Chapter 31

Regalia Castle stood at the heart of the Royal Capital, Amageer. As the nation’s seat of power, it served as both the residence of the ruling royalty and the stage where high-ranking officials debated the country's administration day and night.

The castle was perched atop a massive, artificially constructed rectangular plateau. This elevated position made it a symbolic landmark, visible from nearly any point within the city.

At the foot of this plateau, stone fortifications had been erected to encircle the heights. These walls featured two gates, north and south, situated roughly 150 meters from the castle itself. The passage-like space between the plateau and the fortifications served a dual purpose: it was a defensive stronghold in times of war and the Inner Citadel for the Order of the Holy King, a commando unit under the King's direct command.

This sprawling complex contained the Order’s headquarters, barracks, and training grounds. Except for those on long-term expeditions or external assignments, every member of the Order of the Holy King lived and ate within these grounds.

As Robinson and the others explained these details, Harold half-listened while he waited for his appointment. Internally, however, he was still mentally recoiling from Robinson's frighteningly rugged face. Even during their journey to the capital, when Robinson had pressed him to confirm if he could use magic, Harold had reflexively fired off a spell out of pure terror.

While his experiences fighting monsters had helped him conquer his fear to a degree, Robinson’s appearance was so overwhelming that it shook his mental fortitude to its core.

"……Forget that. Where did that guy go?" Harold demanded.

"He’ll be back soon, I think," Robinson replied. "Just relax and wait."

"And in the meantime, I’m to be treated like a sideshow? Don't screw with me."

Irritation seeped into Harold's voice. For once, his biting words perfectly matched his internal state. His annoyance was justified by their current situation: Harold was standing in the middle of a training ground typically used for interpersonal combat drills, surrounded by a large crowd of knights watching him from a distance.

His expression was the picture of foul-tempered. He had arrived at the capital and followed the invitation into the Order's facilities, only for the person in charge to vanish, leaving him on display like an exhibit.

"Yo, yo! Sorry to keep you waiting!"

Completely oblivious to Harold’s mounting rage, the perpetually easygoing Cody finally reappeared.

Suppressing the urge to kick the man, Harold demanded an explanation. "You. Where have you been? And who are all these people?"

"Sorry, sorry, I had some business to attend to. Anyway, Harold-kun, I need you to fight them. Think of it as an entrance exam."

"What?"

Harold wasn't the only one who reacted. A murmur rippled through the gathered knights; evidently, they had been kept in the dark as well.

A bearded man stepped forward to question Cody. "What’s the meaning of this, Cody? We were told we’d be testing the fledglings."

"That’s right. This fight will serve as their test and his entrance exam simultaneously."

Every eye in the area fixed on Harold. The bearded man voiced the obvious concern. "An entrance exam for this kid? He doesn't look like he's even hit the minimum age requirement."

(This again…… And of course, this bastard makes everything difficult!) Harold thought. He had expected Cody to pull something, but it was still a headache. He didn't mind the trial itself, but he wished the man would at least give him a heads-up. Cody had likely kept quiet just to "surprise" him—a motivation Harold found utterly idiotic.

"Besides," the bearded knight continued, "even if they are fledglings, these boys have two years of training and a bit of combat experience under their belts. This is too much for a child."

The man’s point was valid. The Order of the Holy King was highly prestigious, and the competition to join was fierce. Even after being accepted, many quit due to the brutal training. Those who failed the post-entry tests were promptly discharged. Only after three years of surviving this sifting process were they no longer considered novices. It took another several years—roughly five years from enlistment—to be treated as a full-fledged knight. Reaching that rank required a robust mind and body. Even those labeled "fledglings" were talented individuals who had survived the initial cull.

"Oh, it'll be fine. This boy is an exceptional talent," Cody said, completely dismissing the man's logic. He then turned to the knights who would be Harold's opponents. "In fact, you lot better be careful. If you underestimate him, you’re going to get hurt. Tell you what—if any of you manage to beat Harold-kun, I might even recommend you for the next promotion exam."

His tone made it clear: he didn't think a bunch of recruits could take Harold down.

No knight could ignore such a provocation. Even as novices, they had poured their blood and sweat into their training to earn their titles. They possessed pride in their efforts and their status as members of the Order. Being used as a measuring stick for a child—and being belittled in the process—left a bitter taste in their mouths.

Harold could feel the atmosphere grow heavy as the recruits silently resolved to crush the boy and prove Cody’s evaluation wrong.

"Well then, do your best," Cody said, patting Harold on the shoulder with a smug grin.

Harold’s expression didn't flicker. Gaining combat experience was his highest priority after avoiding death flags. While the ambush-style exam annoyed him, the opportunity was exactly what he needed.

"Cody."

"Yeah?"

"I'll give you this much credit."

As Harold spat out his usual arrogant remarks, the corners of his mouth curled up. He felt a surge of elation—a primal fighting instinct—ignite in his chest and spread through his limbs. He observed the sensation with a cold, detached corner of his mind.

He had felt this before: when he clashed with Itsuki, and when he first faced a monster. This manifestation of battle-lust was likely a vestige of the original Harold Stokes. The original character was a man who only felt superior when crushing a strong opponent. He wallowed in the pleasure of dominance. Because of this, the original Harold could never accept defeat; losing to Rainer in the game drove him to crave even more power, leading to his ruin.

(He really was a battle junkie in a way. Not just seeking strength, but obsessed with the glory and envy that came with it. That makes it so much worse.)

It was a warped foundation, but for the current Harold, it wasn't a flaw. The stronger the opponent, the more his body demanded victory. This drive translated into his movements.

Faster. Sharper. More precise.

The more disadvantageous the situation, the more his techniques honed to a razor edge. He had already proven this in his prior battles. However, he had recently felt his edge dulling; he had grown too accustomed to his training with Itsuki and the local monsters. This entrance exam, orchestrated by Cody, served both Kazuki Hirasawa's pragmatic needs and Harold Stokes's ego.

Harold drew his sword and faced the knights. He wanted to say, “I look forward to a fair match,” but his mouth had other plans.

"Any of you who are eager to lose, step forward."

As expected, his "Harold Mouth" delivered a perfect provocation. A young man stepped out from the crowd, his eyes burning with genuine hostility.

Man, this mouth really is a genius at taunting people, Harold thought, nearly scoffing. To the observers, it looked like a sneer of pure contempt.

"Squad Leader Cody, is what you said true?" the young man asked, raising his hand. His posture was stiff and disciplined.

"Of course! Provided you can actually beat him, that is."

"Sir! Thank you very much!"

The recruit gave a textbook salute and turned to Harold. "Boy, I’m sorry, but I won’t be holding back. Consider this a lesson on how small your world really is."

"I’m touched by your sermon. In return, I’ll leave you crawling in the dirt."

Harold stepped forward to meet him. A sharp, electric tension filled the air.

"Alright, anything goes as long as you don't kill each other," Cody called out lazily. "Begin whenever~"

"I'm coming for you!"

The recruit lunged forward the moment Cody finished speaking. His movements were disciplined and fast, his overhead slash carrying significant weight.

But that was all it was.

Harold ducked under the descending blade, stepped into the man's guard, and drove his own blade into the recruit's breastplate. With a heavy clang, the young man was blown backward. He stumbled, fell onto his back, and went limp. The shock of the thrust had traveled through the armor, knocking him unconscious instantly.

Cody peered at the fallen knight. "……Eyes are rolling. He’s out. Hey, someone bring a stretcher!"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

As the recruit was carried away, Harold swept his sharp gaze across the remaining knights. Several flinched.

"Next," Harold commanded.

He had something he wanted to test in this exam. He pushed aside all unnecessary thoughts and focused entirely on the combat.

The next opponent was a larger, more muscular man. He bowed silently before taking his stance. Harold didn't wait; he initiated the exchange. They traded several blows as a feeler. Harold gradually increased his speed, and to his satisfaction, the man kept up. Even when Harold reached the speeds he used against Itsuki, the man didn't waver. He was clearly skilled.

Harold backed off to create distance. Then, he lowered his sword, exposing himself completely. He wore a twisted, mocking smile that practically screamed: “Come on, try and hit me.”

Unable to endure the blatant disrespect, the man charged. His speed and power were far greater than in their initial exchange.

Harold didn't block. He kept his right hand down and focused entirely on dodging. He didn't counter; he simply observed the man’s movements with intense scrutiny. After a few minutes of pure evasion, he had his answer.

(I suspected it, but it's true. Intrinsic motions exist.)

"Intrinsic motions" referred to the fixed animations used by game characters. In Brave Hearts, the "Knight" enemy was a generic mob with no unique identity. Because they were essentially the same character model, their animations were standardized.

Harold had first noticed this while fighting monsters. Once he had overcome his initial terror and gained the composure to observe his enemies, he realized they were moving in familiar patterns. Their attack timing and spellcasting were identical to the animations from the game. While they were capable of movements not seen in the game, the fact that their "base" patterns were predictable gave Harold a massive advantage.

He had wondered if this applied to humans as well. The problem was that he hadn't had a chance to fight a "generic" human character he recognized from the game. He had joined the Delphit tournament hoping to find some, but he had only fought children. Even Rainer was too young to use his "adult" game animations.

Now, two years after forming the hypothesis, he finally had his proof. While he still needed to verify it further, the prospect of having "precognition" in interpersonal combat was a game-changer.

Harold’s grin widened with genuine pleasure. To the onlookers, his effortless dodging looked like he was cruelly toying with an inferior opponent.

Frustrated, the knight created distance and lowered his center of gravity. It was the distinct telegraph for magic. A pale blue magic circle formed at his feet.

(Knights use the same motion for every spell. And a blue circle means water attribute. They only have one water spell. Which means—)

Harold thrust his left hand forward and spoke the incantation.

"Aqua Slash!"

Both chanted simultaneously. Dozens of water blades, each thirty centimeters long, manifested in the air. They collided in the center of the arena, shattering into harmless mist.

It was exactly as Harold intended. In the game, once a spell was cast, you could only dodge or block it; you couldn't "cancel" it with another attack. But in this world, magic could be neutralized by opposing magic. Harold had already verified this.

The knight’s face went pale with shock. He knew that magic could be canceled out in theory, but it was considered a fluke of combat, not a repeatable tactic. It was nearly impossible to match the speed and attribute of an opponent’s spell on purpose. One would usually have to use a much more powerful spell to simply overwhelm the other, as Harold had done with lightning against fire in the tournament. Predicting a spell so perfectly was thought to be impossible.

The man tried to resume his attack, but his movements were now sluggish and imprecise. Seeing someone perform the "impossible" had shattered his composure.

Harold didn't even need to use his superior speed. He dismantled the man's offense, reading every move before it happened, and ended the fight with a perfectly timed counter. He wanted to refine his technical skill rather than just relying on raw speed, and this exam was proving to be the perfect training ground.

"Fighting you one by one is tedious," Harold goaded, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Why don't you all just come at me at once?"

He felt a little bad for using them as test subjects, but he needed them to go all out. His "Harold Mouth" was in top form.

---

"He’s incredible……" Shannon whispered.

Standing beside Vincent, she watched the boy in black dominate the training ground with a look of awe.

Vincent gave a curt nod. "Yeah."

"Incredible" was an understatement. The boy was perfect. He defended against every attack with surgical precision and ended his own exchanges in single, decisive strikes. And he was doing this against trained knights before he had even reached the age of fifteen.

But that very perfection sat wrong with Vincent.

(What is this? It’s too perfect.)

The boy wasn't just skilled; he was fighting as if he already knew exactly what his opponents were going to do. It was so fluid it almost looked like a choreographed play. To evade and position oneself so optimally for the next move required more than just instinct or experience. It was as if he were looking into the future.

The Order of the Holy King had specific combat forms. Recruits had those forms drilled into them until they became second nature. While veterans eventually adapted those forms into their own unique styles, the foundation remained the same.

The problem was that this boy, an outsider, seemed to know those forms better than the knights themselves. It wasn't just "incredible"—it was suspicious.

(Something is wrong. You can't fight that efficiently through talent alone.)

There was only one logical explanation: the boy had fought the Order of the Holy King many times before. He must have studied their forms, their sword paths, their magic timing, and even their smallest physical tells until he knew them by heart.

If that were true, he was a massive security risk. A boy with that much knowledge showing up for an entrance exam suggested one thing: infiltration.

"……Shannon-kun, I have a task for you."

"Anything, sir."

"Gather the combat records for the Order of the Holy King from the last ten years. Everything from major wars to small squad skirmishes and individual reports."

"What is the deadline? Individual records will take some time to compile."

"That’s fine. Start with the large-scale records and bring the rest as you find them."

"Understood," Shannon said with a respectful bow.

Vincent didn't return her usual smile. The boy had even demonstrated the ability to read and cancel out their magic. He knew the Order's weaknesses better than they did.

It would be easy to reject him and send him away, but that would be dangerous. They couldn't leave such a variable unaccounted for. It was better to bring him inside where they could monitor him and find out who he was working for. Perhaps he could even lead them to other spies already embedded in the Kingdom.

"I hope this is just paranoia……"

"Did you say something, sir?"

"No, nothing. Let’s get back to work."

"Yes, sir."

As they returned to their desks, the boy in black finished defeating his twentieth opponent in a row.