Inside the hushed waiting room, Yujin slowly opened his eyes and surveyed the interior.
Time had moved at a dizzying pace; it was already the day of the Champions League matches. The opening ceremony was over, but the memory of it left a sour taste in Yujin's mouth.
When his name was called, the emotions of the crowd watching the broadcast were split into two: suspicion and mockery.
They seemed to relish the fact that the Nearl family's honor had fallen into the gutter. It was human nature, after all—most people enjoyed watching a legacy crumble more than they enjoyed watching one rise. Even if the Nearls were desperate, they had sent a Sarkaz as their representative for the Champions League. The audience pointed and whispered, claiming this was a direct insult to the glory of Kazimierz.
There was no applause. Only a heavy silence, broken only by a single voice screaming from the stands.
"Master! We‘re cheering for you!!"
In a stadium full of cold stares, Kiril's voice rang out. Raquelamalin clapped quietly from her seat, her eyes fixed on Yujin. Kisha did the same. That was it.
He had no other allies.
But hadn't he expected this? He knew it would be a grueling road, paved with discrimination and contempt. He had to prove them wrong. This first match would be the foundation. He wouldn't just win; he would provide an overwhelming victory.
He wanted them to see exactly what kind of man he was and the resolve he carried—even if they only viewed this tournament as a trivial amusement.
[Are you feeling nervous?]
"…I‘d be lying if I said I wasn't."
He was finally standing in the arena he had admired as a child. Not through the standard qualifiers, but jumping straight into the Champions League as a high-tier representative. Since he hadn't climbed the ranks normally, Yujin didn't know the struggles of the others, and he knew many of them likely despised him for taking a "shortcut."
"Still, I'm going to do this."
This was the first step toward the future he envisioned.
"If you're ready, we'll head out for the interview before the match starts," a staff member said, adjusted his headset.
Yujin buckled his sword to his hip and stood. He walked toward the interview stage, which looked exactly like the ones he had seen in recordings long ago.
"Now! We have one of the most controversial knights in Kazimierz right now! Not a Great Knight, but a sudden replacement... the nameless warrior, Yujin!!!"
A man with a hairstyle resembling a chicken's crest introduced him with exaggerated fanfare. His words carried a hidden sting—a subtle jab at Yujin's lack of title and his "irregular" entry.
"Let‘s start with an introduction. Our first Sarkaz participant, and one who has proven to be uninfected..."
Yujin looked around. Not a single face in the arena was on his side. To them, he was a foreign contaminant, an intruder in their sacred sport.
"…I won't waste words."
Yujin wordlessly raised a single finger. The interviewer tilted his head, confused.
"Hmm? What does that gesture mean? Do you intend to crush your first opponent, the Iron Knight Murchal Ingra?"
"It‘s a bit more than that."
The interviewer froze. He had expected a standard provocation, but Yujin‘s aura had suddenly shifted.
"One minute. That‘s all I‘ll need."
A nameless nobody claiming he would finish a titled noble of a prestigious house in under sixty seconds. There was no greater headline, and no greater insult.
The interviewer gaped at Yujin like he was looking at a madman. Meanwhile, Daniel and Raquelamalin, watching the live broadcast...
"That idiot..." Daniel muttered, rubbing his face as he stared at the screen. Larin looked equally stunned. Insulting others wasn't Yujin‘s style.
But this was the opening match. It was the only fight scheduled for the ceremony. The K.G.C.C. had likely set this up to humiliate the Nearl family publicly, but Yujin was turning it into a platform of his own.
The next interview was Murchal Ingra‘s. Yujin walked out of the room with an indifferent expression, finding Murchal waiting in the corridor.
"You... don't know your place, do you?"
Murchal‘s face was hidden behind a heavy helm, but his eyes burned with a clear, murderous light.
"On the contrary. I know exactly where I stand," Yujin replied, looking Murchal up and down. To him, the man simply wasn't a threat.
Murchal gripped his hand-axes tightly. For a moment, it looked as though he would lash out right there, but he restrained himself, content to glare.
"The results... will be decided in the arena."
Lashing out here wouldn't help Murchal. He turned and entered the interview room, while Yujin headed back to his own station.
"I guess he has some restraint," Yujin mused.
When he‘d heard about the attack on Larin, he had been genuinely angry. Seeing these people use such petty, dirty tricks just to win a game... if his targets had been Daniel or Kisha instead of a master Caster like Larin, they would have been in real danger. Yujin‘s expression hardened. If Murchal hadn't played dirty, Yujin might not have been so provocative.
"Murchal Ingra's interview is over. It‘s time for your entrance," a staffer announced.
Yujin stood up and walked toward the dark tunnel leading to the arena. He pulled his helmet on.
[Calibrating vision. Calibration complete. PRTS: EYES OF PRIESTESS engaged.]
"Let's go."
Through the wide, digital field of view, Yujin stepped forward. At the end of the tunnel, a blinding white light began to pour in.
As he stepped out into that light...
— ROAAAAAAAAR!!!!
The sound of the crowd, a literal tidal wave of noise, shook the very foundations of the stadium.
2.
"Fix the tracking! Come on!"
"I‘m no good with electronics. Theresa is handling it, so just be patient."
Back in Kazdel, in the mansion of Netsalem, the King of Rot.
Usually, this would be the hour for sleep, but the disciples were wide awake, armed with snacks and beer. They were gathered around a screen for a tournament they normally wouldn't spare a glance for.
"Why are we watching this for a guy who hasn't even sent a single letter?"
"It‘ll be interesting. Yujin might actually appear in a competition like this eventually," Buldrokk said, sprawled on the sofa in casual clothes, having discarded his armor.
Theresis sat on the floor, sipping a beer. "Let‘s see the level of these knights. I‘m curious."
Their eyes were fixed on the screen where Theresa was tinkering with the signal. In this rural corner of Kazdel, getting a Kazimierz broadcast required both effort and talent—two things Theresa possessed in abundance.
"…There."
The static cleared. Theresa stood up and took her place on the sofa.
The screen showed the opening ceremony: people giving solemn speeches, rows of armored knights standing in formation, and the massive crowds filling the stands.
Kalaisha grumbled but watched intently. She wondered if Yujin could really stand tall in such a place without shrinking. His skill was undeniable—they could all vouch for that—but that stage required more than just skill. It required luck, honor, and a specific kind of presence.
She felt a surge of anxiety on his behalf but tried to shake it off. This was Yujin‘s fight, not hers. She could only support him from afar.
Theresa felt the same. When he had first announced his plan to leave for Kazimierz, she had opposed it fiercely. The days of pure, childhood idealism were over; she knew exactly how the world viewed the Sarkaz. She was terrified Yujin would be wounded by the tide of discrimination.
But she hadn't been able to stop him.
The boring speeches dragged on. One by one, the names of the knights and their orders were announced. Suddenly, Buldrokk‘s eyes narrowed at one particular entrant.
"The Darknight Knight..."
"You know him?" Theresis asked.
Buldrokk shook his head. "I don't know the man, but... he isn't an ordinary Kuranta."
Not an ordinary Kuranta. Theresis caught the implication.
"…You mean a Nightzmora?"
"Yes. I didn't think any of them still remained."
A nomadic tribe that had once conquered the known world, reaching even the sands of Sargon. In this era, they were nearly extinct, their names and history on the verge of vanishing, yet few could forget the terror of the Great Khagan.
Buldrokk‘s red eyes glowed with interest. If that man truly was a descendant of the Khagan, how strong would he be?
Theresis let out a sigh at Buldrokk‘s battle-lust, but the name that came next on the broadcast made him freeze.
"Knight Yujin."
The other knights had flashy titles or family names. This name was called out simply as 'Knight Yujin.' Buldrokk‘s face scowled in disbelief, and Theresa‘s eyes went wide.
"Is there another Yujin?" Kalaisha asked, but no one could answer.
They stared at the screen as a figure clad in beautiful silver-white armor appeared.
And when that knight reached up and removed his helmet...
A face they knew all too well was revealed to the world.