"The roster for the Nearl family has been submitted."
"…Yujin? Some nobody I‘ve never heard of."
"He‘s a Sarkaz. Does Daniel actually have the stomach to handle the fallout if this gamble fails?"
"He‘s already a man standing on a cliff‘s edge, isn't he?"
"Tch. They say the fall hurts more the higher up you are. Daniel must have finally lost his mind in his old age."
"With this, all the rosters for the main tournament are finalized. We need to set the brackets..."
"We should clear the name Nearl as quickly as possible. Put him against... what was his name? That notorious one."
"Are you referring to the knight from the Ingra family?"
"Yes. Pit that delusional Sarkaz against him."
"Understood. Then I shall... approve the Nearl family's representative."
"Well, it‘s not like anything unexpected will happen."
The goal was to mimic the Golden Pegasus.
Yujin closed his eyes and drove his blade into the earth. A brilliant platinum light erupted, washing over the courtyard and turning the ground into a field of shimmering radiance.
The Pegasus Arts had been passed down for generations—manifesting as golden light and wings that soared through the blue sky. Yujin was different. Rather than simple imitation, he wanted to understand the fundamental mechanics of the power.
"You..."
Looking at the radiant platinum wings blossoming from Yujin‘s back, Daniel spoke with a voice heavy with nostalgia.
"You can already do that?"
"It‘s a half-measure. I‘m just mimicking the form for now."
Healing, protection, and absolute offense—the versatile Arts of the Nearl bloodline. None of it was standardized. Some focused entirely on the strike, releasing absurd amounts of force, while those who chose the shield possessed immense wide-range healing and protective capabilities.
Since there was no set 'correct' path, Yujin focused on selection and efficiency. Instead of copying their martial style entirely, he chose to prioritize the "Healing" aspect of the Nearl Arts. He lacked an innate way to mend his own wounds while healing others; his offensive and defensive capabilities were already polished to a fine edge.
After all, hadn't he been beaten senseless by Buldrokkas'tee to learn close-quarters combat? When he told Buldrokk that he would never lose his weapon, the Wendigo had punched him just to prove a point.
Yujin lightly nicked his finger with his blade. Blood bubbled to the surface, but platinum light immediately filled the wound, sealing it instantly.
Maybe... I could actually go a round with Buldrokk bare-handed now, Yujin thought, before shaking his head.
"…Ngh, my head."
Buldrokkas'tee was a man who could stop a speeding train with his bare hands without even touching his Arts. A man whose single kick could trigger a landslide and collapse a mountainside.
['Are you even human?' / 'I am. Just like you.']
He was already a monster, but Netsalem had claimed that having Yujin as an equal rival and friend had made Buldrokk even stronger. Even when they went to the coast...
No, don‘t think about those memories. That incident was the worst thing Yujin had ever experienced. The thought of those writhing tentacles made his skin crawl. He took a steadying breath to clear his mind.
Watching Yujin level his sword and control his breathing, Daniel marveled at the boy's progress. A genius among geniuses. He possessed a martial power that defied his age, backed by a staggering amount of effort. The butler had even mentioned how Yujin would sit in the archives like he had taken root, devouring records and tapes for days on end.
Part of Daniel wanted to use this Major as an opportunity to formally dub him a Nearl Knight and have him protect this land forever, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The name Nearl was too small a vessel for a talent like this. To tie him down would be like caging a dragon.
"A formal document arrived from the Knight Association. Your entry as a representative has been accepted... and the brackets have been released."
"The brackets? Who is it?"
"Well..." Daniel‘s expression darkened as he looked at the parchment. It was a blatant move by the Association. "Murchal Ingra."
The youngest son of the prestigious Ingra house. He was a man of peerless cruelty who took pleasure in crushing opponents and shattering their pride. There had once been a massive scandal when he permanently crippled a fellow knight during a match, but the Ingra family's influence was such that he was released from custody shortly after.
That monster was Yujin‘s first opponent.
"How... how can such a man carry the title of a knight?" Yujin asked, his voice low with fury.
"That is the era we live in," Daniel replied. "The world has changed. People no longer care for dusty old chivalry. They want entertainment and blood."
Those who used to be servants now held the leash. Chivalry and conviction had been discarded in favor of "Sport Knights"—meaningless celebrities and hollow idols. It was a change Yujin found utterly repulsive.
"This Major is the turning point," Daniel continued. "Either the name of the Knight falls into total obscurity, or we keep it alive on a respirator. the tension between the Campaign and Sport branches is at its breaking point."
"So, is Murchal a Sport Knight?"
"No. He likely bullied his family into letting him enter for his own sadistic amusement. He‘s skilled, but he shouldn't technically be in the Champions League."
And that was why he was dangerous. Most other knights represented famous orders with codes and public images. Yujin was an unknown variable, a nameless freelancer. Murchal wouldn't hesitate to use poison, hire mercenaries to wound him before the match, or use any number of foul plays.
"I‘ve prepared his combat records. Your equipment is also being readied. It won't be top-tier corporate gear, but..." Daniel looked apologetic. Most knights in this tournament used custom-forged masterpieces sponsored by major corporations. Yujin had no sponsors, so Daniel had been forced to rely on his own personal contacts.
"It‘s fine. Just letting me compete is more than enough help, Daniel."
Originally, Yujin‘s plan would have taken two or three years—starting as a nameless mercenary and slowly climbing the ranks. Meeting Daniel had condensed that timeline into six months.
The Grand Knight Territory of Kavalerielki. The Champions League. The pinnacle of knightly competition, where the winner would have their name etched into the "Hall of Champions." This was the chance of a lifetime.
Yujin gripped his sword, the metal humming with platinum light. He hadn't fully mastered the Nearl style, but he had pruned what was unnecessary and adapted the core to fit his own hyper-senses. His hands glowed with energy, drawing geometric patterns in the air as he swung his blade.
"…I suppose I don‘t need to worry about you losing," Daniel muttered, watching him.
The boy would be the greatest variable this tournament had ever seen.
Raquelamalin walked through the city streets with a casual yawn. Being a guest of the Nearl house had allowed her to discard her ragged traveler's garb for clothing befitting her status as a princess.
She remembered her failure against the Confessarii. If they hadn't poisoned her food, she never would have been caught so easily. The memory made her blush with embarrassment—she had been so hungry back then that she hadn't even checked for traps.
But that embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance. She could feel observers behind her. Not many, but they were skilled at hiding their presence—professionals.
"…I didn't know I was this popular," she whispered. This wasn't the first time she‘d been followed, but today, the intent felt more lethally focused.
Larin nibbled on a snack she‘d bought from a street stall as she intentionally led the pursuers into a secluded alleyway. Assuming they had found their opening, the stalkers closed in, moving fast enough that even an ordinary citizen would have noticed them.
"…!"
Suddenly, Larin was gone. They had been right on her heels, yet she had simply vanished into the thin air.
"You really think so little of me, don't you?"
Larin sat on the edge of a rooftop above them, her legs crossed. Her slender fingers gripped her bone-whistle. Her veil fluttered in the breeze, revealing her face—pale hair, and violet eyes that curved into a predatory smile.
She was devastatingly beautiful. The pursuers froze for a heartbeat before shaking it off and shouting.
"Get her!"
They were agile, scaling the walls with practiced ease. One pulled a dagger as they reached for her, but Larin only snorted.
「 Shatter. 」
Her bone-whistle carved characters into the air. In tandem with her word, the daggers in their hands exploded into shrapnel, slicing into the men's hands and faces.
Finally, they realized who the predator truly was. They looked up at Larin with eyes full of terror.
The Banshees were, in Yujin's estimation, one of the most powerful sub-races of the Sarkaz. They wielded a ancient sorcery based on the spoken and written word.
Death was the only thing waiting for her pursuers.