“Should I go after her?” Iris asked, worried at Hecate’s abrupt and agitated departure.
“No, she will be back by herself. I have an inkling of an idea what it might have been,” Diantha replied.
“What is it?”
“That… you should ask her yourself. It’s not my place to speak.”
Iris nodded. She saw Hecate’s expression change when she left the Colosseum. And it was not good. Iris wondered what the reason was.
Someone knocked on the door. Diantha asked them to come in. It was a young girl wearing official clothing. They were responsible for maintaining the Tournament.
Diantha silently wrote something on a piece of paper that was placed on a small table by the sofa, placed it in an envelope, and stamped it. The girl respectfully took it and bid farewell.
“What was that?”
“Your and your opponent's names.”
“Hmm?” Iris tilted her head in confusion.
“The first match was named by Laurent, then Lambert, and now it is my turn. That’s how the tournament works. All three houses get to make a battle of their choice. It has been a tradition. Anyways— It’s your turn.”
“Then, I’ll take my leave.”
“Wait.”
“Hmm?”
“How strong are you compared to a level 5?”
Iris hesitated to answer her question immediately. It was a tough question, to say the least.
“Is that a difficult question?” Diantha noticed Iris’s hesitation.
After a long pause, Iris spoke in a quiet and slow voice, “I’m comparably stronger than them. I think I can put Rian in a worse state than Felix without even exerting half his effort.”
“That big,” Diantha tried to hide her shock, yet Iris could notice wavering beneath it. Her face never gave away the shock, though. “Why were you so hesitant?” Diantha narrowed her eyes.
“I-I just didn’t want to sound like an arrogant prick,” Even in her head, Iris could imagine saying that with confidence would sound haughty and conceited.
Diantha chuckled as she leaned back, stretching her arm out. “Your voice is adorable, Iris, nothing you’ll ever say can come out as arrogant. Only cute.”
Iris stepped back in shame, cleared her throat, and tried to talk in a mature voice, “I’m a Level 6, please refrain from addressing me as if I’m a child.”
Another chuckle. Iris felt embarrassed suddenly, “When Hecate was 10, she used to sound just like you.”
After that, Iris said nothing and ran off.
“Iris, wait…”
Iris let go of the knob and turned, “Yes…?”
….
The audience was tense, once more, not enraged, just worried. The first battle ended with Diantha losing one of three participants. The second match ended with Hecate vanishing in anger. And the people of Gracia had never seen Hecate without a smile, or in rare instances frowning over something silly, even so, that is not anger.
They knew Diantha had brought a new participant. They knew nothing of her other than how pitiful and fragile her appearance was. They were tense. They knew what losing implied, the fate of Diantha, and they had not forgotten their life before Diantha took over as Grand Duchess.
The only thing they saw in their future was darkness.
The next battle was announced— Iris, Level 6 Caster Vs. Benoit, Level 5 Swordsman.
This announcement roused the audience, but they lacked the understanding of Level 6; to them, it was just rare to achieve that level. The general audience, as humans, could very easily be fooled by appearance. And Iris’s appearance made her look very weak.
Benoit was the first to appear on the stage. He was a tall man, clad in leather armour, with a giant sword on his back. The sword was as big as him. He had an orange sunglass on his face that matched perfectly with his hair.
Benoit was smiling as he approached the stage. He was confident as he could not bring himself to believe there was a Level 6 here. Most people were gullible. They had no idea about the insurmountable sea that was Level 6. No one becomes Level 6 just like that.
There would be a great event following such ascension. Every news agency in the world would have had at least a corner saved just to talk about her ascension. There should have been a landscape that had been permanently altered. They did not know what kind of existence Level 6 was. They were compared to dragons, not just because of rarity, but for the destruction they were capable of. An 18-year-old Level 6? He would faster believe his mother was a whore than that.
Benoit looked towards his Lady, who was standing with her hand folded underneath those supple— Benoit turned away before he was caught staring. His lady was not in a good mood. The existence of the little girl was a pain, a variable to the perfect orchestra that Lady Laurent had devised. He needed to eliminate her.
Luckily, killing was not out of the rule— and if he could secure that small body— his face twisted in a perverse grin, his senses felt overwhelmed in anticipation.
Benoit’s confidence and smile both vanished as he saw the little girl enter from the other side. His heart constricted as if being held by sharp claws. He sucked in a cold breath, hoping to regain his footing. His whole being felt as if it was submerged in mud, mud that was filled with razor-sharp blades that channelled electricity.
Now, the little girl did not seem little. Her entire body was surrounded by an ominous purple shroud that rose behind her. Rising and rising as tall as the Coliseum itself. The aura took the form of a vile beast with no physical form. Yet, he could see how it looked. It was the personification of hell itself.
Benoit involuntarily took a step back. His throat was dry and his skin felt as if it was being torn. He decided he would give up. If he could, he would have run away right now. But that would also result in his demise at the hands of Laurent.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
His dread multiplied when he realised what they had done to Young Knight Boy. This would be his end.
…
The audience watched Iris approach the stage, every step she took made her look taller and heavier, as if a hulking beast was staring down at them. They felt like they were drowning in a cold and sharp sea.
“Make them feel drawn.”
“Isn’t that the opposite of what they are here for?”
“Your win wouldn’t give them much assurance. Unlike Rian Reed, Benoit isn’t publicly known, but if they feel your overwhelming presence, it would make them reassured. They need to believe you’re stronger than him like nothing else. Make a joke out of him.”
…
Iris spotted her opponent, who was almost about to pass out. She reined in her presence. She might’ve overdone it. She needed to make sure he fought and would not just give up. She was not like Rian to attack him unprepared.
“Iris, Level 6 caster,” Benoit should’ve been the one to introduce first as he was the weaker opponent.
“Benoit, Level 5 Swordsman,” his voice was shaking.
“Beg—”
“Wait,” Iris cut off the referee, “You know, I can put you in a more miserable situation than Felix, and even a healer won’t be able to heal you. But, as my lady wished, you need to fight. If you do, I will be very lenient, and who knows, battling a Level 6 is the requirement that may push you to ascension.”
He mechanically nodded in understanding, after failing to muster any words.
“Do you wish to become Level 6?”
“Is that even possible?” His words were of despair, seeing Iris with his own eyes, he did not believe himself to be capable of something like that.
“If you can force a Level 6 to a standstill, the satisfaction of that victory will push you to Level 6.”
“Is that true, Rian?” Laurent asked.
“No, My Lady. If it were true, I and every mage in this Colosseum would've gone insane.”
“To have everyone so beneath them, that a single word uttered is all they need to destroy your minds… that is not fair.”
“As long as a mage covers their ears with mana, it would not have any effect. Only in an unguarded state would that consequence take effect. It is not their power, as it is the knowledge’s weight.”
“The owner of the rock is the owner of its destruction, not the earth it belonged to.”
…
“Begin.”
“HAA!!” Benoit charged at Iris, his sword raised over his shoulder, mana gathered on its edge, and he swung it down on her. Iris watched him do all that without moving.
The sword came down in a wide arc, prepared to split Iris in half. The orange hue on it glowed as it came down. Iris stepped aside like a ghost just as it reached her head. The sword met the empty air and then the ground. The stage burst, creating a large crater.
When the dust cleared, Benoit felt a sharp pain in his ears. It was the pain as Iris heavily shoved away glasses. “They look weird, and why do you need them at night?” She asked, unconcerned. She was sitting on her Orb platform. She was staring at the spectacles rather than her opponent.
“Haa!” He swung his sword again, horizontally. The platform lowered to the ground, evading the sword. Iris threw the spectacle in the air and threw a lightning arrow at it. The sunglasses vanished without a trace.
“You’re slow.”
“MY GIFT!!” Benoit roared like a man-beast. He swung his sword in rage. Iris moved back. He tried again, and again, and again. But to his dismay, not once did his sword meet anything but air.
“Get down here and fight.” Benoit roared; he had forgotten the fear in his rage.
“If you insist.” Iris gracefully hopped off the platform and weaved it into a glaive. It was as long as Benoit’s sword. “Use all your might.”
Benoit's hand clenched the sword fiercely, the veins on his forearm bulged, pulsating with the raw power of his grip. The sword turned vibrant orange, and he dashed forth. A trail of orange was left in his wake.
[Enforcement] [Dash]
The basic skills he used to strengthen his mad charge.
Benoit pulled back his sword and pointed it forward, “Rino Horn!” He screamed as the tip of his blade glowed. He thrust his blade forward. Just as it was about to reach Iris, Benoit’s whole body came to a halt. He tried to move but to no avail.
“You are so kind, sir. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to strike first,” Iris spoke innocently, her lips twisted into a cruel smile as she raised the glaive. It shone and sparks spread in the air around it, followed by a loud thunderclap, as she brought down the glaive. Benoit tightly shut his eyes as he waited for the painful end.
“Bop,” Iris said as she lightly tapped Benoit’s head. Benoit fell on the floor, alarmed like a cat, and scurried away, picking up his bearings. “It would be unfair if I struck you while you’re stuck, right?”
“YOU BITCH!!” Benoit slammed his sword into the stage, the ground illuminated. The ground began to crumble, as the light began to escape through the crack. Iris watched him curiously.
She tapped the floor with her legs, and the light changed to purple. The ground burst, throwing Benoit into the air, and he landed on his back, moaning in pain.
“LA LA LA, LALALA,” Iris's voice reverberated throughout the coliseum. It was a pleasing voice, it had a hint of childishness, yet there was more to it, like a melody that takes all the worry off your shoulders and whispers a sweet dream. It was directed at the crowd, the crowd she needed to please. For that, she must first take all their worries off.
“LA LA LA,” Iris whispered, it was [Lullaby], one of two manipulator class spells she knew. The other is the Power of Suggestion: Obedience. Lullaby was the spell she always used to calm Winny when she got agitated or scared. It was a very rare thing as Winny lacked the self-awareness to feel emotions. But hell can make even the dead shiver in fear. That was also the reason she acquired this class.
LA LA LA
Iris slowly approached the man on the floor. Her glaive glowing.
LA LA LA
Her spell affected everyone the same way. It calmed even Benoit. He pushed himself up and charged his sword for the next attack. At this point, Benoit had realized he was being made fun of. Yet, he decided for once he would fight with everything to squeak out even a single spell of her that they could use for future startegies.
Benoit swung his sword again. Iris dodged, whispering her lullaby.
He swung again.
And again.
And again.
It was a dance of blades. Iris not once used her weapon; she just gracefully evaded every swing. Never once did her voice waver or show any sign of exertion. It remained a pleasant lullaby that made the audience move their heads at Iris’s rhythm.
Iris stepped away from the flurry of swings; if one touched her, she would die. Benoit jumped at her, bringing his sword down at her. She moved away, and a new crater formed on the ground. Iris was coming to a realization—Level 5 Knights might fight like this for days. She needed to go on the offensive. The crowd was calm and even cheering to an extent. They were warm once again.
“LA LA LA… Perhaps, we should begin our battle,” Iris created a lightning javelin and flung it at him.
Benoit, despite his huge stature, was surprisingly agile. He dodged all the attacks without any problem, or so he thought until he remembered—he was a swordsman fighting a Caster. He had done the most foolish thing possible, stepping back and giving the caster space. Of course, in reality, it did not matter. Iris did it for the spectacle.
“I’ll end it in a single strike,” She said. “Can you defend it?”
Iris slashed the glaive she’d been charging in a horizontal arc. Wide and convex, a split appeared in the air.
Benoit scrambled away, like a scared child, as he felt the heavy elemental discharge from the blade. He did not pretend to be graceful. It was a run for his life.
Are you running?
A ghostly voice whispered in his mind, making Benoit stop in his tracks. He turned back, expecting lightning to descend upon him, yet the whole stage was devoid of anything. There were no spells. Yet, the primal fear within him finally noticed—a hairline crack in the air.
Benoit felt his soul shake as the thin line spread, opening like an eye. His leg froze stiff as he met the gaze of whatever abomination stared at him from within. His head pounded in pain, as the blood rushed in, he failed to comprehend what he had just witnessed.