Chapter 247 |
A two-hour break was given until the training ground was restored.
In truth, it was something the organizers could have fixed quickly if they wanted, but it overlapped with mealtime.
It was also likely meant to give the spectators a moment to reflect on the match that had just taken place.
With the rare time off, I cooled my insides with a glass of cold water.
Then, I glanced at Selly, who was always the same height.
She used to be no taller than an acorn, but perhaps she had grown a little over the past year—she was dusting the high shelves with a duster without a stool.
“Growth isn’t always a good thing, is it.”
“Huh? Where’s that coming from all of a sudden?”
“It’s just that, back in the day, you used to grumble every time you had to fetch a stool, complaining about how high the shelves were. Now, I don’t get to see that anymore.”
That’s right.
The prisoner who was supposed to suffer had grown a bit, and now suffered less.
I don’t like that.
“It’s a troubling thought. You’ve probably got enough experience now to push the hard work onto juniors. You’ve still got a long way to go to atone for your crimes.”
Kind-hearted as I am, I don't believe I can make her pay off her sins in such a short time.
“I always knew you had that kind of mindset, but today you’re just outright saying it. Something happen?”
What triggered these thoughts?
“It’s because I realized that rapid progress in the world isn’t always a good thing.”
I recently witnessed with my own eyes the insane growth of our team’s main players.
Of course, I was the root cause, and I actively took part to make sure no one fell behind in the storyline.
But in this event, that had clearly become a drawback, especially when Aslay slammed the ground.
That technique was something he was only supposed to acquire in the next arc of Frost Heart.
Same with the others—the current Frost Heart protagonists had advanced so much that they could jump straight to the next stage.
Not understanding my internal conflict, Selly tilted her head and asked.
“Progress? Isn’t faster progress a good thing? What’s bad about it?”
I decided to play along with the persona I’d conveniently set up.
“I’m not Hersel Ben Tenest. I was just possessed and came here—”
“Ugh! Stop that nonsense already!”
“Anyway, Valiant was supposed to be the winner. They were the rightful owners of the trophy. But now, it looks like we might snatch it away because of all that rapid progress I mentioned.”
It was my confession about unintentionally becoming a villain.
Selly stared at me like I was crazy for a long moment, then, perhaps sensing my sincerity, put on a thoughtful expression.
“Hmmm.”
She kept humming thoughtfully.
“Hmmm.”
“Would you cut that out?”
“Hmmmmm.”
Is she mocking me?
“But why do you think of it as stealing? The trophy goes to whoever wins. Until it’s decided, it belongs to no one, right?”
“It’s a different situation. Just assume Valiant were the original rightful owners.”
Her next words, spoken softly, left me momentarily stunned.
Because it made me realize that sometimes, from another’s point of view, I might just be wrong.
“Then it’s not stealing, it’s earning it fair and square. It’s not like anyone’s cheating.”
“Fair and square?”
“This may sound presumptuous, but I think your friends have earned it. They really gave it their all. Even I felt bad just watching them train so hard.”
If we’re talking about merit, I honestly do think they deserve it.
They trained way more than usual, and the trials they went through were brutal.
Not that Valiant had it easy either, but if we do end up with the trophy, it’s closer to earning it than stealing it.
Thinking that gave me a small sense of moral relief.
“What, were you hoping Frost Heart would lose?”
“I was.”
But that’s only from a moral standpoint—what really matters is the outcome.
“That still hasn’t changed.”
I don’t have the confidence to deal with the ripple effects of derailing a main protagonist’s scenario.
I took a bitter sip of cold water.
I didn’t like how the ice felt, so I was just about to tell someone to bring me a fresh one.
Then I noticed that Selly had been staring at me weirdly, not blinking once.
Huh?
“You… you’re the one who brought them this far?”
“......”
“You pushed your friends so hard like a drill sergeant, and now you say stuff you don’t even mean.”
Me?
***
A dining room for the headmasters.
Even the paintings on the wall were no joke.
As it was a spot reserved for the most distinguished guests at Aizen Arena, the paintings were all masterpieces, and the musicians playing were top-class talents from the empire.
In such a place, Arkandric slouched in his chair, tilting his head back smugly.
“Even if I’d paid a hundred times the bribes I gave you lot, I wouldn’t regret it.”
The headmasters of Everblaze and Scarlett slumped their shoulders, barely poking at the beans on their plates with forks.
“Even if my forehead had cracked when I bowed to your feet, it would have been worth it.”
Arkandric’s boasting had gone on for 30 minutes, but no one dared to object.
“Because, if the price is bringing Hersel Ben Tenest here, that’s a small cost.”
Arkandric waved a single fork-stabbed bean toward the headmasters, going, “Huh? Huh?”
“What you gave me wasn’t just a top-tier student. It was a master above all others, someone you couldn’t hire even with a fortune.”
Before the Aizen Arena began, Arkandric had received a report from Rockefeller that Hersel had been teaching swordsmanship to the participants.
He had worried a bit that blending different styles of swordsmanship might backfire, but the results spoke for themselves.
“That guy doesn’t care about sword styles. No, not just swordsmanship—he even helped someone who fights only with bare hands and a shield grow immensely. Not even those famed professors from Valiant could pull that off.”
Valiant’s headmaster Bamal raised an eyebrow slightly and stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth.
Arkandric didn’t stop there and even threw out a provocative prediction.
“Most are betting on your victory, but I see things differently. Sure, it won’t be easy. But they won’t go down without a fight.”
“It’ll be close. Who knows? Maybe the tide will turn at the critical moment.”
Now that the score stood at 2-2, he had every right to say that.
Perhaps finding it worth responding to, Bamal wiped his mouth with a napkin and answered.
“You may have a point. Skill-wise, they do seem almost evenly matched.”
Though there’s no change in the belief that the magic division will lose all matches, the knight division’s strength can’t be ignored.
That was the general consensus among the headmasters.
But then, Aslay, whom everyone thought would surely lose, defied expectations and won.
That turned what was a guaranteed loss into a sliver of hope.
“Still, for you to talk about winning is a bit much. Way too much.”
Arkandric smirked and fired back.
“Let’s wait and see. I wonder if you’ll be able to get truly angry.”
Even with that cryptic remark, Bamal tilted his head nonchalantly.
“You’re saying weird things out of nowhere. Not that you want to see me angry, but that you’re wondering if I’m even capable of it? That’s like saying I don’t have emotions. Strange.”
On the surface, it was a perfectly natural reaction and tone.
But the seasoned elders who had danced on the edge of life and death, like Arkandric, simply stared at him in silence.
Sensing the atmosphere turn strange, Arkandric lightened the mood with a teasing remark.
“I was just joking. You’ve never seemed very human to me. You shouldn’t be anywhere near the arts.”
“That’s quite a hurtful thing to say.”
And that was how the meal came to an end.
Bamal left the dining hall with a gloomy expression after being scolded.
Only after the others had disappeared did he mutter in a dry, emotionless tone.
“Telling me not to pursue art? What a joke.”
Bamal stopped in front of a painting as he walked past the restaurant hallway.
It was a masterpiece, praised for its natural harmony of difficult, highly saturated colors.
'I used to be sensitive enough to create something like this once.'
There’s nothing he hasn’t done over countless reincarnations.
From time to time, geniuses with mere single lifespans would appear and make a great mark on human civilization through art or other achievements, but reincarnators like Bamal contributed just as much.
That’s why he regarded the elderly people he had just seen without any particular emotion.
'You pitiful fruit flies have no idea what kind of life I’ve led — once a saint, once a calamity.'
To Bamal, the looks in their eyes were simply familiar — the kind he’d seen countless times whenever an old acquaintance approached the end of their life.
The appearance, voice, and tone may have differed slightly, but once you've met enough people, you realize how shallow the category of “human” really is.
Yet for Bamal, these particular acquaintances held a slightly different meaning.
‘Still, unlike before, these are ones who will depart with me.’
Without slowing his leisurely pace, Bamal exited the restaurant.
And then, he subtly glanced to the side.
'What should I do about that one?'
There had long been someone he was keeping an eye on.
The magical disguise was so natural that he couldn’t even say when it had started.
Bamal debated whether to show any suspicious behavior.
‘He still doesn’t know I’ve noticed. Once I corner him, taking care of him quietly will be nothing.’
Bamal’s gaze moved side to side.
One direction led toward the Valiant camp — a perfectly reasonable destination.
The other led to a garden with no particular meaning.
Which meant the pursuer would likely find it suspicious and follow.
‘In this generation, gardens are trendy as secret meeting spots.’
Bamal moved his feet.
The direction he chose was toward the building.
Whether to take him along, or let him go — for now, he would just observe.
***
In the hallway of the Frost Heart camp, a painting of sunflowers was hanging.
Leana leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the painting.
It was obvious she wasn’t admiring it — she simply had nowhere else to look.
Noticing this, Silla snapped her fingers to grab her attention.
“What are you spacing out here for?”
“Oh, Silla...”
“What? You nervous because it’s your turn next?”
Leana fell silent for a moment, then nodded with a sparkle in her eyes.
“I was so happy when we made it to the finals, but now that I’m actually about to compete... my heart is trembling.”
“Hm, really? I don’t really feel that way myself.”
Silla’s expression was the same as always.
No, perhaps you could say she was burning with fighting spirit.
Either way, she didn’t seem nervous in the slightest.
‘Well, she is from the famed swordsmanship family, Lionheart. Silla’s probably stood on big stages many times — she must be used to this kind of pressure.’
But Leana wasn’t the same.
Her family, Derevian, was so obscure that few even recognized the name.
Despite that, she had fought and won against the offspring of prestigious families — overcoming her nerves.
People were surprised for a moment, but it didn’t last long.
Her performance had been overshadowed by her teammates’ dazzling achievements — especially Hersel’s bizarre combat style.
But the finals were different — attention was on her now.
Even as people passed by, they whispered about the name Derevian and gossiped about her.
But what made her nervous more than anything was the letter she held in her hand.
“Huh? What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“Nothing? Wait a second...”
Silla glanced at the envelope and widened her eyes.
“That seal — isn’t that your family’s? It’s from them? A letter?”
Knowing Leana’s situation, Silla eagerly leaned in with a bright face.
“What’s it say? What does it say?”
“Well, I haven’t... I was just about to read it.”
“Really? Even if you open it now... hmm, I guess sharing something like that with me is a bit much?”
At Silla’s unusually mature tone, Leana let out a small laugh.
“It’s okay if it’s you, Silla.”
“Really?”
They had survived deadly situations together and helped each other through it all.
Even though Silla’s teasing could be annoying sometimes, Leana knew it came without any malice.
She opened the envelope in front of Silla.
And what was written inside left her unable to decide what kind of expression to make.
[I want to say I’m sorry — in person.]
Her father’s handwriting.
At the words that followed, Leana unconsciously tightened her grip.
[Do your best in the finals.]