Bwoooom—

All chatter ceased. The noisy arena fell silent at the sound of the grand trumpet announcing the king’s arrival.

The First Prince rose from his seat.

“Let us go.”

He strode out of the waiting room, and behind him marched ten proud knights.

Stepping into the arena, the First Prince squinted at the blinding sunlight.

He blinked a few times until his eyes adjusted, then surveyed his surroundings.

The sheer scale of the coliseum struck him first.

The outer walls rose fifty meters high, the tiered seats climbing all the way up.

And those vast stands were packed with people to the brim.

Though far away, he could feel the oppressive heat of the masses, imagine the stink of their sweat, and his brows furrowed in disgust.

The smell didn’t actually reach him, but the sight of so many filthy commoners crammed together was repulsive enough.

“Tch.”

Unlike earlier, the crowd no longer bustled or shouted. They stood with reverent faces, gazing upward at one spot.

The First Prince’s eyes followed theirs.

There, set apart from the rest, was the nobles’ stand. From even a distance, the glitter of jewels on their bodies was blinding.

They too were standing, faces lifted upward.

The First Prince raised his gaze further.

Above them was yet another separated seat.

A trumpeter stood there, blowing his great horn.

Bwoooom—

The horn blared again.

On the third call, royal knights entered in golden armor, followed by a broad-shouldered old man.

Unfazed by tens of thousands of eyes upon him, the king cast a calm glance around the arena, then sat upon his ornate throne and waved his hand.

Bwoooom—

At the next trumpet call, the people finally sat.

The First Prince turned to the man standing beside the king.

A knight with steel-blue hair stood expressionless, eyes fixed in silence.

“……”

The First Prince noticed that his cold gaze was locked on the opposite side—on the Black Prince.

The First Prince’s eyes followed, and soon he met his younger brother’s unflinching stare.

Between them lay a wide, square platform, chest-high, about thirty meters across each way.

“……”

“……”

The two princes of Blake locked eyes across it.

The First Prince’s lips curled faintly. The Black Prince’s face remained stern and still.

Then the trumpet sounded once more.

At the signal, both princes ascended the platform.

The First Prince strode boldly forward. The Black Prince’s steps were steady, unhurried.

They met at the center and stopped, eyes locked.

The First Prince smirked, wearing his signature arrogant expression.

“Brother.”

The Black Prince answered flatly.

“Brother.”

“You devoured the second and clawed your way here. How long have you been plotting this?”

The Black Prince’s tone was calm.

“Since the day you defiled her… and left her to die.”

The First Prince’s smile widened.

“Pathetic. A prince of the realm, in love with a mere maid? How laughable.”

The Black Prince said nothing.

“I spared you the shame and dealt with her myself. You should be grateful, yet you resent me. How unfilial.”

The Black Prince shut his eyes, exhaled deeply, then brushed his hair back as he always did.

“Brother.”

“What is it?”

“Her smile… was beautiful. Did you know that?”

The First Prince scoffed.

“What do I care? She was a worthless commoner.”

“……”

The Black Prince, unwilling to speak further, extended his hand.

The First Prince took it, and they exchanged a formal handshake.

“Brother.”

“What now?”

“I’ve heard you’ve recruited the Red-Eyed Devil.”

“……”

“Do you truly believe he defeated the Knight of Frost? How naive.”

The Black Prince stayed silent.

“You always were. Naive to the core.”

“……”

“How did you bring him in? Did a prince of the realm kneel before a lunatic mercenary who butchered a noble?”

“…Brother.”

The Black Prince’s eyes sharpened as he met his brother’s gaze.

“I would kneel a hundred times if it meant killing vile scum like you.”

Crack—

The First Prince felt pressure in their clasped hands, but only laughed.

“Look at that glare. The cub has grown into a tiger.”

“Thanks to you.”

The First Prince gazed at him leisurely and said,

“Brother, surrender now. I’ll spare your life.”

“Brother, don’t speak such nonsense.”

The First Prince sneered.

“Pitiful fool. You don’t even realize—you’ve already lost. You never had a chance.”

“We’ll see soon enough.”

The two princes released each other’s hands and turned back.

Descending the platform, the First Prince glanced toward his brother’s lineup of ten knights.

There, he spotted one with glowing red eyes.

“Hm.”

Though his features differed slightly from the wanted posters, the crimson sword at his waist confirmed it. He was the Red-Eyed Devil.

Posters were often inaccurate, based on shaky witness accounts. It didn’t matter.

Back among his knights, the First Prince spoke.

“The Red-Eyed Devil is here. Did you see?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“So it’s true. Without the blade of legend, he could never have stood against the Knight of Frost.”

He reckoned it hadn’t been a true defeat, but more of a draw.

The First Prince concluded thus.

It hadn’t been long since the Red-Eyed Devil had killed Baron Brankai and claimed the crimson blade.

Not long ago, he had claimed the Ninth Blade.

When he faced the Knight of Frost, he had only just become Vlad’s master.

And Vlad—its violent temperament was notorious.

No doubt he failed to control it, went berserk, and in that chaos, the Knight of Frost suffered.

This was more than speculation; it was nearly certainty.

After all, he had reliable informants, and they confirmed it.

The First Prince glanced toward three of his knights, each exuding an aura unlike the rest.

They wore helmets, gazes fixed idly on the sky or on the opposite side, unmoved by the moment.

What was for others a once-in-a-lifetime turning point seemed to leave them unmoved, as though they had transcended it.

They were the source of his confidence.

He already believed he could crush his younger brother without them. With those three, his certainty soared to the heavens.

But they are my last resort.

He intended to defeat the Third with only his own knights.

Seven knights against ten.

An overwhelming victory.

That was how he would prove himself to his father.

That he could win without his aid.

That he was, beyond doubt, his father’s proud son.

That the rightful heir to the throne was none other than him.

And he was confident.

He had already laid plans for the Red-Eyed Devil.

With the king watching, the Knight of Frost would never allow the Devil’s rampage to go unchecked.

So all he had to do was force the Devil into a frenzy. Then the Knight of Frost would take care of him.

The goal was not to win in battle, but to drive him mad.

Once the Red-Eyed Devil was removed, there would be no more variables.

Father, watch me!

The First Prince lifted his eyes toward the throne.

But the king was not watching him.

Like the Knight of Frost, his gaze was fixed on the Black Prince.

A surge of anger flared within him.

“…Sir Stefan.”

At his call, a knight stepped forward.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You will go first.”

“Understood.”

“You know what it means to be first?”

Stefan’s lips curved into a savage grin.

“Of course.”

“Strike hard. Kill if you must.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Feeling somewhat appeased, the First Prince swept his gaze over the Black Prince’s knights—and then laughed.

“Look at that. He’s filled his gaps with my scraps.”

His knights laughed with him, brimming with the same confidence as their master.

Not one of them even entertained the thought of defeat.

“Indeed.”

“A rabble, nothing more.”

Then the First Prince spotted the Count of Stavanger and raised his brows.

“…So Herman has stepped forward. He must be desperate indeed.”

His knights jeered confidently.

“He was renowned once, but he’s long retired.”

“A toothless tiger. No need for concern.”

“Leave him to me, my lord. I’ll make a spectacle of him.”

The First Prince chuckled.

“I never worried. I only pity him—poor old man, suffering like that in his twilight years for choosing the wrong master.”

“Ha ha ha, indeed.”

“They must truly be lacking men.”

The First Prince and his knights laughed together.

But the three helmeted knights remained silent, showing no interest, not even sparing a glance.

As the First Prince cast them a sideways look, one of his men spoke up.

“My lord, look there.”

“Hm?”

The First Prince followed his gaze.

There stood a blind man, eyes covered in black cloth, leaning on a sword like a cane and yawning casually.

“…What is that?”

“I… don’t know.”

They exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.

“Ha ha! He must be desperate indeed, to bring a blind swordsman! Did he pluck a street performer?”

“Exactly. Does he even know where he is?”

“Clearly dragged in just to fill the headcount. I don’t sense the faintest mana from him.”

“Pitiful. Look at him yawning—he probably just followed along for coin, without a clue.”

“If we’re right, they’ll save him for last.”

“Heh. Let’s see, then.”

The three gave different reactions.

The smaller, wiry one stifled a laugh inside his helmet.

The silent one, who had been watching the blind man, turned away without a word.

The burly one crossed his arms and stared up at the sky, expression unchanged.

“Devil. You’re last. No matter what happens, you will not step out. Understood?”

“……”

The Black Prince frowned at Ashuban, who stared back at him through his blindfold.

Though his eyes were covered, it felt as if the man was staring straight into him. It was unsettling.

“Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“That I’m the last one.”

The Black Prince started to speak, then sighed deeply.

“…Fine. As long as you understand.”

But Ashuban kept staring at him, murmuring something under his breath before turning away.

He spread his senses, dissolving his focus from his ears, extending his aura across the arena.

The duel would soon begin—it was time to probe the enemy.

His energy swept over the opposing knights one by one.

Then, as it reached the last three—

“…Huh?”

He paused, stroking his chin.

“…Well. This looks fucked.”

(End of Chapter)

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