs bathed it all in radiant beauty.
Neighhhh-!
At the spire's pinnacle stood an impossibly massive black horse.
A pair of wings—grander and more magnificent than any bird's—sprouted from its eyeless, blindfolded back.
"Oh, we came at the perfect time! It's a Nightmare!"
"This tournament's stage is insane! Seeing one in the flesh!"
"Holy crap!"
Rooooar!
Rooooar!
Thunderous cheers exploded from the stands.
The Shadow Blade Day arena stage was always a closely guarded secret prepared by the Magic Tower.
Not even the Setia House Lord or the Emperor had seen it before.
The Emperor savored the thunderous applause syncing with his pounding heartbeat as he surveyed the spectacle.
'A Nightmare, huh. Clever setup.'
Nightmares burrowed into the human psyche.
Nothing too outlandish about it.
Reviving overly powerful monsters was risky, so mental-attack beasts like these often appeared on Shadow Blade Day.
'Not exactly welcome for the competitors, though. I've faced one myself...'
Nightmares ruthlessly dredged up one's most painful memories.
No one enjoyed that.
Yet the Emperor grinned despite the grim thought.
His gaze drifted slowly to the four finalists entering the arena: Isaac, Byaki, Charlotte, and Prince Joseph.
Two from each group should have made six, but the other two from Groups 1 and 2 had forfeited—likely deeming the finals too risky.
The Emperor's eyes lingered on the black-haired prince standing farthest left.
The more he thought about it, the less sense it made.
Climbing this far at just twelve years old.
Recalling Joseph's feats only deepened his admiration.
Joseph's swordsmanship stuck to the basics of imperial palace style—nothing fancy. And that raw sincerity touched the Emperor all the more.
His talent was real, but it was the sweat poured into mastering his teachings that shone through. Unlike Ricardo, with his elite facilities and master tutors.
'He's already exceptional, but if he has the mental fortitude to conquer a Nightmare... now that's worth watching.'
Lost in thought amid the chanting crowds calling Joseph's name, the Emperor received the signal from the announcer requesting his address.
The stage setup was complete.
Emperor Sanchez rose slowly and spoke.
The Emperor's cryptic words sent another massive ripple through the stands.