One way or another, the first round came to an end.
The standard here is high.
"Yeah."
The first round of the Advent Festival had been a battle royale, drastically thinning out the field of competitors.
It was easy to see why the audience was so enthralled. The clashes unfolding before them were of a violent intensity rarely seen in the Kingdom.
The contestants from the Empire have all mastered Life Shroud at the bare minimum. Beyond that, casting Third Rank Magic seemed to be treated as a given.
"At this rate, there might even be contestants who can use Gates."
I had anticipated it ever since checking the contestant roster yesterday, but it seemed plenty of prominent figures unknown to me were participating in this Advent Festival. Even now, listening closely, I could pick up fine details being discussed in the crowd, like "As expected, that one's a favorite to win," or "He hasn't even revealed his trump card yet."
Still, watching this tournament, what resonated with me most was—yep, Reiji reigns supreme. Reiji takes all.
Reiji had wielded his Holy Sword, yet he hadn't activated any of its abilities. Relying solely on the exceptional fundamentals he had forged from scratch—his magic, swordsmanship, and physical prowess—he had effortlessly carved through most of his opposition.
According to Lumia, Reiji had apparently mastered Life Shroud as well, yet he hadn't relied on that either. To advance so easily with such a limited hand was worthy of genuine praise.
"Heh, I'd expect nothing less."
...If you're going to act cool, at least put away what you're holding in your right hand first.
I looked down at what I was clutching.
It was a cheering fan. Written across it was: Reiji Reigns Supreme.
Because I had been waving it with all my might until just a moment ago, it had ended up completely crumpled. I'd have to make a fresh one before tomorrow's second round...
Even so... it was surprising that Celestia and Eileen hadn't teamed up with Reiji.
Apparently, forming impromptu teams during the first round's battle royale format was entirely permissible. Celestia and Eileen had partnered up early on, cooperating to eliminate other contestants, but they had also launched attacks at Reiji on several occasions.
I had fully expected the three of them to join forces... but it seemed Reiji had chosen to fight alone.
It was possible Reiji had refused to cooperate, but if anything, it felt more like Celestia and Eileen were the ones being combative toward him.
Perhaps those two intend to become stepping stones for Reiji as well.
"That's..."
Hmm...
I jest.
"What, a joke?"
Don't say things that leave me at a loss for how to react.
I alone was more than enough of a stepping stone for Reiji, but... just as Zest said, the level of the Advent Festival was formidable. The contestants who advanced were a formidable bunch, and many aside from Reiji had been holding their strength in reserve. Reiji might find himself struggling eventually.
Fifty contestants had made it through the first round. Among them were the three: Reiji, Celestia, and Eileen.
I directed Zest's sensory perception toward the victorious contestants lined up in the center of the stadium.
...Every single person implanted with a Seed of Artificial Mythos has advanced.
"Looks that way."
It was irrefutable proof that the Order was deliberately targeting the strong to implant with seeds.
If left alone, high-ranking Angel Apostles would emerge in droves. That nightmarish hellscape of agonizing screams shown to me by the Master Eye would become reality.
That was why I had to eliminate them.
"Time to get to work."
Melding into the frenzy of the spectators, I manifested Zest.
Cloaked in pitch-black and moving faster than the eye could follow, I slipped away from the stadium.
◆
Luka had grown up in the slums of the Empire.
He had no family. But he had an irreplaceable friend: a single, rusted sword he had scavenged from a heap of garbage.
Luka had pulled himself out of the slums with nothing but that blade. Using his triumph over street thugs as a springboard, he was scouted by the vigilantes, and his recognized skill eventually earned him an appointment as a count's personal guard.
His food, clothing, and shelter were now abundant. Yet even today, he continued to use that very same rusted sword he had picked up from the garbage heap that day.
It wasn't out of sentimental attachment.
To Luka, the physical sharpness of the blade was of little importance.
The Magic Sword. An ever-shifting weapon born of a self-taught fusion of magic and swordsmanship—that was the source of Luka's strength.
The rusted sword was merely a medium. The true essence of its power lay in the blade manifested through magic. With this ability, Luka had advanced through the first round of the Advent Festival with plenty of strength to spare.
As the sun set and the lingering heat of the Advent Festival carried over into the nighttime Imperial Capital, Luka walked through the back alleys, feeling a tangible certainty.
—I can do this.
I can win.
There was a time when he had been grandly hailed as the hope of the slums. Back then, he had felt nothing but embarrassment, but now it was different.
Luka had a clear purpose for winning the Advent Festival.
In the exhibition match, he would meet His Majesty the Emperor face-to-face and petition him directly about the realities of the slums.
That was the only chance a filthy brat from the slums would ever have to stand before His Majesty the Emperor. Before he knew it, Luka had come to desperately wish to become the hope of the slums in the truest sense.
—I can win.
From the feel of his first match, Luka felt victory was within reach.
The imperial contestants all relied far too heavily on Life Shroud. Wielding the Magic Sword, his own reach and tactical breadth were far superior.
He couldn't envision a future where he lost to them.
—Except for one single person.
Gritting his teeth, Luka stopped in his tracks.
Standing directly in front of him was a pale-skinned young man.
"You're Luka of the Magic Sword, correct?"
"...And you'd be Fail, right?"
Luka played dumb.
In truth, he knew him well. An elite who had graduated at the top of the Imperial Capital's Magic Academy and gone on to serve the state as a diplomat...
A young man walking straight down a radiant path diametrically opposed to his own.
Standing before him was the kind of life that had once driven Luka to weep tears of blood from pure envy.
Showing no interest in Luka's inner turmoil, Fail spoke.
"I have a proposal. Care to join forces with me?"
As Luka tilted his head, Fail continued.
"The Advent Festival alternates between individual matches and battle royales. The next match is a duel... but in the battle royale after that, will you team up with me?"
It was a proposition predicated on both of them winning their upcoming second-round matches.
Luka had observed Fail's abilities. Just like himself, Fail was one of those who had advanced while keeping plenty in reserve. He would undoubtedly pass the second round with ease. However—
"I refuse. I work alone."
"Don't put on a tough front."
Fail glared at Luka with sharp eyes.
"That exchange student... you can't see the bottom of his depth either, can you?"
Luka clicked his tongue softly.
Seeing his reaction, Fail let out a sigh.
"Good grief, it's sickening. I was certain I could take the championship this year... only for some absurd monster to suddenly drop in out of nowhere. Don't you feel the same?"
"...I won't deny it."
It seemed the other contestants had noticed as well.
That red-haired boy—his strength existed in an entirely different realm.
"Did you notice? The moment the match began... that kid intended to wipe out everyone by himself."
Luka pressed his lips into a tight line.
...So it hadn't just been his imagination.
The instant the match started, that boy had radiated a crushing wave of bloodlust. That was the first and only time in his life Luka had felt goosebumps erupt across his entire body before even crossing blades.
"I don't know why he held back. Perhaps he realized it was impossible... or maybe it was out of consideration to keep the Advent Festival entertaining. Which do you think it was?"
"......At the very least, it wasn't the former."
"I agree. That kid could pull it off."
Fail took a step closer to Luka.
"Why do you think the Advent Festival employs a battle royale format? It's a message that individual technique isn't everything....So I'll say it once more: fight with me. In a chaotic free-for-all, we can't beat that kid. But if we coordinate our strategies in advance and fight together... we have more than enough chance of winning."
Luka nearly reached out to take the offered hand.
Because he could see the bitter frustration simmering within Fail's eyes—
Luka checked his motion.
He could feel the resolve of a man swallowing his pride. But there was one last thing he had to ask.
"Why do you want to win so badly?"
Fail offered a quiet smile.
"Nothing grand. It's just... I grew up in an orphanage. People only talk about how I graduated at the top of the academy, but in truth, my tuition and living expenses were entirely funded by someone else all along. If a guy like me wins the Advent Festival, maybe someone out there will be satisfied."
The man he thought had been coasting down a brilliant, elite highway had, in reality, lived a life grounded in grit and struggle.
That kind of life commanded Luka's respect.
Perhaps their paths might have crossed long before this. It was enough to make him imagine such possibilities...
"...All right."
Luka took the outstretched hand.
"I'm in on that proposal."
The gritty, determined warmth of the elite conveyed through his palm.
Having finished the handshake, Luka released Fail's hand.
With a dull thud, Fail collapsed to the ground.
"....................................Huh?"
The sheer unreality of the situation caused Luka to freeze for an instant.
Standing beyond the fallen Fail was a white-masked figure draped in a pitch-black cloak.
A wet drip echoed in the alley.
At their feet, a pool of blood had formed, spreading out from Fail's back.
"Wh-What the hell—are you?!"
Luka drew his magic-imbued sword.
The ever-shifting blade forged of magical power surged toward the assailant's neck.
The assailant twisted their body to dodge, but the blade tracked the motion.
The essence of the Magic Sword lay in a high-speed, formless strike.
As fast as a flash of light. As fluid as water. The ultimate strike Luka had gambled his life to forge, rising from the slums all the way to a count's retainer.
The assailant—pinched it between two fingers.
"Eh?"
A dumbfounded sound spilled from Luka's lips.
I mean, this was... impossible.
Fingers?
With fingers?!
He caught and stopped my sword with his fingers?!?!?!
The technique I... relentlessly honed day in and day out...
Just like that... so easily...?!
"Luka...!!"
Fail's voice snapped Luka back to reality.
In that instant, countless earthen spears materialized above the assailant's head and rained down.
Fail, who had somehow retained consciousness, provided powerful support.
It was the Second Rank Magic, Earth Gate. Something rarely witnessed in person.
"Now... do it...!!"
Fail shouted, vomiting blood.
To answer his fighting spirit, Luka raised his sword once more.
He had realized the sheer gulf between them in that brief exchange.
Yet Fail's words echoed in his mind.
Even if the odds were nil, if they fought together—!
No matter who they were, taking a direct hit from Second Rank Magic couldn't leave them unscathed.
The instant an opening appeared, this time he would cut him down.
Just as Luka glimpsed a chance of victory, in the very next moment—reality struck him.
"Ah..."
It wasn't a matter of being unscathed.
"Ah... Aaaahh...?!"
Not a single spear from Fail's Earth Gate had struck the assailant.
Through the ceaseless rain of countless spears, the assailant was dodging as if dancing.
All fighting spirit drained from Luka's body.
He had intended to exploit an opening and drive in a decisive blow with his Magic Sword. But one look was enough to know. This magic wouldn't create even the slightest gap.
Through the torrential downpour of spears, the assailant spun and twisted their body effortlessly to evade.
Calling it 'dodging as if dancing' was an understatement...
Is this guy... actually dancing...?!?!
"—Weak."
The moment he thought he heard a voice from behind, Luka was slammed violently into the ground.
It was a strike meant to punish Luka's carelessness—not only losing his will to fight, but drifting off into absurd delusions mid-battle.
...No way.
Just before losing consciousness, Luka thought.
Both Luka and Fail were warriors who had climbed their way up through blood, sweat, and tears. There was no way they could be defeated so effortlessly.
This had to be a lie.
And if it wasn't a lie...
Just what in the world was happening in this country...?