Arthur’s got it mostly down. In theory, at least. He has yet to use it in combat, so the semifinals will be a good place to try it out. His opponent this time is a young woman wielding a halberd. Her protective gear is similar to those of the other nobles, with a cuirass over a yellowish tunic to protect her upper body as well as leather gloves and boots.

‘So not even young nobles can afford a lot of steel? Then what mom said about the mines seems to be true.’

The fight starts, and the young woman wastes no time. Prana flowing through her, she charges with a loud battle cry and her weapon at her side, ready for a horizontal strike. And although Arthur can see it, he has no choice but to step back and dodge.

Her weapon is heavy, and she has great distance judgment. Trying to block that would undoubtedly bend this sword in half. If he still had his old one…

…No use crying about it now. He has to focus. And thanks to that, he notices the moment that might be his opening. The momentum of the heavy halberd is still carrying her, and although she uses it to turn and return to a defensive stance, there’s a moment there that Arthur can take advantage of.

The woman charges once more with another battle cry. She’s intense, not leaving Arthur time to breathe. He tries to keep his distance, but she chases him relentlessly around the arena. But the more she attacks, the more openings Arthur sees. Every single one of them right after attacking. Yet they’re short. He’ll have to time his attack just right.

“Stay still, dammit!” She yells at him.

“I don’t want to!” Arthur answers with a grin.

He swallows right after dodging another swing of the halberd. This is thrilling, just like learning to dodge Marina’s punches, only the result of fucking up here won’t be just a bruised face.

The young noble switches tactics, and instead of swinging starts thrusting her weapon with the spear end of her halberd. That makes her attacks sharper and faster, but now Arthur is able to parry them.

He grabs the blade of his sword with his left hand, closer to the tip. He’s wearing gloves, so cutting himself isn’t an issue. Even if he wasn’t, holding the blade tight enough wouldn’t cut him either. Gripping the sword like this, Arthur is able to push the spearhead out of the way as it comes for him.

Still, it’s difficult. He has to time his own movements perfectly, gauge distance and watch out for faints. But once more, the image of his mother overlaps with that of his current opponent. 4 different thrusts from a wooden staff come at him in different directions and at even faster speeds.

Although he’d become able to block one of those, the one aiming for this throat, the other three still hit his forehead, chest and stomach. But the weapon attacking him isn’t a wooden staff, and the woman in front of him isn’t his mother. These attacks are within his skill to handle.

The exchange doesn’t last more than a few seconds. Arthur pushes the spearhead away one last time before stepping forward, bringing his sword down into the opponents shoulder. But the young woman steps in as well, bashing him shoulder first to protect herself from the attack. She tries to push Arthur away, but he’s able to stand his ground. And right before he can lock his sword behind her and try to throw her to the ground, Arthur notices the quick flow of prana he’s come to recognize as that of Martial Arts. But he can’t recognize the form.

As if pulled by someone grabbing her from behind, the woman retreats with minimal movements. The magical energy pulled her back to a safe distance of 5 meters. She’s panting, but her eyes haven’t lost her fire.

Arthur licks his lips.

The noble charges forward again, careful to gauge the distance and swing her halberd horizontally again. It’s fast and heavy, but Arthur manages to step back. Then, his body reacts.

The opening is no longer than a second, but the moment he sees it, with the woman’s arms being carried to the side by the weight of her weapon, prana starts gathering near his heart. He didn’t even need to think about it. After his practice in the waiting room, his body just knew this was the right time. He assumes position in an instant. The prana is released and his body is shot forward like a crossbow bolt.

[Stinger].

The tip of his sword pierces her right shoulder, and he manages to stop it before driving the blade even further. But he doesn’t stop his charge, bashing the injured opponent with his shoulder and making her lose her balance.

She drops to the ground and her grip on her weapon is lost. Arthur drives his sword into the ground, next to her face. He turns to the referee, who doesn’t need to have things explained to him.

“The winner: Misteeeeeer Arthuuuuur!”

Arthur puts a hand on his own chest and frowns. He lets out a deep breath to try to calm his thundering heart.

----------------------------------------

“I see.” Sir Samuel nods to himself, making Eliot curious.

“What is it?”

“When he told me his mother, that is, his sword teacher, hadn’t taught him Martial Arts, I had to wonder why. But now it’s very clear.”

“Yeah.” Sir Kain nods in agreement and with a big grin. “That kid has the fundamentals of combat burned into his body. He definitely knows how much it hurts to get hit.”

“Is it that big of a deal?” Eliot asks, not because he doesn’t trust their judgment, but because he simply wants to learn.

“It is.” Sir Samuel nods. “No matter how many fancy moves you know, you’ll never get to use them if you can’t do things like gauge distance, knowing when to fall back and when to step in and notice the smallest openings in your opponent’s defense and take advantage of them.”

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“Not to mention he perfected the Martial Art you taught him already.” Sir Kain nods in approval. “He was able to notice the flaws by himself and fix them.”

“Mmm.” Eliot sees Sir Samuel hold his chin with his fingers as he thinks of something. “This might be another point in favor of him being a demigod.”

“How so?” Eliot asks.

“Records and conversations with other demigods have confirmed that we do have higher sensibility to the magical energy around us. You couldn’t feel anything during the one-hour break, right, Your Highness?”

“Huh? No… I guess I couldn’t.”

“The same could be said of everyone here. But what about you, General?” Sir Samuel asks his superior.

“Are you talking about your protégé? Yeah, I could feel him from the conference room. Kid’s been practicing all day, basically. He’s taking note of how his opponents are using Martial Arts by feeling their prana and fixing his mistakes. Not to mention he’s using the tournament matches themselves as testing grounds.” Sir Kain smirks. “Heh. He has balls.”

So Mr. Arthur has been getting stronger as the tournament goes on? Eliot swallows. That’s nothing short of impressive.

“We’ve been able to see a lot from him.” Sir Samuel comments. “On the other hand…”

As he trails off, they see the next combatants. Another noble from House Cormag and Mr. Marcus. And seeing the wild hunter makes Eliot understand what Sir Samuel was implying.

Once more, Mr. Marcus wins the fight by keeping his distance and overwhelming his opponents with extremely fast and precise arrows. His opponents have tried to dodge and close the gap, but even if they manage it, they get pushed back and assaulted with arrows. It’s always the same winning pattern.

“Is that the only thing he can do?” Eliot wonders.

“More like it’s the only thing he needs to do.” Sir Kain clarifies. “Why would he show any other moves if that one keeps working?”

“I-I see.” Eliot grimaces. “That would make sense. I still need to learn so much more about combat.”

“One step at a time, Your Highness.” Sir Samuel gives him a comforting smile.

“This means it’s just how we thought.” Sir Kain says. “The finals will be Arthur vs Marcus.”

“Truly, it’s a shame that only one of them can join right now.” Eliot grimaces.

“Please, Your Highness, I’m doing what I can.” The general sighs tiredly.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that, Sir Kain! I swear!”

“It’s true, however.” Sir Samuel sighs. “What do you think of the odds, General?”

“60 to 40 in favor of the young hunter.” Sir Kain says. “You?”

“I’m leaning towards 50-50.” Sir Samuel smiles. “It’s true that Mr. Marcus hasn’t show everything he’s capable of, but the same could be said about Arthur.”

Eliot swallows nervously. Something tells him that the next fight will be unlike everything so far.

Yet his thoughts are interrupted by the abrupt opening of the door to the balcony. The people already here turn to see who’s come in, and they all stand up when they see him. On his part, Eliot lets out a sigh of relief. At least his brother didn’t bring his girlfriends with him.

“Your Highness.” General Kain bows deeply, followed by Vice-General Samuel and the other present nobles. After all, the person who just entered is Ivan Ulster, first prince of the kingdom and future king.

He’s two years older than Eliot, making him 16 years old. They both share their father’s blonde hair and both have it in similar semi-short styles. But that’s where most similarities end. Unlike Eliot, Ivan was blessed with a strong body which he loves to boast, wearing his shirts and tunics with the first few buttons undone. Even if he’s still growing, he stands at 1.73 meters tall and already has a bulky, muscled upper body. For all his faults, he takes his sword training seriously, even if it’s only so he can brag about how good he is.

Eliot stops thinking that and chastises himself. He has to stop thinking of his brother like this. He will one day be king, and Eliot intends to support him. He needs to do so if he hopes to strive for what’s best for the people.

“Is it already time for the final battle?” Ivan asks, walking towards his seat with his chin slightly up. He sits down with one leg over his lap and his chin resting in his fist.

“There will be a thirty-minute break before it starts, Your Highness.” Sir Samuel tells him, still bowing.

Ivan clicks his tongue. “I’m here early then. Well, no matter. Those girls were starting to annoy me, anyway.” He sighs dramatically. “You may sit down, everyone.” He says with a dismissing wave of his hand.

The first prince then turns to Eliot. “So? How goes the tournament, little brother?”

The second prince sighs internally and pushes his annoyance away. “From what I can tell, this tournament seems very promising. The next fight will feature the strongest warriors we’ve seen.”

“I didn’t ask for the obvious, Eliot.” Ivan groans in annoyance. “Of course the final will be between the two strongest. I should’ve know you wouldn’t be able to answer. May I know your opinion, Sir Samuel?”

Like that, Eliot’s opinion was discarded. But he knew that would happen. At this point, it’s expected.

“What your Lord Brother said still holds true, Your Highness.” Sir Samuel says, his expression neutral. “We haven’t seen candidates with this much potential in years.”

“Is that so?” Ivan raises a curious eyebrow. Even he has to trust Sir Samuel’s word when it comes to combat. “Are they stronger than me?”

“Far so, Your Highness.” Sir Samuel says bluntly, yet he nods politely.

Again, Ivan clicks his tongue and his face visibly twists in annoyance, but there’s nothing he can say about the knight’s words. Sir Samuel has always been blunt when it comes to combat strength, stating firmly that pretty words won’t keep anyone alive in the field. In a way, telling the first prince the brutal truth is Sir Samuel’s way to protect him, not letting him get complacent.

“Which brigade is the winner going to?” Ivan asks, changing the topic.

“The Sanctus Brigade.” Sir Kain answers.

“That paladin’s brigade? Why?”

“His is one of the brigades with less members with only 6 total.” Eliot answers. “Captain Erik made a formal request, and because of that, it was approved without any issues.”

“Is that so? I was half-hoping the winner could be appointed to my personal guard, but if the matter is already settled, I won’t press further.” Ivan says with a nonchalant shrug.

Eliot’s shoulders relax a bit, relieved that his brother didn’t feel too strongly about this. He will usually try to get his way when he really wants something.

“Anyway, I skipped lunch today.” Ivan says and claps his hands. In seconds, a maid is next to him. “Bring me something good, sweetheart.” He tells her, flashing her a flirty smile.

“Yes, Your Highness.” The maid simply smiles politely and leaves to fulfill her orders.

Eliot has to wonder if he really is the only one annoyed by his brother’s way of behaving. The knights and nobles don’t seem the least bit affected.