"Aaagh!"

Another Rose Thorn Knight went flying with a scream beneath a clean, sweeping slash.

"Raaagh!"

Standing before him, that rascal Eli roared in triumph. He showed not the slightest consideration for his opponent. Normally, I would have frowned at that, but not now.

Duncan Seymour Tudor watched the training grounds with a face as rigid as stone. The Rose Thorn Knights, so full of swagger only moments ago, were also silently watching their comrade with somber eyes.

What a satisfying sight.

Duncan Seymour Tudor glared at Eli for a moment, then sent out another knight.

BOOM!

"That's three!"

He, too, fell to Eli.

"Who's next!"

The Teuton knights' faces twisted at his cocky shout, his shoulders thrown back in triumph.

The duke sent out another knight. Unlike his comrades, who had all fallen to the first slash, this one put up a decent fight.

Even so, he failed to withstand so much as ten slashes before tumbling to the ground.

"That's four! His Highness's sword is mine!"

"Boooo!"

Boos rained down on Eli in the training grounds. Yet the Rose Thorn Knights still stood tight-lipped and silent.

Dumbfounded, I turned around.

"How dare you go out there without consulting us! If you regret your wrongdoing, step down yourself!"

"What meaning is there in stolen victories!"

The kingdom's knights were showering Eli with jeers and insults. Apparently, they were thoroughly displeased that he had taken the field while they were deciding the order.

However irritating he usually was, he was still their countryman.

"I'm after young Lord Eli!"

"Says who!"

Some were even discussing his defeat and deciding who would go next, though Eli was still standing perfectly well.

It was ridiculous. If even I thought so, how must it look to the Teutons?

Duncan Seymour Tudor's previously stiff face twisted completely. He seemed to think the kingdom's knights were deliberately insulting them.

If I could, I would have liked to go over and tell him he had it wrong. These fools simply hated having someone else take away their chances to fight.

But I didn't. Watching the duke's contorted face was far too enjoyable.

The duke called a knight's name, then spoke a few quiet words to him. The knight nodded and took the field.

His steps held not a trace of hesitation, even after watching four of his comrades roll across the ground in a wretched state.

Naturally. Like Eli, he was a Master.

And a Master who had attained mastery through the mana of the Rings, the natural counter to the mana of the heart.

"Gerard Butland."

The Teuton Master introduced himself calmly.

"Bernardo Eli. Remember the name of the knight who will defeat you."

Perhaps Eli was too carried away to notice his opponent was a Master; he greeted him with the same unfailing arrogance.

He was going to get himself hurt.

Irritating as he was, I didn't want to see the Teutons crush him, so I was about to call out a warning.

And I would have, had I not seen his eyes. Eli's gaze was deeply composed.

"How long will you last? Not very long, I'd wager."

For all the frivolous swagger on his face, his eyes were calmer than ever. He seemed to have something in mind.

Of course, he was cunning enough to fleece scoundrels from noble families to rebuild his own house. He could hardly have failed to anticipate Masters among the Rose Thorn Knights, one of the strongest orders on the continent.

I waited quietly for the trump card that crafty rascal had prepared.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Violent slashes collided in the air, one after another.

"Urgh."

Eli's face, so composed until now, twisted with pain. His brilliantly shining Aura Blade began to flicker unsteadily.

BOOM!

The Teuton Master's expression, by contrast, scarcely changed. It was because of the peculiar pulses of Ring mana that unraveled the mana of the heart.

Even then, I believed Eli had something else up his sleeve.

But he didn't.

Without a single trick, he faced the Teuton Master through swordsmanship alone.

He doggedly thrust his sword forward, as though he had forgotten my repeated warnings to avoid meeting a Knight of the Ring's strikes head-on until he had attained stature.

It was a sheer, brutish contest of strength against strength, Aura Blade against Aura Blade.

In swordsmanship, Eli clearly held the advantage. His opponent's swordplay was polished and swift, refined over and over, but the swordsmanship of the Eli family, once called the kingdom's foremost knightly house, surpassed that of the Rose Thorns.

Nevertheless, the Teuton knight had the upper hand. It was a marvel that Eli had yet to retreat a single step.

Even as I watched him struggle against the Teuton Master, I did not intervene.

'I won't back down.'

'The mana of the heart is not worthless.'

'I wasn't wrong.'

Through the Authority of [Third Ear], I could hear him repeating those words ceaselessly.

Eli had not taken the field merely to win. His house, brought low for clinging to the mana of the heart. The world that had mocked and ridiculed the Eli family as fools.

He had stepped onto the training grounds to bid farewell to all of it.

Eli shouted.

"I am...!"

He struck, filling his sword with mana drawn from his heart.

BOOM! BOOM!

Fragments of Aura Blade scattered through the air. Every one of them had broken off Eli's sword.

His opponent's energy began to surge wildly. Clearly, he meant to end the bout here rather than drag it out, mindful of his next match.

The Teuton Master unleashed a succession of slashes stronger than any before.

BOOM! BOOM!

Each blow sheared another chunk from Eli's Aura Blade.

"I am of the kingdom's foremost house of the sword!"

Eli shouted, coughing up a mouthful of blood as the impacts battered his insides.

Their slashes met in the air once more.

And then.

CRACK!

A great fissure opened in the sword light gathered on Eli's blade. Then it shattered.

Eli looked at his sword, stripped of its brilliant light. The Teuton Master shouted something and raised his blade.

"I am Bernardo Eli, heir to the present House Eli."

After staring blankly at his sword, Eli adjusted his two-handed grip and twisted at the waist.

"Through nights of the dark moon, its light blackened, green rust clung to the sword."

He recited the verse softly.

"With the pale crescent moon I shake away the green rust; to the wolf's desolate cry I hone and temper the blunted edge."

A soft light settled where the Aura Blade had vanished.

At that instant, the Teuton Master brought his sword down.

BOOM!

I sprang to my feet.

THUD!

The Teuton Master dropped to his knees, a sword broken in half in his hand.

Before him stood Bernardo Eli, proud and unbowed. His hair was wild and his body covered in blood, but he was still on his feet.

Eli turned to me.

"I am Bernardo Eli."

At those words, my fist clenched before I knew it.

A count's house that had fallen because it clung to its ancestral art, even when changing times dismissed the mana of the heart as an inferior technique fit only for cheap mercenaries.

Its heir's victory heralded the family's revival. It proclaimed to the world the return of the Knights of the Mana Heart, once driven out by the Knights of the Ring.

The return of an ancient glory.

My heart pounded.

The kneeling Teuton Master slowly listed to one side, then collapsed completely.

Eli swayed, his body staggering. Then he slowly began to crumple.

I caught him firmly as he fell.

"Th-this is what I'm capable of, Your Highness."

He grinned in my arms. The same frivolous, maddening grin as ever.

"Well done, Bernardo."

His eyes widened at my words.

"What brought on the use of my given name? You've never called me that before."

Instead of answering, I quietly turned with him in my arms.

"Ah, I hope Dame Arwen got a good look at me winning..."

Still spouting nonsense in my arms, he closed his eyes before he could finish. Then he lost consciousness completely.

I looked steadily at the princess standing at the edge of the training grounds.

"Both have lost consciousness, but the knight of the Leonberk Kingdom endured the longest. I declare Bernardo Eli the victor."

The stunned princess announced Eli's victory.

"Young Lord Eli is the best!"

"The kingdom's Silver Lion!"

"Bernardo Eli!"

The kingdom's knights erupted in cheers, though they had been booing him only moments before.

I couldn't help a disbelieving chuckle.

When I returned to my seat, the waiting royal physician took Eli from me.

"The impacts have battered his insides, so he will need to recuperate for a while, but fortunately, there are no serious injuries."

"He's a sturdy fellow. I thought as much."

The Royal Knights helped the physician carry Eli away. Meanwhile, I looked over at the Teuton side.

Their Master had already been carried off, and the remaining knights looked dazed, half out of their minds from the shocking defeat.

Our side was a festival; theirs, a funeral.

It was precisely the picture I had wanted, and a thoroughly pleasing sight.

But the sparring had only just begun.

Embittered by their successive defeats, the Teuton knights glared at us. Buoyed by Eli's victory, the kingdom's knights bared their teeth and glared back.

The Teuton duke looked our way with somber eyes. Gone was the arrogance with which he had looked down on the kingdom and treated its knights as beneath his feet.

I curled my lips at that sharp gaze, then mouthed the words.

The party had only just begun. The real thing started now.

"Who will go up next—"

Before I could finish, someone darted onto the training grounds like an arrow.

A one-eyed knight clutching a black spear. Quern Liechtheim, commander of the Black Lancers.

Bad habits certainly caught on fast.

With a hollow laugh, I turned to the field.

The Teuton knight who followed him onto the grounds introduced himself. Then the sparring resumed.

Victory, or defeat.

Joy and disappointment traded sides countless times.

Dusk fell.

Bonfires were lit here and there. Royal Knights surrounded the training grounds with torches in hand.

All the while, the knights of both nations clashed swords without pause.

Night fell completely. Firelight washed the training grounds red.

The ground was littered with the knights' spilled blood and shards of iron. No one suggested clearing the field.

Both sides were far too fired up for that.

"Next!"

The knights taking the field charged each other before the heat of the previous bout could fade.

Meanwhile, most of the dignitaries staying at the palace gathered at the training grounds.

Maximilian and members of the Royal House of Leonberk's direct line whose names I didn't even know. The grand marshal, too. Montpellier. Siorin.

"Your Highness."

"The talks?"

With my eyes still following the sparring knights, I asked Siorin about the negotiations.

"Halted, as you commanded, Your Highness."

"What did we gain?"

There could hardly be much to gain from suspended talks, but I thought there might at least be something.

"We learned that Teuton seeks not an alliance of equals, but the formation of an anti-imperial league centered on Teuton. Judging by their attitude, I believe several nations have already accepted their proposal."

"Playing leader of the league to imitate the Empire, are they?"

Siorin nodded.

"And regarding Montpellier."

He spoke as though something had just occurred to him.

"What about him?"

"I still question whether he is the right man for this task."

Just then, the kingdom's knight gained the upper hand and was finishing the bout, so I glanced around.

Siorin was looking at me with a rigid expression.

"Unless Your Highness entrusted him with this task to infuriate the Teutons, I believe you should remove him from it even now. He did nothing but obstruct and swagger. Thanks to him, the discussions made no progress whatsoever."

"But that is why I sent him."

"Pardon?"

"I sent him to obstruct them and turn their stomachs."

Siorin looked dumbfounded.

"Of course, I didn't put him on the job just to provoke the Teutons without a plan."

With that, I beckoned Montpellier over from where he was watching us warily in the distance.

"Since Your Highness said you would be crossing swords with the Teuton knights, I thought it would be easier to address the main issues once the results were in. After a thorough beat—rather, a defeat to break their spirit, they will hardly be able to swagger as they do now."

"There you have it."

Siorin sighed at my words. Apparently, he thoroughly disapproved of Montpellier and me conducting negotiations between nations as though walking a tightrope.

But he did not voice any objection. He merely kept heaving sighs.

Then, the moment Arwen took the field and crossed swords with a Teuton Master, his attitude changed completely.

He regarded the Teuton knights who had scratched his precious daughter as venomous vermin, treating them like an enemy nation.

Even though Arwen had won. Even though her wounds were no more than shallow scratches. Even though the Teuton Master she had faced lay unconscious with holes in his belly and shoulder.

The count still knew no moderation where his daughter was concerned.

Regardless of that,

"It's nearly over."

I returned my attention to the knights' bouts.