Chapter 26

Wading through a sea of feverish excitement, Cody shoved his way forward.

Muttering light apologies like "Sorry" and "Pardon me" as he went, he navigated the throng with a nimble grace, reaching the front row of the spectator seats in the blink of an eye.

"Oh, looks like I made it in time. Leaving that work to my subordinates was well worth the effort."

Stroking the stubble on his chin, Cody squinted at the stage, muttering to himself as he spotted the black-haired boy.

Cody's squad had been ordered to patrol the city streets, but he had dumped that duty onto Robinson and his other two subordinates so he could slip away to watch the Fighting Tournament. By now, they were likely grumbling their resentment with every step of their beat. He’d certainly have to endure a lecture when he faced them later, but for now, he prioritized satisfying his curiosity over avoiding a scolding.

He claimed a seat with an excellent view and sat through several lackluster matches. Finally, the boy he was looking for stepped onto the stage.

His attire was crafted from high-quality leather. The bracer on his left arm, too, possessed a luster that suggested a material far more refined than common bronze.

That’s finer gear than what we low-ranking knights carry, Cody thought. Is he some young noble?

His entry name, "Mr. Lord," was an obvious pseudonym. Judging by his equipment, the possibility of him being a mere commoner was low. If he were a noble, recruiting him into the Order of the Holy King might be a bit of a headache. Whether Cody would actually attempt a recruitment depended entirely on the boy's actual skill—and that was exactly what Cody had come here to judge.

In other words, this was a legitimate scouting mission to find talent for the future of the Order. He was absolutely not slacking off.

He had his excuses ready just in case. Now, he could focus on the match without a single worry.

"Now then, let's see what you’ve got... shall we?"

But before Cody could even finish the sentence, the match was over. Immediately following the signal to begin, "Lord" closed the distance in a single stride, flicked his opponent's sword aside, and leveled the tip of his own blade at the boy’s throat.

The entire exchange took less than three seconds—a lightning-fast conclusion. It was no surprise the opposing boy looked utterly dazed. Furthermore, the sharp, murderous glare Lord directed at him likely inspired more terror than the dull training sword held at his neck.

Overwhelmed by Lord’s bloodthirsty aura, the opponent surrendered with a trembling voice.

The spectators, who had been roaring with excitement moments before, fell into a confused buzz, unable to process what had just happened. Lord didn't give the bewildered crowd a second thought as he turned and walked away.

"...Whoa, now. Is this kid a genuine masterpiece in the making?"

The participants in these tournaments ranged wildly in skill. His current opponent had likely been decent enough for his age, but that was the limit of it. The point of interest wasn't the victory itself—it was that speed. The opponent had probably felt like he’d lost before he even realized the match had started.

In terms of pure velocity, Lord completely outstripped the subordinates Cody currently supervised.

Despite being surrounded by thousands of spectators, the boy hadn't wavered once; he had overwhelmed his foe with movements that were devoid of waste or hesitation. Though he was still a child—immature in mind, technique, and body—his ability to perform at such a high level under these conditions was nothing short of magnificent.

Talent like that was too good to leave wandering the wild.

Perhaps it was the ego of a knight speaking, but from Cody's perspective, the Order could never have enough excellent personnel. Even if he did try to scout him, the boy held the final say on whether to join, and Cody wasn't virtuous enough to hesitate over such things.

I should probably put a mark on him. Though...

During that brief bout, Cody had sensed something coming from Lord. It was a very slight, yet undeniable sense of impatience—as if he were desperate to settle things quickly.

This was the same boy who, earlier that morning, had gauged Cody's true strength in a gaze that lasted less than a heartbeat. There was no way he could fail to perceive the massive gap between himself and his opponent. Therefore, that wouldn't be the reason for his haste.

Perhaps Cody had simply misread him. But if he hadn't, what was the source of that anxiety?

The question lingered in Cody's mind.

Harold's movements had been swift the moment he noticed Colette. He launched a blitzkrieg attack the second the match began, forced a surrender, and immediately left the stage.

He hurried back to the participants' waiting area and began scanning the room for a specific boy. Since Colette was here, the chances were high that he was here too—Rainer, the protagonist of Brave Hearts.

The problem was whether he was just a spectator like Colette or a participant in the tournament. In the worst-case scenario, Harold would have to fight him.

Harold's silent prayer of Please, just stay in the stands vanished like mist.

A shock of spiky hair that seemed to vibrate with energy crossed his field of vision. The color was a burning red, exactly as he remembered. When the name "Rainer Griffith" was called, the boy leaped onto the stage, looking like he was ready for anything.

Seeing that, Harold let his head hang. It was confirmed: Rainer was a contestant.

Are you serious? Should I withdraw before I have to fight him?

This development hadn't been in the original game. In the story, Rainer was supposed to arrive in Delphit later and be amazed by the large ships, claiming it was his first time in the city. Harold had no idea why he was suddenly entered in a fighting tournament.

In any case, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. But just as he started fabricating a reason to withdraw, he realized he was repeating the same mistake he’d made that morning. Without thinking, he was reflexively trying to escape simply because Rainer was an "original character."

Looking back, Rainer's hatred for Harold in the game stemmed from the murder of Clara and Harold's general behavior. He had already saved Clara. And though his tone of voice was still a disaster, he intended to continue acting properly. There was no reason for Rainer to hate him now.

In fact, it would be much wiser to get on his good side. He had no intention of joining the protagonist's party—the front lines of danger—but he could use his knowledge of the game to offer advice that would make them stronger. They wouldn't listen to him if they were enemies.

As he thought it through, he felt himself calm down.

Furthermore, even if Erika and Colette met, it would be their first time meeting each other. As long as Harold wasn't involved in that encounter, his past actions wouldn't come to light. Since Erika wouldn't go out of her way to approach Harold anyway, this tournament was actually a perfect chance to observe the relationship between Rainer and Colette.

He could gauge Rainer's current strength while establishing a connection for the future. There was no reason to let this opportunity slip away.

Having made his decision, Harold turned his attention back to the matches. Rainer had just secured his victory and was currently giving a jubilant "guts pose." He was the future hero who would save the world, after all; even at "Level 1," Harold wanted to believe he wouldn't lose in a place like this.

First, he should offer a straightforward congratulation. It would be a good icebreaker.

What should I say? If I try to say "Congratulations," it'll probably come out as "I suppose you're slightly better than garbage." That sounds so arrogant. Okay, let's try to keep it neutral...

While he was debating with himself, Rainer walked right past him. Harold spoke up instinctively to stop him.

"Hey, you. The red-head."

He had immediately failed his word choice.

Combined with his posture—arms crossed and back leaning against the wall—it sounded like an incredibly haughty demand. But once the words were out, there was no taking them back. Rainer stopped in his tracks at the mention of his hair color.

"Ah, it's you!"

Upon recognizing Harold, Rainer suddenly closed the distance. Harold braced for a fight, thinking he’d angered the boy, but Rainer’s eyes weren't filled with rage—they were practically sparkling.

"Whoa, you're that super fast guy from before! I was watching, but I couldn't even see what you did! How’d you do that? Can I do it too!?"

His enthusiasm was so intense that even Harold took a step back. Rainer had always been a bit childish in the original story, but seeing it in person as an actual child was overwhelming.

"Just give me a tip! Or at least tell me what kind of training you do! I run with weights on my back and stuff, but I can't move anywhere near as fast as you did!"

"First, shut that motor-mouth of yours."

"Oh, sorry. Right, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Rainer!"

Rainer energetically extended his right hand. After a split second of hesitation, Harold took it.

"...Harold. Call me whatever you like."

"Yeah! Nice to meet you, Harold!"

Rainer gave him a bright, carefree smile. In his mind, they were probably already friends. That was simply the kind of boy Rainer was.

It was a trait Harold actually liked. His conscience twinged slightly at the thought of approaching such a pure boy with ulterior motives, but he suppressed the feeling.

"I saw your performance. It was... adequate. You're slightly better than the rest of the rabble here."

"Hehe, thanks!"

No matter how you sliced it, that sounded like a blatant insult to every other participant in the room. Several nearby contestants shot them murderous glares, but Rainer—completely oblivious—simply looked sheepish at the "praise." It seemed his status as an "idiot kid" who couldn't recognize sarcasm was fully intact.

For Harold, who was constantly plagued by his involuntary insults, this was a godsend.

"However, I have no obligation to teach you anything. If you want to know my secrets, try to steal them from me in a fight—assuming you can climb that high."

"You're on! You better not lose before you get to me, Harold!"

"Who do you think you're speaking to? The only thing you'll learn is the gap between our strengths, which is as vast as the heavens and the earth."

"I'm looking forward to it! See you later! Let's meet in the finals!"

Rainer gave a bellicose, competitive grin that replaced his earlier friendliness, while Harold remained as arrogant as ever. Fearlessness met defiance.

This was the opening skirmish.

The other participants glared at them from the sidelines. Since the two had spoken as if no one else in the room mattered, it was only natural that they were seen as provocateurs. Harold had unintentionally made things harder for Rainer, but if he were truly the protagonist, he would surely clear a hurdle of this height with ease.

"All the more worth fighting, then," Harold muttered, looking down at his right hand, which still felt the lingering warmth of that firm handshake.