"I've gathered you all here this afternoon because there's something I'd like to ask you…" Caesar began, addressing the rest of his party. "The main tournament begins tomorrow, so I want to know your goals for the coming days—and which opponents you would like to face," the Hero asked in a regal yet gentle tone.
Emeralda let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "You called us all here just for that?! Damn it, I got all worked up for nothing—I thought it would be something more serious…" she said, though from the corner of her eye, she seemed to be glancing at the former general of the Demon Realm.
"This is important, beautiful Emeralda," Caesar replied calmly. "This tournament may very well be one of the last opportunities I have to get to know all of you in times of peace. As you already know, once it is over, we will immediately begin our march toward the kingdom of Osidarap—and the closer we get, the more tense the situation will become."
His voice remained composed, yet carried a quiet weight.
"I want to learn as much as possible about your personalities before that happens. Understanding my soldiers in their purest moments—the people to whom I am entrusting this second life of mine—is extremely important to me. Not only does it help me devise better strategies, but it also allows me to place greater trust in each of you… and reassures me that none of you intend to stab me in the back."
A faint shadow passed through his expression.
"I would very much like to avoid reliving the Ides of March."
Though his tone remained charismatic and gentle, a trace of pain lingered beneath it.
"Unf!" Emeralda let out a small, flustered sound. A light blush spread across her cheeks as she quickly turned her head to the side, avoiding the Hero's gaze. Then she cleared her throat and began answering his question.
"Well, first of all, I'll do my best to go as far as possible in the tournament—even if I end up facing one of you. But I think that goes for all of us," she said confidently. "And I absolutely intend to defeat that muscle-brained woman who's trying to steal my Fortore!"
Her voice sharpened with jealousy before softening again.
"Of course… if I end up facing my beloved Fortore himself, I'll give it everything I've got to show him how much stronger I've become since the last time we met. But…" she hesitated, her tone turning more vulnerable, "I'm sure that would be the end of my run. I don't think I stand a chance against him…"
Her words began with determination and elegance, but ended with the unmistakable tone of someone hopelessly in love.
"I see… I hope you get the chance to face Lady Aislyra, Emeralda," Caesar replied gently after hearing her answer.
Another small "Unf" escaped the ranger's lips, followed by a barely audible, almost unintelligible, "Thank you…"
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
A booming laugh shook the room.
"Well then, since the young lady has finished, I suppose it's my turn!" Roterberg declared in his usual powerful voice. He then continued, answering the Hero's question.
"To be honest, I don't have any particular interest in winning the tournament itself. But I do enjoy a good fight—and more importantly, this is a perfect opportunity to show everyone just how incredible my weapons are. That way, I can attract more customers!"
He grinned broadly.
"And of course, I wouldn't say no to the prize money either. After all, I am a merchant blacksmith! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
"As always, you're such a barbarian, Roterberg," Emeralda retorted with a mix of indignation and familiarity. "Money shouldn't matter to a true warrior—especially not to you, since you already earn more than enough selling your weapons."
"Ahahahah!" the dwarf laughed, completely unfazed. "Emeralda, I do consider myself a warrior—but first and foremost, I'm a blacksmith. Wanting money to buy better materials is nothing to be ashamed of."
His tone remained as cheerful as ever.
Emeralda shot him a brief glare before huffing in annoyance.
Caesar, meanwhile, simply nodded, a faint regal smile resting on his lips.
"And you, Enea?" he asked, turning his attention to his bodyguard. "What do you expect—or hope to achieve—in this tournament?"
"Me?" Enea replied, pausing briefly before continuing. "Like Roterberg, I don't particularly care about winning the tournament itself. And unlike him, I have no interest in the prize money."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"What I want is to face interesting opponents. Above all, I'd love to fight the two strongest fighters in this kingdom. So naturally, I'll aim to go as far as possible."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"And while I don't care about the reward, I wouldn't mind facing Queen Alberia after the finals… though I doubt that will happen. I'd probably end up getting in the way of the main characters of this tournament."
There was a subtle hint of sarcasm in his final words.
Then he shifted his gaze back to Caesar.
"But what about you?" he asked. "What do you hope to gain from this tournament?"
Without needing even half a second to think, Caesar replied immediately, "Naturally, I intend to win. Whenever I take part in any kind of competition, I do so with the goal of victory. The prizes are merely secondary, and while the prospect of clashing with Alberia is certainly enticing, for me it is victory itself that truly matters."
His voice was firm, yet perfectly calm.
"But setting that obvious point aside, my other goal—besides simply enjoying myself—was to assess whether the royal family could be considered trustworthy allies…"
"You had doubts, Caesar?" Emeralda interrupted, her tone filled with absolute confidence. "Considering that I was sent—and I'm the best Ranger my country has to offer—it seemed obvious to me that our kingdom is willing to support you!"
"As a nation, certainly," Caesar replied without hesitation. "Your presence alone is clear proof of that. However, I wanted to understand whether they, as individuals, could truly be considered reliable allies."
His gaze grew slightly more distant.
"I must admit, I've become somewhat paranoid since the betrayal at the end of my previous life. Because of that, I wanted to carefully observe the people who govern this kingdom. And to be honest, both the former Queen Sequoria and the current Queen Alberia strike me as excellent rulers—and, at the same time, genuinely good people. A combination that is rare… and one I cannot claim for myself."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"The only real criticism I can make is that Alberia seems a bit too magnanimous. However, with her mother at her side—who is clearly capable of making more decisive and ruthless choices—I doubt this will become a serious issue. Overall, this has greatly reassured me. They are nothing like Brutus and Cassius."
There was unmistakable relief in his voice.
Emeralda nodded, satisfied—but then suddenly froze at the next words that left the Hero's mouth.
"Even so, I am completely certain that lady Sequoria, lady Aislyra, lady Katerina… and Queen Alberia herself are hiding something that has happened to her…"
Roterberg's and Ativ's eyes widened in surprise, while Enea merely smiled.
"WHAT?!" Emeralda exclaimed sharply. But before she could continue, Caesar calmly spoke again.
"However, I do not believe it is anything malicious or dangerous. On the contrary, I am convinced it is something significant—something that must remain hidden for the good of their kingdom."
Hearing this, Emeralda let out another long sigh of relief. For her, this conversation was beginning to feel like an emotional roller coaster.
After a brief pause, Caesar looked each of his companions in the eyes and added, "For that reason, I have decided not to investigate the matter any further. And I ask you, my trusted troops, to do the same."
"Hahahahaha! Of course," Roterberg boomed with a laugh. "I don't believe for a second that people like them would be hiding anything dangerous."
The others simply nodded in agreement, their trust in Caesar absolute.
At that point, it was Ativ's turn to answer the Hero's original question. However, having already been eliminated from the tournament, he declined, clearly somewhat embarrassed by the fact. He simply stated that all his goals had already been made clear during his match against Caesar himself.
After that, the group—Enea being the only exception—shared some wine and spent another hour chatting casually about various topics, while Emeralda occasionally cast glances in Ativ's direction.
"Well then, I thank you all for taking the time to answer my question," Caesar said at last, bringing the meeting to a close. "If you wish, you are now free to go."
With that, Enea and Roterberg immediately returned to their rooms. Ativ and Emeralda, however, remained behind.
The former general of the Demon Realm was staying in Caesar's room for the time being, as he had already been eliminated from the tournament and had fully recovered—so his presence there was only natural.
Emeralda's, on the other hand… was not.
"Excuse me, Ativ… I have a question for you," the Ranger said, her tone noticeably more serious.
On the workbench in Macro's laboratory lay fifteen objects, neatly arranged side by side—fifteen of his inventions. Some were older creations, while others had been crafted just that very day. At that moment, Macro was carefully performing maintenance on each and every one of them.
Every single item was a magical tool designed to be effective against at least one of his potential opponents for the following day. In essence, they were inventions created specifically to counter the magic and abilities of all the remaining participants.
"U-unfortunately, I don't know much about Buio, Musashi, Enea, and Caesar… So, to create you four, I had to rely entirely on what I've observed over the past two days. B-but I still hope you'll be u-useful," Macro said, speaking softly to four of his inventions.
The young minister would undoubtedly spend the rest of the evening testing, adjusting, and fine-tuning these devices—tools he intended to rely on in tomorrow's battles.
Meanwhile, somewhere within the royal palace gardens—specifically in a secluded area accessible only to members of the royal family and the ministers—stood a tomb unlike any other in the entire kingdom of Yggdora. Not far from a cluster of large, imposing stone graves, this particular tomb was truly unique, likely the only one of its kind in the entire country.
Ordinarily, tombs in this kingdom followed a distinct tradition: instead of a headstone, a tree would be grown instantly using a special ritual potion. The name of the deceased, along with their birth and death dates, would then be engraved into the trunk. The importance of the individual could be judged by the size of the tree itself.
However, this tomb broke that tradition entirely.
Nearby, Buio trained relentlessly, his sword wreathed in flames—yet these were no ordinary flames. Instead of the usual bright red associated with fire, they burned with an unnatural, pitch-black hue. And the expression on his face was darker than those black flames.
"Thanks to Pinusal's intervention, no other lives were lost today. And starting tomorrow, I know full well that even if none of the participants manage to win, none of them are weak enough to be killed by Buio before Pinusal steps in. And that's certainly a good thing…"
He exhaled slowly, then steadied his gaze.
"But there's still a part of me that's afraid… afraid that it won't be me who defeats Uncle Buio in this tournament…"
Scuro shook his head, dismissing the thought.
"No… it doesn't matter who defeats him in the tournament. Of course, I would prefer it to be me—to prevent him from injuring any of my colleagues—but as long as he survives his match, whether he wins or loses, he'll come to me eventually. After all… his target is undoubtedly me."
Scuro murmured those words to himself as he stared at the blade of his sword, still engulfed in black flames, before turning his gaze toward the nearby tomb.
However, his concentration was suddenly broken.
Not too far away, within one of the magical training grounds hidden among the forest that surrounded the immense tree-palace, several towering pillars of light erupted into the sky.
And although the distance should have made it impossible to hear anything clearly, Scuro had the distinct impression that a voice—loud, crude, and filled with defiance—was echoing faintly through the air.
"…that stupid dog… I won't lose… A Dark Knight? So what?! I'll be the one to defeat him—and that idiot dog too…"
For a brief moment, Scuro wasn't even certain whether he had truly heard those words or merely imagined them.
A faint smile formed on his lips.
"It's true… I can't afford to lose to him either," he muttered to himself, before tightening his grip on his weapon and resuming his training.