Chapter 153

As Helmut was about to leave, a loud voice called out from the other side.

"Luke! Luke!"

"Antony! How did you get here?"

"I came to watch Luke's match!"

A little boy, who appeared to be under ten years old, had dashed over. Beaming with joy, he clung to Luke's legs.

Luke quickly patted his head in return.

However, a woman who seemed to be the boy's governess caught up and grabbed Luke.

"Young master! You shouldn't just wander in here. I'm sorry, Sir Luke."

"It's alright, let them go."

He kindly patted the boy's shoulder.

"See you later, Antony?"

"Yes, yes!"

Delighted about something, the boy named Antony waved his hand repeatedly as he was led away by the governess.

To Helmut, who had always been composed even as a child, the boy seemed rather unruly.

He paused to ask,

"Who's the kid?"

Judging by the attire, the boy wasn't of ordinary status. Considering he had access to this area where the contestants were, it meant something.

"Ah, that's the Knight Commander's grandson, Antony Cicero. The Knight Commander's son asked me to teach him some basics, and since then, he's taken a liking to me."

"The Knight Commander's son... Isn't he a knight?"

"No, he had no talent for the sword. Instead, he's an exceptional bureaucrat, recognized even by His Majesty. Though, he doesn't get along well with the Knight Commander."

Luke suddenly clammed up.

"Stop prying."

He frowned and turned his gaze towards the stage, annoyed at his own slip. It was just as the contestants were being called up.

Helmut also left after offering a brief goodbye.

"Good luck with your match."

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Not knowing anything complicates relationships.

'The Palma Knight Commander seems intent on eliminating Luke, yet his son entrusts his child to Luke. Luke adores the kid. What a mess.'

According to the documents Talon provided, the Knight Commander's son supports the Second Prince, causing a rift with his father.

Then, is he unrelated to the events 20 years ago? He might not even know that Luke is the descendant of the Sword Saint.

'Distinguishing between those who should be killed and those who shouldn't is difficult.'

The opponents were not easy to directly confront. Not only were they formidable in their own right, but they also had the Palma Knights at their disposal. The Knight Commander led the knights at all times.

Touching his family complicates things due to Luke. It's as if the one seeking revenge is the villain, even though it's merely about making someone face the consequences they deserve.

'Should I just reveal everything to Luke and ask him outright whom to spare and whom to kill?'

But what if Luke chooses leniency? Suggesting to bury the past?

Helmut had no intention of accepting that. That was the problem.

They might have different views, making him a potential obstacle. Helmut couldn't harm him. Luke Cicero must not be harmed.

'Although Darien didn't specifically ask for revenge or protection for his descendant...'

Darien was unaware of Luke's existence. Had he known, he surely wouldn't have remained silent.

Nonetheless, Helmut secured his spot in the quarterfinals. Prize money came his way with each victory.

With his pockets fuller, Helmut headed back to the inn. Before leaving the waiting area, he glanced around, pulled his hood down, and moved quietly when no one was around.

Having seen the contestants surrounded by people before, Helmut realized something: Mihail was warding off nobles showing interest in him as if he had already claimed Helmut for himself.

While some still approached, Helmut managed to evade them.

'It's troublesome, but it worked out.'

Having received an invitation from the Palma Knight Commander was enough. It was more convenient to obtain information from Mihail.

If a truly influential figure wanted to approach him, they could do so at the waiting area or visit this Golden Leaf Inn.

'If they're a power player in Basor, even Mihail couldn't refuse them.'

Mihail's role was merely to fend off the minor annoyances.

As usual, Helmut and Mihail ended up meeting at the inn.

Finishing his matches, Helmut sought refuge from the scorching sun at the inn, a sentiment shared by Mihail and perhaps all non-Basorians.

With his hands clasped as if praying, Mihail commented,

"Helmut, it's almost over. You've made it to the quarterfinals already."

"Ah, yes."

The realization of approaching the finals struck anew.

Typically, tournaments conjure images of fierce battles, but for Helmut, it was different. Except for today's slight exertion, he had breezed through the tournament effortlessly, lacking any challenging opponents.

Practicing swordsmanship in the attached courtyard felt more intense than the matches.

Considering the high standards of Basor's tournament, Helmut's smooth progress was abnormal.

'Is it luck, or am I just that strong?'

Helmut leaned towards the latter. Feeling confident in his strength was a pleasant experience.

Mihail continued,

"Your last opponent was a Palma Knight. Being quite high-ranking within Palma, your victory has caused quite a stir. Everyone's paying more attention to you now. For the past five years, no Palma Knight has failed to win the tournament."

Helmut was becoming more prominent as a championship contender.

"He must rank below Luke Cicero."

Given Palma's strict meritocracy, that seemed likely. Mihail's eyes widened at Helmut's casual remark.

"Luke Cicero? Oh right, you went to see him before. And met the Palma Knight Commander then."

Outside the tournament stage or waiting area, Helmut hadn't spoken with Luke, so Mihail wouldn't know their conversation details.

The Knight Commander's recruitment offer was deduced by Mihail seeing Helmut heading towards the waiting area.

Helmut vaguely replied,

"Luke Cicero will likely be my opponent in the final."

"Considering him a significant competitor? Indeed, he's seen as a rising star within Palma. Not that your interest seems to be for that reason."

A sharp observation. Mihail smiled softly.

"I'm not trying to pry. Just pondering over your goals. It doesn't seem like you're here just for the prize money or to gain recognition. You're confident in your skills, so it's not about testing them either."

"And your conclusion?"

"You won today, so let's have a meal. I'd prefer to go out, but it would cause a hassle now. Many would recognize you by now."

"Right."

Disguising his identity had become essential. Changing his appearance entirely was an option, but that risked revealing his true self to someone like Mihail.

'I'd better not reveal more to this guy.'

Though Aria had her secrets and thus refrained from probing, this clever individual was different. He would relentlessly dig deeper, unpredictable in his extents.

Helmut suggested,

"Let's have a meal."

They dined together in the Emerald Room of the Golden Leaf Inn, as had become almost ritualistic.

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Luke Cicero, too, effortlessly advanced to the quarterfinals. From opposite ends of the tournament bracket, they were gradually drawing closer.

Before leaving for his match, Helmut glanced at the draw, and Mihail commented,

"Your quarterfinal opponent is the only non-Basorian to advance, aside from yourself. He narrowly won against a lower-ranked Palma Knight in the round of 16 after more than an hour of struggle. He shouldn't be a challenge for you."

"His name is Hutton, right?"

"I've heard he's a well-known first-class mercenary, in his mid-30s. Usually, such experienced mercenaries avoid tournaments to not lose to younger knights, but unfortunately for him, he's up against you."

Mihail's tone suggested victory confidence.

Despite Mihail's low estimation based on the struggle, Helmut saw it differently.

A mercenary of that age likely had extensive combat experience. He might even be a more challenging opponent than the Palma Knight, Horten Cicero. A swordsman capable of overcoming adversity, even if not predicted to win.

'I don't expect to lose.'

But starting strong seemed wise, considering there were only two steps left to the final. Helmut steeled himself.

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Today, Mihail was again seated in a prime spot overlooking the arena, just before Helmut's match began.

'Helmut values his opponent, but how will it turn out?'

Mihail watched with interest, having acclimated to Basor's intense sunlight and heat, perhaps influenced by Helmut's company and improved diet.

'I used to detest watching knights duel, whether in tournaments or otherwise.'

At some point, Mihail's perspective shifted. Longing for the unattainable had been painful. If it couldn't be had, it was better not desired.

Despite his frail constitution and inability to wield a sword, Mihail possessed what others did not.

Using his abilities and birthright, he placed strong knights under his influence.

"Lord Mihail."

Suddenly, Robert whispered something to him. Mihail responded softly,

"Bring them here."

Soon, Robert returned with a disheveled, grumpy-looking man. The man bowed politely to Mihail.

"Thank you for inviting me to watch the match, Lord Mihail."

This spacious area was reserved for Mihail. Seats for those requiring escorts, they were significantly more expensive than regular seats at the arena.

Mihail smiled graciously.

"It's my pleasure. Thanks to you, my knights have new swords to wield."

The man was Kevin, a renowned blacksmith in Basor, known for crafting the Palma Knights' swords. He had recently completed an order from Mihail for five swords.

Kevin was recognized even by the king of Basor for his craftsmanship, having been apprenticed to the legendary blacksmith, Layton.

Despite his fame and the honor bestowed by the king, Kevin appreciated Mihail's respect for his common birth.

"But I didn't expect you to come here. I thought you were too busy with orders."

"Busy, yes. But there's something intriguing about this tournament."

"Such as?"

"For example, a particular tournament contestant. Oh, looks like the match is about to start. Let's watch and talk."

Kevin unceremoniously took a seat next to Mihail without asking.

Despite being a respected artisan, he seemed indifferent to his appearance, with unkempt beard and hair. He smelled strongly of sweat, as if he'd just left a blazing forge.

'He may craft fine swords, but he lacks manners.'

Robert frowned, but Mihail's expression remained unchanged.

Ding―!

With the sound of the bell, the match began.