Pierre tilted his head slightly, the faint smirk on his face widening with a controlled, almost deliberate patience as he observed Jurgen struggling with the crumpled map. He leaned in just enough to glance at it properly, his posture relaxed, his tone carrying a lightness that contrasted with Jurgen's growing irritation.
"Oh? Not lost… really now?" he remarked, as though the claim required little more than mild curiosity.
Jurgen's hands moved more erratically now, one gripping the wrinkled map tightly while the other ran through his hair in clear frustration. His eyes kept shifting across the surroundings with increasing uncertainty, trying to reconcile what he saw with what he believed he should be seeing.
He had purchased the map the moment he arrived in Mercedes, trusting it without question, yet it now felt unreliable in a way he had not anticipated. His voice rose slightly as he tried to steady himself.
"I just… I just need a minute."
Pierre tapped a finger lightly against his temple, his expression unchanged, though there was a faint teasing quality in the way he observed Jurgen's struggle. "A minute, hmm?" he replied, his tone carrying a deliberate ease.
"Of course. Take as much time as you need."
Jurgen let out a low groan and leaned back against the nearest wall, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of irritation and fatigue. The tension in his posture was visible, every movement restrained as though he were holding himself together through sheer effort. He could feel the presence beside him pressing in with subtle amusement, and he exhaled through his teeth. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"Of course I am," Pierre responded without hesitation, leaning back as well, his eyes glinting faintly behind his glasses.
"Between the two of us — excluding you that is, naturally — one of us clearly understands where we are going. I wonder who that might be."
Jurgen's expression tightened at the implication. He looked away briefly, then back at Pierre, his frustration mixing with reluctant dependence.
"You know the way, don't you?"
Pierre tilted his head again, allowing a brief pause before answering. "Perhaps," he said lightly, as though the answer itself were unimportant.
The lack of clarity only deepened Jurgen's irritation. His grip loosened on the map slightly, and after a moment of hesitation, his voice lowered. "Please… which way do I go?"
Pierre cupped a hand behind his ear in exaggerated attentiveness, leaning forward slightly as if genuinely struggling to hear him. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
Jurgen exhaled slowly, forcing himself to speak more clearly, though the words carried a reluctant strain.
"Please, Pierre… which way do I take to get to the Trials."
A soft cough escaped Pierre again before he finally turned his head and gestured vaguely toward the left side of the street, his tone casual.
"That way. Though you would have known that already if you had waited for the map to be properly delivered."
Jurgen blinked at that, his expression tightening as he processed the implication. "Map? What map? I thought we were supposed to find the way ourselves. That's why I went out and got this one." His grip on the crumpled paper tightened slightly. The idea that something had been sent directly to him had not occurred to him at all, nor had he considered that there might be a system in place for distribution.
Pierre sighed softly, his tone shifting into something more composed. "The official maps are delivered directly to participants' homes. The Trials are still two hours away. Yours is likely already there."
Jurgen paused. The tension in his jaw eased slightly as the situation settled into place. There was no argument he could reasonably make against it, and after a brief silence he exhaled.
"Yeah… I don't really have an argument for that."
His thoughts drifted briefly as he considered what that meant. If a map had been delivered, it would have gone to Hana. The possibility sat uncomfortably in his mind for a moment before he pushed it aside. There was nothing he could do about it now, and more importantly, there was no way she would do something reckless, not after what had happened, he had already made his choice to leave without waiting for anything to be handed to him.
"What is it?" Pierre asked, noticing the subtle shift in his expression.
"Nothing," Jurgen replied after a short pause. "Just remembered something."
He adjusted the strap of his bag with a firm tug and began walking again. Ahead of them, a large wooden gate came into view, weathered by time and exposure, its surface faded and worn. The hinges creaked faintly as the wind moved through them, and Jurgen's gaze sharpened as they approached. His posture remained controlled, but there was a noticeable tension in the way he carried himself now, as if the air itself had grown heavier.
"You're going to meet a lot of people there," Pierre said calmly beside him.
"It would be wise to keep your composure."
"Don't insult me," Jurgen replied immediately, his tone firm. After a brief pause, he added, "How do you know so much about the trials?"
Pierre adjusted his glasses again, his movements precise. For a moment he hesitated, then answered with a measured tone. "Well — I've been here before. And… I am helping you, aren't I? That should be enough."
There was a slight awkwardness in his delivery, a hesitation that lingered just long enough to be noticeable. Jurgen did not press further. He had already formed his own judgment, and whatever inconsistencies existed did not change the fact that Pierre posed no immediate threat. He looked away, directing his attention instead toward the gate.
As they drew closer, the scale of it became clearer. Jurgen could feel his focus sharpening, his awareness narrowing as the weight of what lay ahead settled over him. This was not like anything he had faced before. The memory of smaller conflicts, fleeting and manageable, felt distant in comparison. Whatever waited beyond those doors would not be resolved so easily.
They stopped at the threshold. Jurgen stood still for a moment, scanning the path behind them and then the gate ahead. Shadows moved faintly in the distance, partially obscured figures shifting within the light of morning.His hand tightened on the metal latch before he pushed forward, the doors groaned as they opened, heavy and resisting before finally yielding.
Beyond them lay an expansive field of green stretching outward under the morning sun, open and uninterrupted. The brightness was almost disorienting after the enclosed streets behind him. A soft wind moved across the grass, brushing against him as he stepped forward, forcing him to raise a hand briefly against the light.
On the other side of the field, figures were already present, scattered across the expanse. Some stood still, others moved slowly, all of them oriented toward the entrance. Their attention shifted toward him almost immediately, their gazes measuring, assessing, unreadable in their stillness.
Jurgen stepped forward into the space, his expression steady even as a faint tension settled into his chest.
"Hey, Pierre—" Jurgen called over his shoulder, turning slightly, only to find the space beside him already empty. The boy who had been walking with him had vanished without any trace of movement or sound, as if he had never been there at all. The absence confirmed what Jurgen had already begun to suspect, that Pierre was not an ordinary individual, and quite possibly not even who he claimed to be.
He stood alone now at the massive gate. The timing of his arrival was clearly late compared to the others, who were already gathered in organized clusters across the field. Dozens of eyes turned toward him almost immediately, some curious, others indifferent, and a few openly assessing him with quiet scrutiny.
Jurgen drew in a slow breath, steadying himself as he forced his attention away from the pressure of their gazes. He stepped forward, joining the edge of the group, his posture controlled but tense as he moved into place among them. Internally, he cursed the absence of Pierre, the situation leaving him uncomfortably exposed in a way he did not appreciate.
As he advanced further into the field, he noticed the collective focus of the crowd gradually shifting upward, toward a raised platform positioned at the far end of the arena.
There, figures stood in elevated observation, their silhouettes partially obscured by shadow as they watched the gathering below with measured attention. Their presence suggested authority, their stillness deliberate and analytical.
Among them, one figure drew Jurgen's attention more than the rest. Something about the posture and attire triggered a faint recognition that lingered at the edge of his memory, but it was the necklace that confirmed it. The design alone was enough to anchor the identity behind it.
Before the silence could settle further, a deep, resonant voice carried across the entire arena with unmistakable authority, projecting effortlessly over the gathered crowd.
"Prodigies from the four corners of the world, I welcome you to the Truemann Trials! My name is Lord Nemesio Aurelius—Emperor of Mercedes!"
The man stepped forward as he spoke, his movements controlled and deliberate, each step reinforcing the weight of his presence. The fabric of his robes shifted smoothly with his motion, and the golden necklace at his chest caught the sunlight, reflecting it in a way that briefly drew attention before fading back into subtlety.
"Every one of you stands among the finest of your generation," he continued, his voice steady and unwavering. "Skill, talent, potential—these things hold no meaning unless you push beyond them. This tournament is not a celebration of what you already are, but a crucible designed to reveal what you cannot yet become, and then force you beyond it."
His gaze moved across the crowd slowly, methodically, as though assessing each individual rather than addressing them collectively. There was no warmth in his expression, only clarity and authority.
"Do not fear your rivals. Do not fear defeat. The only thing worth fearing is stagnation, the moment you allow doubt to restrict what you are capable of achieving."
He extended one hand toward the arena below, gesturing to the open field where the participants stood.
"Step forward and test yourselves. Reveal your skill, your strategy, your resolve. Confront what you are beneath pressure, and discover what remains when everything else is stripped away."
A brief silence followed his words, the weight of them settling across the arena in a way that made the air feel denser. When he spoke again, his tone had eased slightly, though the authority behind it remained unchanged.
"I will say no more. The remainder of today's proceedings will be overseen by Lord Leonidas. I wish you all a successful match. Fight with honor, and with courage."
With that, he turned with precise control and returned to his seat at the edge of the platform. The movement was smooth and composed, drawing the attention of the entire arena as he settled into position like a figure embodying institutional authority itself.
After a brief pause, another presence stepped forward. Emperor Leonidas moved into view, his arrival quieter but no less commanding, the shift in focus immediate as the next phase of the Trials prepared to begin.