After heading down to the courtyard and waiting for a short while, men dressed like armored knights began to gather.
Bishop Zemnis walked over alongside Viscount Murube and snapped his fingers.
From white stains on the ground welled up men and women in monastic robes. Wearing masks, they fell into an orderly formation and stood at attention with their hands clasped behind their backs.
These figures who had made such a flashy entrance must be the rumored elite unit under Bianca's direct command: the Kouhai.
The Kouhai were executors of divine justice, composed entirely of warriors each worth a thousand men. Three years ago, a mere hundred of them had completely annihilated the army of a small frontier nation that the Central Church had deemed a gathering of heretics—a group of monsters.
In the name of justice, they had supposedly slaughtered that small nation's king, high-ranking officials, and the citizens of its capital alike, sparing neither young nor old, man nor woman.
"Viscount Murube, please select an opponent for Padde-kun."
"Y-Yes! Oligor, do not disgrace me!"
"Leave it to me!"
"Ha!"
From among the knight-like men stepped a brawny giant with his head shaved clean except for the very crown. Oligor bowed, stepped in front of Padde, and took a stance.
That distinctive crimson skin was something he had seen once before in Babel.
(This guy... is he a Marg...?)
A Marg was a Gift Holder adept in both magic and martial arts, boasting unrivaled strength in this world. These Gift Holders were invariably marked by their red skin.
"Padde-kun, you will be wagering your life. Are you prepared for that?"
"Yes."
He nodded firmly at Zemnis's question. To be sure, against a Marg, the past Padde—who had possessed nothing but pointless pride—would likely have stood no chance of victory.
However, the current Padde understood conflict, if only a little better than before.
Real conflict was a struggle to take the other's life. It was not so naive that victory could be decided merely by the superiority of one's Gift. Above all, since this Gift demanded mastery over both magic and physical techniques, the Human Race faced the limitation of time. Unlike an elf or a dwarf, whose lifespans were long, the Human Race had limited years, making it far more efficient to specialize and train in a single field. In other words, a Marg, forced to divide their time between both disciplines, was terribly inefficient in that regard. They stood no chance against a true powerhouse who had mastered a single domain.
Of course, there were exceptions, such as Silver of the Magic Sword, who was said to be the strongest living being among the elves.
"..."
Oligor slammed his fists together, glaring down at Padde with the corners of his mouth curling up as if sizing up merchandise.
Viscount Murube's armored knight retainers also watched Padde and Oligor with smirks on their faces.
Well, this was a contest between a brawny martial artist and a frail student. Thinking normally, it was obvious the fight would be completely one-sided. To them, Padde's humiliating defeat would probably serve as fine entertainment over drinks tonight.
"Brat, aren't you scared?"
Oligor's smile vanished, his brow furrowing as he asked.
"Unfortunately, those sorts of emotions have grown entirely numb within me."
His opponent was indeed a Marg. In the past, when he had believed in Gift supremacy, Padde would have done well just to put on a brave face out of an inferiority complex and sheer terror. Yet standing opposite him like this, he felt no fear whatsoever.
Rather, compared to the owl monster who was the very symbol of terror—Lord Kamui—or the murderous mouse—Lord Akujiki—a brat intoxicated by his own talent was merely a chick acting tough, chirping annoyingly.
"Hoh. Let us thoroughly test whether that is the truth."
"I would ask for nothing less."
Decades, or perhaps centuries? Isolated from human society, he had endured that grueling training the entire time. Because of that, he had no real grasp of where his current strength stood. He figured this battle would surely let him discover his place in this world.
"Impudent brat. Lord Zemnis, if you would."
Oligor bowed once more to Zemnis, who served as referee.
"Then, in the name of God, give your utmost!"
Along with his shout, Zemnis forcefully swung down his raised right hand.