The deep, resonant blast of the horn signaled the official start of the Martial Tournament. At that moment, the crowds inside and outside the square were buzzing with excitement, their spirits high as they fixed their eager gazes on the central arena. Soon, two men clad in leather armor stepped onto the stage—but instead of engaging in combat immediately, they began to wield their longswords, practicing their moves in the middle of the square. This was known as the exhibition segment; before the official matches commenced, warriors were expected to showcase their skills and strength to the audience. The common folk cheered enthusiastically at the display, while the nobles seized the opportunity to make their final arrangements—bolstering their family reputations at such an event was a matter of great importance to them.
"A dozen noble houses will be sending their fighters into the arena today," Wen said, taking a seat beside Ophelia and quietly briefing her on the tournament's background. In truth, ever since the clan patriarch had entrusted him with full authority over the territorial negotiations, Wen had effectively become the liaison between the Twilight Forest and the Byrd family. Having clearly recognized his position, he had decided to throw his lot in with the Twilight Forest faction entirely. In his view, with three high-ranked swordsmen and a member of the royal family on their side, it was far wiser not to antagonize them over the Twilight Forest territory. Furthermore, if he could forge a strong alliance with these individuals, the Byrd family would gain a significant advantage when dealing with other powerful noble clans. Admittedly, it was somewhat demeaning for a prominent aristocratic house to curry favor in such a manner—but if the patriarch himself did not mind, why should Wen bother fretting over it? Having come to this realization, Wen set aside all his misgivings and found himself far more at ease conversing with Ophelia. While he certainly harbored no romantic intentions toward her, there was no denying that chatting with a young and beautiful lady was a most pleasant pastime for any man. Thus, he spared no effort in explaining the various factions present at the tournament. After all, the performance of the two young ladies would directly impact the outcome of his negotiations. Nearly all the key members of the Byrd family were gathered in the square that day; if they could witness the pair's true strength firsthand, they would be far more likely to accept the eventual results of the negotiations. Otherwise, even if external matters were resolved smoothly, internal dissent would prove to be a major headache.
"Will all of them send fighters into the fray?" Ophelia responded quickly, her interest piqued by Wen's explanation.
"On the surface, perhaps—but in reality, the power dynamics boil down to three major factions. First, there is the patriarch's camp. Then, there are the allied noble houses from outside our domain. And finally, there is Pelzer..."
"Pelzer?" Ophelia raised an eyebrow at the mention of his name. "Is he not the heir to the family? Why would he need to establish his own independent faction?"
"At its core, this tournament is nothing more than a stage to flaunt one's strength," Wen explained. "As the family heir, Pelzer must stand apart from the others and demonstrate his power to the patriarch and the rest of the nobility. Otherwise, his position as heir will become increasingly precarious."
"I see," Ophelia nodded slightly, then stole a glance at the twin sisters seated to her right, who were whispering and giggling behind their hands. A faint blush crept across her cheeks. It was hardly surprising—over the past three days of the Midsummer Festival, the twins had caused Ophelia no end of trouble. It was not that they were ill-tempered or made unreasonable demands; in fact, they had raised no objections to being brought along to the festival by Ophelia. Being Blake's loyal subordinates, they would obey his orders without question. Moreover, they were far from foolish—they understood the gravity of the situation perfectly well and would never act as willfully or naively as ordinary young girls... However, in Ophelia's opinion, the two sisters were perhaps a little *too* uninhibited for their own good.
Whenever Ophelia's back was turned, the twins would vanish without a trace—and whenever she went to look for them, she would inevitably find them engaged in the same intimate antics they had been up to in the exhibition hall. What was worse, they paid absolutely no heed to time, place, or occasion; the moment they slipped out of sight, they would seek out a secluded spot to "resume their battle." This left Ophelia feeling equal parts embarrassed and flustered. While she dearly wished the sisters would exercise a modicum of decorum, they were only young girls in their early teens—and Ophelia herself was an innocent maiden with no experience in such matters. She could never bring herself to broach the subject with them directly. Furthermore, she was not even certain whether such behavior between two girls constituted improper conduct—it was far easier to judge in the case of a man and a woman.
What troubled Ophelia most of all, however, was the sisters' complete disregard for their surroundings. They seemed utterly oblivious to the possibility of being caught in the act, whereas Ophelia was consumed with anxiety at the mere thought. She knew all too well how quickly gossip spread among the nobility; if the twins were discovered, news of their escapades would reach every member of the Byrd family by the end of the day. To make matters worse, the sisters seemed to have a particular penchant for "trysts in the wild." They had carried on their antics in the gardens, the dining hall, the guest chambers, and even the corridors—and this was the Byrd family's estate, not Twilight Castle! Could the two young ladies not see how inappropriate their behavior was?
At first, Ophelia had tried keeping the twins by her side at all times, reasoning that they would behave themselves if she was present—especially when they were sharing a bed. But to her horror, even with Ophelia sleeping right beside them, the sisters had continued their frolicking with renewed vigor, leaving Ophelia feeling restless and uncomfortable all night long. In desperation, she had finally begged Charlotte to keep an eye on them—and only then had the twins calmed down somewhat.
Now, on the day of the crucial tournament, Ophelia was determined not to let anything go wrong. She could not help but worry that the sisters might be overcome by another of their impulsive urges in the middle of the matches and sneak off somewhere to "play their game." Thus, she silently resolved to keep a close watch on them throughout the day, praying that they would not cause any more trouble.
As Ophelia lost herself in these thoughts, the first match of the tournament came to an end. The two low-ranked swordsmen had clashed in the center of the square for over ten minutes before one of them, exhausted from the exertion, was struck on the shoulder by his opponent's counterattack and then kicked roughly off the stage. The crowd of onlookers erupted into cheers as soon as the fight concluded—but to the nobles, this was nothing more than a warm-up. According to the rules of the Martial Tournament, the winner was required to defend their title against three successive challengers; only by winning three matches in a row could a warrior claim the championship. In reality, however, these early bouts between lesser fighters were merely an appetizer for the nobility—hardly worth watching.
Sure enough, another challenger soon stepped into the arena. Within minutes, the previous victor had his weapon knocked flying by the newcomer, who then drove his sword into the man's abdomen, sending him crashing to the ground. It was clear that he would be unable to fight again. Attendants quickly rushed forward to carry him off the stage, and the newcomer was declared the winner.
"Is this really allowed?" Ophelia frowned as she watched the match unfold in the square. As a former royal princess, she understood exactly what was happening. The tournament was not only a platform for the nobles to display their strength—it was also an opportunity to weaken their rivals. If they could diminish an enemy's fighting power in such a public setting, it would be a victory in itself, even if they did not claim the championship. However, Ophelia felt a twinge of unease at the sight of blood being spilled during what was supposed to be a ceremonial event; it struck her as rather distasteful.
"As long as no one is killed, it is permitted," Wen nodded in response to her question. "According to the tournament rules, taking a life is strictly forbidden. Any warrior who kills their opponent—no matter how strong they are—will be immediately disqualified. Thus, even when they are fighting fiercely, the combatants always exercise a measure of restraint."
I see, Ophelia thought to herself.
As the two of them spoke, the matches in the square reached a fever pitch. A middle-aged warrior had defeated two challengers in a row and now stood firm in the center of the arena. He was a burly, imposing figure, wielding a longsword and a wooden shield, clad head to toe in steel armor—he cut an impressive figure indeed. What drew the crowd's attention most of all, however, was the faint glow of soul energy emanating from his body—a telltale sign of a mid-ranked swordsman.
"That man is the captain of the Serra family's guard," Wen frowned, his expression turning grave at the sight of him. "The Serra family is aligned with the allied nobles from outside our domain. I must admit, I did not expect them to send him into the arena so early... I had assumed they would hold him back for the later rounds."
Wen's muttering was met with a stir of unease among the nobles. They all knew that the appearance of a mid-ranked swordsman signaled that the tournament had finally moved beyond the preliminary skirmishes and into the critical phase. In previous years, such challenges had been used as a transition between the minor and major bouts, typically handled by warriors from within the Byrd family itself. But now, an allied noble house had stolen the initiative? What were they to do?
The members of the Byrd family frowned as they stared at the middle-aged man standing on the stage. While a mid-ranked swordsman was certainly no weakling, he was hardly a match for the true powerhouses among the great noble clans. In truth, the Byrd family had no shortage of formidable warriors in attendance that day—but they were reluctant to waste their strength on a warrior from an allied house. If this had been an internal power struggle between factions of the Byrd family, it would have been a different matter entirely. But the Serra family was merely an external clan that had sworn allegiance to them; if a Byrd warrior were to suffer an embarrassing defeat at his hands, it would be a major blow to their prestige. Furthermore, a mid-ranked swordsman was a dangerous opponent—if he fought with his back to the wall, he could easily inflict a grievous wound on his attacker before falling. Thus, after the middle-aged man defeated his second challenger, the nobles fell into a tense silence, seemingly deliberating their next move.
Ophelia narrowed her eyes slightly as she sensed the shift in the nobles' mood. She had clearly noticed the change in the atmosphere ever since the middle-aged warrior had stepped onto the stage—and she knew that this was a perfect opportunity to make a statement. However... she glanced at the twin sisters sitting beside her, still giggling away, and let out a deep sigh, abandoning the idea. After all, the two young ladies were her trump cards—they were not meant to be revealed so early in the game.
Just as Ophelia sighed and resigned herself to letting the opportunity pass, a soft voice sounded behind her.
"Lady Ophelia, if you do not mind, I should like to go up and have some fun. Would that be permissible?"
"Charlotte?" Ophelia's eyes widened in surprise as she turned to look at the maid standing beside her. Charlotte was smiling sweetly and innocently, waiting patiently for her answer. Ophelia knew the maid well—like the twin sisters, her background was shrouded in mystery, but at the very least, she did not share their eccentric and unpredictable temperament. She was a pleasant and easygoing person to be around. What Ophelia did not know, however, was that she was also capable of fighting...
"Would it be all right, Lady Ophelia?" Charlotte asked again, her gentle smile never fading.
Ophelia hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Very well—I leave it to you."
"Thank you, Lady Ophelia. Please leave it to me," Charlotte replied with a light chuckle. She turned around, her figure flickering for a split second—then, in the blink of an eye, the young woman leaped down from the VIP seats like a graceful bird, landing effortlessly in the center of the square.
The moment Charlotte stepped onto the stage, the boisterous noise that had filled the square fell silent abruptly. Both the common folk and the nobles stared at the young woman in stunned disbelief—they had never expected such a young and beautiful girl to step forward as a challenger.
Beneath the glow of the torches, Charlotte's beautiful golden hair shimmered with a soft luster. Coupled with the eccentric yet striking maid's uniform she wore, her delicate and fragile appearance was only further accentuated. To anyone looking at her, she seemed like nothing more than a gentle, vulnerable young woman—not a fierce warrior ready for battle.
And yet, this delicate young lady had jumped right into the middle of the square. Could it be that she intended to issue a challenge?
"Good day, sir," Charlotte said, completely unfazed by the curious and confused stares of the crowd. She curtsied slightly with a warm smile, as if the man standing before her was not an opponent she was about to fight, but merely an ordinary guest. "I have come to challenge you."
"You...?" The middle-aged man's eyes widened in shock. In truth, he had prepared himself thoroughly before stepping onto the stage. His master had warned him that the Byrd family would never tolerate an external clan stealing the spotlight—and that they would undoubtedly send a warrior to challenge him. His orders were clear: once a Byrd warrior stepped forward, he was to surrender immediately and concede the match. But now, events had taken an unexpected turn. No warrior from the Byrd family had appeared—instead, a young girl who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere had stepped up to challenge him. This was the third and final challenge; if he won this match, he would be crowned the champion of the Martial Tournament! Could it be that the Byrd family had no response at all?
"Little girl, this is no place for children like you to play," the middle-aged man said, his face hardening as he frowned down at her. "Battle is far crueler and more terrifying than women like you could ever imagine. I advise you not to waste your time here."
"I beg to differ, sir," Charlotte replied, her warm smile never wavering as she listened to his words. She crossed her hands and slid them down the length of her thighs—and in the blink of an eye, several small, transparent glass vials appeared between her slender fingers.
"In fact, I do not believe you stand the slightest chance of winning this match," she said, her voice soft yet unwavering.
Her declaration left the entire square in stunned silence.
"You...!" The middle-aged man's face darkened with anger. He had never imagined that a young girl who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen would dare to speak to him in such a manner. The nobles and commoners alike stared at each other in dumbfounded silence. When Charlotte had first stepped onto the stage, many of them had felt annoyed—after all, they knew that this was the middle-aged swordsman's final chance to defend his title; if he won, the tournament would end immediately, which was the last thing any of them wanted. Thus, they had initially intended to drive the girl off the stage to prevent her from wasting this precious opportunity. But now, after hearing her bold declaration, they were left speechless. It was true that the middle-aged swordsman was not an exceptionally powerful warrior—but he was still a mid-ranked swordsman! He could easily take on a dozen low-ranked swordsmen single-handedly. Defeating a mere girl like her should have been child's play. And yet, the maid was so confident in her ability to win—did she possess some kind of secret weapon?
With this thought in mind, the crowd fell silent, their eyes fixed intently on the scene unfolding in the square, eager to see how this young girl intended to defeat the seasoned warrior.
"Hmph!" The middle-aged man snorted coldly as he felt the weight of the crowd's gaze upon him. As a mid-ranked swordsman, he could easily sense that the girl before him possessed no martial power whatsoever—not even the level of a low-ranked swordsman. She looked soft and unfit, lacking both training and strength—and what was more, she was not even armed with a sword. She was nothing more than an ordinary woman, and yet she dared to challenge him? The audacity of it! His anger flaring, he completely forgot the instructions his master had given him. While he had been ordered to surrender if a Byrd warrior appeared, he could not bring himself to back down in the face of a challenge from a mere girl. If he were to surrender now, he would be a laughingstock in this city for the rest of his life!
With this thought, the middle-aged man tightened his grip on his longsword, his resolve hardening.
"Very well—so be it!" he roared, then charged toward Charlotte, swinging his sword down at her with all his might.