As the day dawned on the eve of the highly anticipated Tournament of the Ten Knights, the city of Tuzmad hummed with a frenetic energy. The streets were abuzz with activity, artisans and traders busy with their final touches, and flags of various kingdoms fluttered in the breeze. The city awaited the arrival of nine kings from distant lands, each coming to witness their bravest knights compete in a grand display of valor and skill.

The knight chosen to represent Tuzmad in this illustrious event was Enorian, a figure of renown in the realm of swordsmanship. At the age of 29, he had already carved a name for himself as the finest swordsman in all the land. His reputation was such that his very presence in the tournament elevated the excitement and anticipation among the onlookers.

Amidst the elite gathering of knights was Darr, the valiant knight representing the Kingdom of the Sun. His anticipation was palpable, a fiery determination burning in his eyes. Darr was not merely content to participate; he was driven by an unwavering resolve to emerge victorious, to claim the title of the greatest among the ten. This prestigious event was more than a competition; it was a stage where legends were forged, and Darr was ready to etch his name into the annals of history.

The approaching Tournament of the Ten Knights, a spectacle of valor and skill, had captured the imagination not only of Darr but also of countless visitors who had journeyed from far and wide to Tuzmad. This event, steeped in legend and prestige, had grown to hold a place of reverence in the hearts of those who cherished the noble art of knighthood.

The arena, the heart of this grand tournament, was a marvel of construction, designed to test the mettle and honor of the knights who entered it. Surrounded by towering steel fences, with only a singular passage for entrance and exit, it was a battleground that promised no retreat, no respite, until the clash of swords reached its inevitable conclusion. Here, the knights transformed into gladiators, each driven by an unquenchable thirst for victory, where defeat was not an option.

A solemn rule governed the combat within these walls: the life of an opponent was to be spared at all costs. This edict was the tournament's soul, ensuring that valor and honor remained paramount. Any knight who, even inadvertently, transgressed this sacred rule faced immediate disqualification and the ignominious stripping of their title. It was a rule that elevated the tournament beyond mere combat, embodying the ideals of chivalry and respect that were the essence of true knighthood.

The victor of the tournament would receive a golden armor, crafted by the kingdom's finest armorsmiths, or a chest of gold coins weighing as much as the armor. The prize varied each year, but its value was insignificant compared to the glory of being the best.

With only two hours until sunset, an eerie silence descended over Tuzmad. The final preparations were complete.

Enorian, the crowd's favorite, was about to be seen in action by all of Tuzmad's citizens. A festive dinner was held in the throne room, where the ten kings praised their champions.

Darr remembered Edgar's warnings and scrutinized each knight. They all seemed human, not walking corpses. Yet he trusted Edgar's word that the Bringers of Death would find a way to join the tournament.

The true intentions of Darr, unknown to the others, were not about the Bringers of Death. His eyes were set on the promised chest of gold and the chance to be hailed as the hero of the Sun Kingdom by killing Edgar. But his motivation wasn't just the bounty on Edgar's head; as a fellow heir, he had been hunting others like him, relishing as their lives slipped away, yearning to be the sole, most powerful heir.

Darr felt an odd sensation of power nearby, and then a commotion at the entrance drew everyone's attention. Two guards, their lances angrily aimed, were trying to stop a figure rapidly approaching the gathering. The individual was dressed entirely in black, with his face concealed beneath the hood of his long cloak.

"Forgive us, sire! We couldn't stop him, he wishes to speak to you," the guards addressed King Ludrol.

"In one of the most important evenings, you incompetents can't keep a peasant out for just one night? May the gods spare us if a whole cavalry attacked, Tuzmad would turn to ashes," Ludrol bellowed. "You! You must be either too brave or too foolish. Show your face when I speak to you!"

King Ludrol was irate that a mere peasant had embarrassed him in front of nine kings, not to mention his rival, Lockdar. How could he not lose face? Was it perceived that he had no control over his people? Or that his army was made up of incompetents?

As everyone at the table thought Ludrol couldn't possibly get angrier, they were bitterly mistaken. When the peasant revealed his face to be Edgar Argyle, Ludrol was even more enraged. What did it say about his kingdom if criminals freely roamed it?

Trying to maintain his composure, Ludrol attempted a calm tone. The last thing he needed was for the other kings, except Lockdar, to know the man before him was Tuzmad's most wanted outlaw.

"What do you want, young man?" Ludrol growled through clenched teeth.

"I wish to participate in the Tournament of the Ten Knights. To represent the kingdom of Tuzmad, Your Majesty."

This was the last thing Ludrol expected. He even admired, to some extent, the courage or madness of Edgar for walking into the castle and demanding such.

In the Tournament of the Ten Knights, a knight who wished to represent their kingdom but wasn't chosen had the right to challenge the king's chosen champion. The victor of this duel would participate in the tournament. Edgar knew this rule well, having read everything about the Tournament of the Ten Knights from a young age.

"We already have a knight willing to represent Tuzmad. Enorian is the best, no one is as fast as him, no one wields the sword better than him," Ludrol boasted. "Besides, you need a hundred gold coins just to challenge the champion."

"I am a wandering knight, once a hero of the Kingdom of the Sun, I believe I have every right to challenge your champion for the right to participate in the tournament," Edgar said, throwing a black leather pouch onto the table, containing the required hundred coins.

"As you wish, but if you lose, you will be thrown into a dungeon, then judged for assaulting the guards and any other misdeeds I find you've committed," King Ludrol added.

The atmosphere in the hall bristled with tension as Enorian stood, his confidence radiating like a beacon. To him, Edgar was nothing more than a notorious criminal, a bandit whose reputation as a formidable fighter had been shaped by tales of daring escapes from King Ludrol's forces. Driven by a blend of arrogance and curiosity, Ludrol's chosen champion unsheathed his sword, signaling his readiness for an impromptu duel in the very hall they stood.

Edgar, recognizing the seriousness of the challenge, mirrored Enorian's actions. He gripped his Phoenix sword firmly, adopting a battle-ready stance that had been honed through countless encounters. His stance was solid, feet slightly apart, body poised and balanced, ready for the confrontation that was about to unfold.

Enorian, impatient and eager to assert his dominance, initiated the attack. His skill as a swordsman was evident, each strike executed with a precision and ferocity that left Edgar little room to do anything but defend. The relentless onslaught pushed Edgar back, step by step, his every move a reaction to Enorian's aggressive advances.

In a decisive moment, Enorian's sword found its mark, sending Edgar tumbling to the ground. He raised his sword for a potentially fatal blow, seemingly indifferent to the idea that he might end Edgar's life right there. But Edgar, summoning every ounce of his training and instinct, parried the strike with his Phoenix sword and sprang back to his feet.

This encounter had taken Edgar by surprise. Enorian's prowess with the sword was more than he had anticipated, challenging Edgar's years of disciplined training. A mix of admiration and frustration coursed through him. Was he about to be defeated now, on the very brink of participating in the prestigious tournament, by a swordsman whose skill rivaled his own?

As Edgar faced Enorian, his determination hardened into an iron resolve. With a fierce grip on his sword, he launched into a counterattack, fueled by an unwillingness to yield to defeat. Each swing and thrust bore the weight of his desperation, a desire to triumph that momentarily eclipsed his usual caution in battle.

In the heat of the moment, Edgar's focus on offense left him vulnerable, and Enorian, seizing the opportunity, landed a deep gash across Edgar's chest. The sharp sting of the blade drew a gasp from the spectators as they witnessed blood glistening on Enorian's sword. Edgar's hand flew to his chest, and he crumpled to his knees under the intense pain, the room blurring around him.

The agony engulfing Edgar's chest was like a blaze threatening to consume him from within. In that moment, he believed he was feeling the true sting of death. However, as if by some miraculous intervention, the pain abruptly subsided. With a newfound energy, Edgar rose to his feet, his recovery leaving the onlookers in a state of stunned silence.

Gripping his sword with renewed vigor, Edgar's next moves were a blur of precision and power. He forced Enorian into a defensive posture, each strike more forceful than the last. With a final, masterful blow, Edgar disarmed Enorian, sending his sword clattering to the ground.

The room erupted into a mix of awe and disbelief as Edgar stood victorious. King Ludrol, witnessing this unexpected turn of events, realized he had no alternative but to acknowledge Edgar as the new champion. Despite the initial reluctance, the king conceded, allowing Edgar to represent Tuzmad in the prestigious tournament. The knight's resilience and skill had not just won him the duel, but also a chance to showcase his prowess on a grander stage.

"He can't participate! He's wounded," said Sormain, having seen the injury.

"I am not wounded," Edgar replied, taking off his jacket.

Indeed, there was not even a cut, just an old small scar where the wound should have been. Everyone looked amazed; Edgar's chest was unscratched.

Sormain picked up Enorian's sword and inspected it closely. No blood was visible on it. He looked at the spot where Edgar had fallen, but saw nothing there.

"What kind of sorcery is this?" asked Sormain.

"It's not sorcery," Edgar replied, quickly trying to find an explanation for something he couldn't explain himself. "Look at the wine cups you've emptied. No offense, but with all you've drunk, I wouldn't be surprised if you started seeing winged horses."

Darr couldn't believe how powerful Edgar's abilities had become in such a short time. The ability to heal instantly from such a wound was something not every heir could possess. He wasn't too worried about Edgar. He was much stronger, having been aware of his bloodline for a long time, allowing him to meditate on his inheritor powers.

"He is right," added Darr. "We've all overindulged in the wine. I don't know what you all saw, but I only saw Edgar slipping to his knees. A bit clumsy for a knight, if you ask me, but a pretty good fighter. It will be an honor to fight against him."

"As the knight Darr says, the wine is to blame," King Ludrol added. "Would you care to join us, Edgar Argyle?"

“It would be an honor for me to sit at a table with so many people who want my head”, Edgar thought.

"It would be an honor for me to sit at the table with you, but I feel the need to rest for tomorrow. I've traveled far."

"Then one of the attendants will escort you to your room, knight."

Led to his room, Edgar threw off his coat, wanting to examine his wound site closely. He couldn't believe he had the power to heal so quickly. With such a power, he would have a chance against the Bringers of Death. Unfortunately, this idea quickly vanished from his mind when he remembered how the Breath of Death had revived in front of him.

Ravenous hunger overtook him, so stepping into the corridor, he asked the woman who had led him to his room to bring him some food. She quickly returned with a large tray full of dishes.

Initially, Edgar wondered if the food might be poisoned, but hunger won over these thoughts, so he sat down to eat, telling himself, "I'm not so foolish as to die poisoned." After satisfying his hunger, he drank eagerly from the wine cup and prepared for bed.

As the candle flames flickered their last, Edgar sank into the sumptuous embrace of the silk-covered bed. With the weight of the day's events pressing down on him, he succumbed quickly to a deep, much-needed sleep. The room, steeped in shadows, held an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of the night breeze.

In these quiet hours, just before the dawn's first light, the door to his room creaked open with an almost imperceptible sound. A shadowy figure slipped through the gap, moving with a predator's stealth towards the bed where Edgar lay defenseless in his slumber.

The intruder, shrouded in the darkness, produced a long, slender dagger, its blade gleaming ominously in the scant moonlight filtering through the window. With a motion both swift and deliberate, the assailant poised above Edgar, then drove the dagger down with a ferocious intensity, the blade piercing the sheets.

The pristine silk was suddenly marred by a spreading stain of crimson, a stark contrast to its previous purity. The attacker, perhaps satisfied with the deed, retreated as silently as they had arrived, closing the door with a soft click, leaving behind a scene of deceptive tranquility veiled by the dark of night.

After a few moments, Edgar emerged from under the bed, thinking, "Good thing I didn't drink all the wine..." Where the assassin thought Edgar was, were just some blankets arranged to look like a person's body.

"What kind of amateur did the king send to kill me?" Edgar wondered aloud. "He didn't even have the courage to look under the sheet..."

"Do you think only the king would have reasons to kill you?" a voice sounded from the darkness.

At that moment, Edgar felt his heart might never beat normally again. No matter how brave he thought he was, when taken by surprise, he was immediately frightened. He quickly picked up the sword beside the bed and asked in a trembling voice who was in the room. Suddenly, all the candles lit up, illuminating the room and allowing him to see the face of the one who had insulted his courage. Sitting in a corner chair was an old man with white hair and a long beard. It was the magician Laryus, whom Edgar had met ten years ago.

"Laryus? I thought you were dead! Or are you a ghost? You haven't come to haunt me, have you?"

"Too many questions... Tomorrow you will fight the Bringers of Death, and if you're not careful, you won't stand much of a chance."

"Laryus... they're invincible!"

"They can be killed. Because they are cursed."

"They're cursed... Yes, surely that information will be useful when they are about to take my neck," Edgar said sarcastically. "They are not among the ten knights, I'm starting to doubt they will even participate in the tournament."

"They will find a way to participate, be sure of that! Remember Edgar, they are cursed," Laryus added, disappearing along with the lights going out.

Great! The only help I have is a crazy old man... Or it all happened in my mind and I'm the crazy one. By all the gods! These remain immortal, no matter how cursed they are. He remembered Laryus' words from ten years ago, about how humanity would suffer. The war between men and demons was approaching, considering that the Lord of Demons controlled an increasingly large army.

The sun had been up for a while, and in less than three hours, the Tournament of the Ten Knights would begin. Edgar left the room, and in the corridor, he met King Ludrol, who asked how he had slept. The young knight was invited to the throne room, where other kings, knights, Prince Sormain, and three lords were gathered.

Edgar sat at the table and looked around. There were only seven knights, not ten. He asked Ludrol where the other three were.

"You won't believe it! Last night, after you defeated Enorian and retired to your room, three more knights appeared, in black armors. Hmm, it seems black is fashionable these days. Each challenged a champion, dueled, and won. You should have been there, those guys really knew how to fight. I sent a servant after them, but they refused to come down, preferring to have breakfast in their rooms."

"The Bringers of Death. I expected something more creative from them. Like me, lacking imagination," Edgar thought.

Edgar received his armor and shield from King Ludrol. He was representing the Tuzmad emblem, a red rose inside a crown. Assisted by the king's servants, Edgar donned his armor. A silver armor, whose brilliance was eye-catching.

Before heading out to the arena, the king stopped him, holding a beautiful cloak in his hand, which he placed on Edgar's shoulders.

"This cloak was once worn by your father, Damyen Argyle, the most esteemed knight Tuzmad ever had."

"Thank you," Edgar said softly.

He almost shed tears when he saw the warmth with which the king spoke to him, but he knew all too well how cunning the king was and how much he wanted him dead.

"One more thing, Edgar. Fight for what you believe in, even if most of the time you fight alone. Remember, nothing is as it seems and beware of enemies."

"Right, nothing is as it seems, including your mask, Ludrol. Enemies? Which enemies? I have never feared enemies who attack me, only the so-called friends who embrace me," Edgar responded in his thoughts. He exited the castle and headed slowly towards the arena to confront the most powerful enemies he had ever faced.

As Edgar neared the seating area reserved for the ten knights of the tournament, a sudden, icy shiver coursed through him, striking with the swiftness of lightning. His gaze, almost against his will, was drawn to a trio of knights garbed in ominous black armor. Their faces were obscured by helmets, yet Edgar didn't need to see their features to recognize who they were.

A palpable aura of hatred, greed, and overwhelming power emanated from these shadowy figures, enveloping Edgar in an intensity he had never experienced before. It was as if their very presence tainted the air around them, sending waves of malevolence that he could almost physically feel.

In that moment, Edgar sensed something new awaken within him - a heightened awareness, akin to a sixth sense. It stirred deep inside, resonating with the very energy that these dark knights exuded. Could this be the same inherent ability that Darr, the heir of another lineage, possessed? Edgar pondered, wondering if this newfound sense was a dormant legacy of his lineage, now surfacing in the presence of such formidable adversaries.

He was thrilled with his new sense. First the healing ability, now this. What else was he going to discover? Despite not possessing the power of the Bringers, he felt that they were afraid. But what could possibly make a Bringer afraid?

He sat down, eager for the tournament to begin, looking forward to seeing who his first opponent would be. All his years of training were now going to pay off.

The names of the ten knights were written on slips of paper and placed in a golden cup. Two names would be drawn. The two chosen knights would fight each other. King Ludrol rose from his throne and approached the table where the golden cup was placed.

"The first to fight will be Hector, against Darr," announced King Ludrol after drawing the names from the cup. "Hector represents the Kingdom of Trian, and Darr, the Kingdom of the Sun."

As Hector and Darr strode into the arena, the imposing iron gates clanged shut behind them, sealing their fates within the battle ring. The two knights exchanged a handshake of mutual respect, a gesture of sportsmanship that belied the fierce competition about to unfold. With a regal nod from the king, swords clashed, sparking the onset of a duel amidst a thunderous wave of applause from the eager crowd.

In the heart of the arena, each knight displayed exceptional prowess. They moved with a grace and ferocity that kept the audience on the edge of their seats, each eager to secure a place in the next round of the tournament. Darr, having studied the rules of the tournament meticulously, was well aware of the fine print. Technically, the rules didn't prohibit the killing of an opponent. This unspoken rule was a mere precaution, a means to preserve the lives of the knights. But Darr's intentions lay elsewhere. His true target was not the honorable Hector.

The battle unfolded with Darr exhibiting a mastery of swordsmanship that overwhelmed Hector. With a series of swift and precise maneuvers, Darr disarmed his opponent, first his sword, then his shield clattered to the ground. Hector, now defenseless, found himself at the mercy of Darr's blade, its tip poised menacingly at his throat. The crowd fell silent, the outcome of the duel now unmistakably clear.

Darr's victory was swift and decisive, earning him not only the win but also a newfound respect from the audience. Darr had proven himself a formidable knight, his prowess undoubted, his honor intact. The first fight had ended, setting a high bar for the subsequent duels in the grand tournament.

King Ludrol prepared to draw the next two names. The first name he drew was Knight Malot, representing the Kingdom of Ice. Then, he drew the second name, which was Edgar's.

Relieved he didn't have to face one of the Bringers of Death in the first round, Edgar knew that the inevitable couldn't be postponed forever, and his reason for being there was to stop them.

Edgar and Malot entered the arena, where they would fight for the right to advance and face Darr. The two shook hands, and as the king's signal pierced the air, the clash of their swords echoed, marking the start of a battle that promised to be both fierce and honorable.

Malot, a knight whose reputation was built on his unyielding offensive, launched into a series of aggressive attacks. Edgar, however, stood his ground, expertly parrying and dodging each strike. He utilized his newfound sixth sense, a gift that granted him an almost preternatural awareness of his opponent's intentions. With every move Malot made, Edgar seemed to anticipate and counter effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise, a dance of defense that left the crowd in awe.

Malot, a knight for whom honor was the cornerstone of his existence, found himself increasingly vexed. No opponent had ever evaded his well-honed strikes with such grace and ease. It was as if Edgar was shadowing his thoughts, predicting each attack with an uncanny accuracy that bordered on the supernatural.

As Malot's frustration grew, so did Edgar's confidence. He moved around the arena with a lithe grace, his sword a blur of steel that parried each of Malot's strikes. The audience watched, spellbound by the display of martial excellence, wondering if Edgar's extraordinary abilities would be enough to secure him a place against Darr in the next round of the tournament.

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"Stop spinning like a top. Fight!" Malot exclaimed.

"Sorry, I'm a bit nervous. It's my first fight in the Tournament of the Ten Knights," Edgar teased.

Edgar began attacking Malot, but the knight defended well against the younger man's strikes. Malot's thirty-seven years of age showed his experience in combat, making him a tougher opponent than Edgar. A strong blow from Malot caused Edgar to drop his sword. Luckily, Edgar didn't lose his shield as well, or else he would have had no defense against the intended blows.

Edgar rolled near Malot's sword, finally managing to pick up his own sword from the ground. But as he regained his sword, he lost his shield to another hit, leaving the sword as his only defense. Malot was a formidable adversary, making Edgar wonder how he would fare against the Bringers of Death.

Infuriated, Edgar gripped his sword tightly and launched an attack. Under the pressure of Edgar's forceful attacks, Malot dropped his sword, distracted by Edgar's punch that knocked him down mercilessly. Lying on the ground with Edgar's sword at his neck, Malot conceded defeat.

Edgar emerged as the winner of the second fight in the Tournament of the Ten Knights. He picked up his shield from the ground, adjusted his cloak, and left the arena amid a sea of applause.

King Ludrol announced the next knights to fight following Edgar's victory:

"The first to enter the arena is Deloran, and the second is the Nameless Knight," announced King Ludrol. Unfortunately, there was no rule about the names chosen by the knights in this tournament. Deloran represented the Kingdom of Sinan, and the Nameless Knight, the Kingdom of Dri'Kan.

The Nameless Knight was clearly one of the Bringers of Death, but which one? After a fierce battle between the two knights, Deloran was forced to admit defeat due to the injuries inflicted by the Nameless Knight.

Deloran walked a few steps towards the arena exit and eventually lost consciousness. King Ludrol's men carried him off to the castle, where his wounds were to be treated with the most skilled remedies. Tragically, Deloran died as soon as he was laid on the bed. He would have survived the wounds, had the sword that wounded him not been dipped in poison. At the moment, no one knew this, except for the three Bringers of Death.

The next fight, the penultimate one of the day, was between Knight Rydan and the Faceless Knight. Rydan represented the Kingdom of Uadiran, and the Faceless Knight, the Kingdom of the Rocky Mountains, said to be so well-hidden in the mountains that only its inhabitants could find it.

Knight Rydan fought bravely against the Faceless Knight, but unfortunately, the fight didn't last long as Rydan was killed in front of hundreds of people. Seeing this, King Ludrol stood up, hands on his head in horror.

He was powerless to intervene; unfortunately, there was no rule forbidding the killing of an opponent. The rules had been written a hundred years ago, and Ludrol had no authority to change them at will.

Edgar couldn't believe what was happening. All those who fought against the Bringers of Death lost their lives. The next knight to fight was Torquil, representing the Peaceful Eastern Kingdom, known for centuries of peace. His opponent was the third Bringer of Death, calling himself the Unknown Knight.

They were the last yet to fight, and Edgar already knew the outcome but could do nothing. Torquil, as young as Edgar, had a sharp look, and his long, black hair gave him a rebellious air.

Edgar tried using his new ability to sense anything about this knight, Torquil, but felt nothing. It was as if Torquil was empty inside.

Torquil and the Unknown Knight entered the arena, from which only one would leave. At King Ludrol's signal, the two knights shook hands, raised their swords, and commenced the fight. They seemed evenly matched, but Edgar refrained from jumping to conclusions, recalling Rydan's initial good performance.

As Edgar watched intently, the arena turned into a battlefield echoing with the metallic symphony of clashing swords. Each strike between Torquil and the Nameless Knight sent a shower of sparks into the air, the raw power of their blows leaving the crowd in a mix of awe and terror. Torquil, with a warrior's instinct, suddenly flung his shield like a discus, catching the Nameless Knight off-guard and striking him squarely on the head with a resonating clang.

In the split second of ensuing disorientation, Torquil capitalized on his advantage, delivering a swift and merciless strike that severed the sword arm of his opponent. The crowd gasped, expecting a gruesome sight, but to their utter disbelief and Edgar's profound astonishment, no blood flowed from the wound. It was as if the Knight was impervious to the pain and loss that would cripple any ordinary man.

The Nameless Knight, undaunted by the loss of his limb, retaliated with a ferocity that bordered on the supernatural. With a swift hurl, he sent his shield flying towards Torquil, who dodged with inches to spare from a potentially fatal blow. The arena fell into a stunned silence as they witnessed the impossible: the severed arm of the Nameless Knight began to regenerate, flesh and sinew knitting together in a miraculous display, reforming a new hand as if by some dark magic.

The spectators, who had come expecting a typical tournament, found themselves witnessing a battle that defied the laws of nature and the bounds of their understanding. The Nameless Knight, now restored, stood ready to continue the fight, his resilience and otherworldly powers laying bare the gravity of the threat he posed. It was a revelation that shook Edgar to his core, realizing the depth of the dark forces they were up against.

In the midst of the chaotic battle, the Nameless Knight, with his newly regenerated hand, grasped his sword with a renewed ferocity. He lunged towards Torquil, his blade slicing through the air with deadly intent. Torquil, however, exhibited a warrior's grace and agility, evading the lethal strike with a deft sidestep. In a breathtaking counter, he thrust his own sword deep into the back of the Bringer of Death.

The arena held its breath, expecting the Bringer to collapse under the fatal blow, but he stood unflinchingly, the sword protruding grotesquely through his chest. The crowd was horrified to see no flicker of pain in the Bringer's eyes, no sign of his impending doom. It was as if the sword embedded in his body was a mere inconvenience rather than a mortal wound.

Realizing that conventional methods were futile against such an adversary, Torquil made a daring decision. He let go of his sword, letting it clatter to the ground, and started to chant an archaic spell, his hands clasped together. Slowly, a fiery aura began to encircle his hands, intensifying into a blazing inferno that engulfed his entire being.

The Bringer of Death, undeterred by the spectacle, charged forward with his sword aimed for a final strike. However, Torquil, now a living embodiment of fire, met the Bringer's blade with his bare, flame-wreathed hands. In an astonishing display of power, he halted the sword's advance. The flames leaped from Torquil's hands onto the Nameless Knight, enveloping him in a conflagration. The crowd watched in a mixture of awe and horror as the Bringer of Death was rapidly consumed by the searing flames, his form disintegrating into ashes within moments.

Torquil's triumph served as a striking demonstration of his profound command of age-old and powerful sorcery, a spectacle that left the onlookers in stunned silence, their minds reeling from the display of raw power and the obliteration of a being they had believed to be invincible.

Edgar understood then. To kill a Bringer of Death, you had to completely destroy their body. This was what Laryus meant when he said these knights were cursed. The body of the cursed had to be entirely destroyed to prevent them from coming back to life.

The flames around Torquil disappeared, and he returned to normal. He was the victor of the last fight of the day, exiting the arena with all eyes on him. He was probably the strongest knight of the tournament.

Darr and Edgar were extremely annoyed that they couldn't penetrate Torquil's mind to see who the mysterious Torquil really was. The crowd applauded and cheered him, shouting his name. He was their new hero. Even the people of Tuzmad sympathized with the one who defeated the demon in black armor, as the Nameless Knight was called.

After leaving the arena, Torquil stopped in front of Edgar, looking at him with much hatred. In a blink, he placed his sword at Edgar's throat, without offering an explanation. King Ludrol's guards quickly surrounded Torquil, and the king ordered him to drop his sword.

"You wretch! I've been waiting for this moment... Do you remember how you killed my family in front of me when I was just a child? How have you remained so young? What kind of sorcery is this?"

It was clear that Torquil was not in his right mind. Edgar had never killed anyone's family; he was not a criminal, and he had never heard of this Torquil. How could he have killed his family as a child when Edgar was the same age as him?

"I didn't kill your family. You're confusing me with someone else," said Edgar.

"You're Edgar Argyle, I can't mistake you. Your face has haunted my nightmares for years," Torquil said, ready to slit his throat.

"Wait, Torquil!" a familiar voice called out. It was none other than Laryus, emerging from the crowd. Seeing him, Torquil sheathed his sword.

"What do you mean, master?" asked Torquil. "You've always told me he was the murderer of my family."

"Yes and no. I'd like to discuss this in a place without so many prying eyes," said Laryus. "King Ludrol, you should join us as well."

Laryus, followed by Edgar, Torquil, and King Ludrol, entered the castle and headed to the throne room, the king's preferred spot for resolving issues.

"So... He's the murderer?" Torquil inquired, looking at Laryus.

"Yes, he is! Edgar Argyle killed your brother, sister, and parents when you were just eleven. But not this Edgar. They look alike, are one and the same, yet different persons."

"Now you're both frightening me," Edgar interjected. "Can someone explain what you're talking about? Edgar Argyle killed your family, but not this Edgar, another Edgar who is Edgar?" he mocked Laryus.

"There's another Edgar Argyle, an Edgar from another dimension, or a demon with Edgar's face. I can't even explain it myself. That Edgar is supposedly immortal and incredibly powerful. He's the Emperor's right-hand man, and it's said he received the gift of immortality from him. Rumors are that even the Lord of Demons sides with the Emperor," Laryus cunningly added.

"The Emperor? Ha! You're making me laugh," King Ludrol scoffed. "The Emperor despises humans. He would never grant immortality to one, and the Lord of Demons wouldn't side with him, even in death."

"Why are you so sure, King Ludrol? Ludrol... An odd name, don't you think? Last year, I started piecing the puzzle together and realized who you truly are. By the way, have you ever tried pronouncing Ludrol backward?" Laryus inquired.

"The Lord? The Lord of what? The Lord... of Demons? I'll kill you! You killed my parents," Edgar yelled furiously.

Just as Edgar was about to attack the king, Laryus extended his hand towards the young knight and magically paralyzed him, slamming him to the ground, immobilized.

"That's what I thought too," said Laryus. "Now I will tell a story, and you, Edgar, will listen. Long ago, a young man named Ludyn found a strange medallion near one of his father's farms."

"The medallion that controls demons? The Drimeton?" Torquil asked.

"Exactly. It took some time before he understood what the medallion was, but by then, it was too late. An unknown force had opened a gate between our world and that of the demons. Ludyn became king at the age of thirty when his father died from an incurable disease. Ludyn sounded like a child's name, so he chose a new one, one to instill fear in his enemies' hearts. He chose Ludrol, a name signifying something known only to him."

Edgar was still paralyzed, unable to move his body despite his efforts. He couldn't believe he had been so blind as to not realize Ludrol was the Lord of Demons.

"He killed my parents. Break the spell and let me stand, Laryus!"

"It wasn't Ludrol who killed your parents, but that other Edgar I told you about. He didn't just want your parents dead, but you as well. He wanted to be the only heir, the only descendant of the two great wizards."

After finishing his explanation, Laryus released the spell that immobilized Edgar. The young knight had seen many things in his life... He watched a Bringer of Death resurrect right before his eyes, but the existence of his malevolent doppelgänger was too much for him.

"Why was my family killed?" Torquil asked. "I'm not an heir, just an apprentice to a magician."

"Who knows, maybe you will become a threat to him in the future, and this was a warning," Laryus suggested. "I don't have all the answers."

"You're wrong, Laryus!" Edgar interjected, raising his sword at Ludrol. "The Breath of Death said they killed my family, and as we know, each Bringer has a demon protector, all controlled by Ludrol's medallion. Not to mention the attack on Tazul's capital."

"Stop, Edgar! It's not the first time the Bringers of Death claim crimes they haven't committed. Marcus and I were there, failing miserably when we tried to save your parents. That's when I saw him for the first time, I didn't know who he was, but we eventually realized. He looked just like you, but his powers are far too great. Marcus and I fled from him, with you in arms, to save our lives. As for the attack on Tazul and other lands, it wasn't Ludrol who ordered the demons to do that, but one of the commanding demons, beyond his control."

"By the way, what do you know about Marcus? I heard Ludrol's demons destroyed Tazul's capital."

"Marcus, along with the other dwarfs, is safe, some in The Kingdom of the Sun, others hidden in the Ice Mountains' mines. The demons that attacked were no longer under Ludrol's control. The medallion's powers have faded. It seems the Fire Demon did something to prevent it from being controlled by anyone."

Laryus explained to Edgar how Ludrol had used the medallion's powers to control the demons entering this world. Without a master, chaos would have ensued. Edgar developed a headache while listening. All these years, he prepared to face the Lord of Demons, only to learn now that he was on the side of good.

"I understand. He tried to kill me, put a bounty on my head, and he's on our side..."

"Because I indeed wanted you dead. I knew you were an heir, a descendant of the two wizards. It was only a matter of time before you joined the other side of the barricade," Ludrol added.

"Ludrol believes that all heirs of Xal'Adunoss' powers eventually turn to evil," Laryus elaborated.

"So you were the one who tried to kill me in my sleep last night?"

"Have you lost your mind? Why would I want to lose the knight representing my kingdom in the tournament?"

After a brief pause, Edgar said:

"Now what will you do? You just lost control of hundreds of demons. Do you have any idea what they will do next?"

"They will do exactly what the Fire Demon orders them. Edgar, it wasn't a few hundred demons, but a few thousand..." Ludrol revealed.

"A few thousand? We're doomed! The Fire Demon spoke to me recently. He told me to destroy your medallion."

"The Fire Demon spoke to you?" asked Laryus.

"Yes, we're old friends. Sometimes we hang out in taverns, get ridiculously drunk, and crack inappropriate jokes..."

"Edgar! I don't have time for nonsense. When did the Fire Demon speak to you?"

"Not long ago. He astrally projected me. The bastard, ruining my beautiful sleep."

"It means that the medallion created by Adunoss no longer has power," Laryus deduced. "Our time is almost up."

Laryus told the three that he must leave immediately to consult with Marcus. Only with his help could they find a solution. After Laryus departed, Torquil apologized to Edgar, saying he was sorry for trying to kill him. Edgar responded with a smile, saying he wouldn't have succeeded anyway.

Followed by Edgar, Torquil stepped outside, leaving Ludrol alone, deep in thought. An army of uncontrollable demons and the Fire Demon stepping into this world did not bode well for the future of these lands.

Outside the castle, Torquil and Edgar discussed these issues. Edgar noticed he was being looked at strangely but didn't expect to be viewed any differently when an individual identical to him had caused so much suffering.

Edgar asked Torquil everything he knew about his other self, eager to learn as much as he could about this new enemy who had tried to kill him. Torquil explained that the other Edgar, like him, was once a brave knight. However, he managed to anger the Emperor. Realizing Edgar was clueless about the Emperor, Torquil explained that he was the most powerful being in the world, rumored to have played a crucial role in creating demons.

The other Edgar disrupted some of the Emperor's plans and defeated his best warriors, drawing his attention. Rumors suggested that the other Edgar had discovered a way to defeat the Emperor definitively. The Emperor poisoned him, fostering a thirst for power and greed in his heart, offering him immortality and the secret of time travel.

"Where can this Emperor be found?"

"No one knows where he is, and those who searched for him died in horrible agony, except for your other self."

Edgar realized the Emperor was the least of his problems at the moment. Approximately nine thousand demon knights had entered their world and would soon be under the Fire Demon's command.

As night fell over the Kingdom of Tuzmad, Edgar again declined Ludrol's invitation to dine with him and the nobles, asking instead for his meal to be brought to his room. To his surprise, two guards were stationed at his door, sent by the king for protection.

This did little to ease Edgar's mind, given his lack of trust in the king. He needed rest, for the tournament would continue the next morning, where he would face Darr, another enemy of whom he was unaware. He ate quickly, threw off his armor, and prepared for a short rest. But how could he sleep, knowing that a power-hungry version of himself had killed his parents? That somewhere in a fortress hidden through time and space, an emperor was playing god?

Edgar had a few things to do here before he set off in search of Marcus, his longtime mentor, who would know what advice to give.

Restless in bed, chaotic thoughts keeping him awake, he suddenly felt a terrible pain in his abdomen, as if stabbed. The pain subsided quickly, but he felt sick, clueless about what caused this pain that almost killed him once.

Getting up, he lit a lamp and checked the site of the pain. Lifting his shirt, he noticed a new, ugly scar he hadn't had before. What kind of sorcery was this? As he stared at his new scar, new memories flashed before his eyes.

He remembered entering the Dormant Forest with Lockdar, meeting Laryus, who warned them about the Demon Lord. As they left Laryus's hideout and headed for the forest exit, an individual with a red hood covering their face attacked him and Lockdar. The assailant knocked Lockdar down with a single punch, then drew a dagger and stabbed Edgar in the abdomen, right where the mysterious scar appeared.

Lockdar managed to get up in time, striking the mysterious assassin and pulling off his hood, revealing his face. Young Edgar looked at the attacker's face. At that time, he didn't know who it was, but now, remembering, he realized it was him, aged about ten or twelve years older. A moment of inattention from Lockdar, and the attacker vanished, while young Edgar was quickly taken to a healer.

These memories kept repeating in Edgar's mind, and he couldn't explain where they were coming from. Were they fabrications of his mind? Or events that had actually happened?

He thought for a while, then quickly pieced things together. It seemed his other self had traveled back in time trying to kill him ten years ago. Thanks to the information from Torquil, Edgar could breathe a sigh of relief knowing he wasn't going insane. But how relieved could he really feel, knowing that a psychopathic assassin with the powers of an inheritor, who possessed the gift of immortality and the secrets of time travel, wanted him dead? What had Edgar done for his other self to try to kill him again? Only the future seemed to hold the answers he needed.

He knew he had to take action; he couldn't just sit back and wait for the other to kill him when he was just a defenseless child. He kept wondering what he could do against an immortal? Certainly, he had to do something, but first, he had to finish this tournament he had thrown himself into.

Unable to sleep anymore, he paced his room like a lunatic, trying to come up with an idea. Ideas were slow to come, frustrating the young knight, making him feel powerless for the first time in his life.

Finally, the sun rose, and luckily, Edgar managed to fall asleep on the floor, getting some rest. He was awakened by loud knocks on his door. The king had sent word that the tournament was starting earlier, and he had half an hour to get equipped and ready for battle.

Edgar put on his armor, secured his sword to his belt, grabbed his shield and helmet, and hurried to the arena to face Darr. He learned that one of the knights had withdrawn from the tournament and disappeared without a trace. This was one of the Death Bringers, the one called the Faceless Knight.

Darr, the knight sent by King Lockdar, in whom he had placed high hopes of winning the title of the best knight, had already entered the arena. King Lockdar hoped Edgar would lose his life in this fight and pay for the insult he had caused.

The knights of the Tuzmad kingdom hadn't won the tournament for about thirty years, since the last participation of Damyen Argyle, the knight who put on a show in the arena every time he fought.

Edgar entered the arena, shook hands with Darr, and at King Ludrol's command, crossed swords with his new opponent. The fight began in moments, with Darr striking powerfully and mercilessly, keeping Edgar on the defensive.

Edgar noticed Darr's fighting tactic. He wasn't trying to disarm him like he did with Hector but was simply trying to stab him. At first, Edgar thought he was imagining it, but after another aggressive strike that would have probably killed him if not for his shield, he asked:

"What the heck are you doing? Are you trying to kill me? This is just a tournament, hero..."

"Don't you realize my sword longs to taste the blood of an inheritor? The bloodlust of inheritors is uncontrollable, the desire for power and the thought of being the sole inheritor burns in me like the fires of hell. I have seen many inheritors killed by this sword, some even begging for their lives..."

"Damned be you! What kind of man are you? So it's true... The thirst for power consumes inheritors. How could you kill them, Darr?"

"With simplicity and meticulous precision, much like my attempt on your life the evening prior to the tournament. It confounds me how you yet draw breath; I witnessed the blood streaming from your frame."

"Because I am immortal. Fear me!"

Darr, with an air of determination, spun his sword in a swift, overhead arc and unleashed a barrage of relentless attacks upon Edgar.

In an intense exchange, Edgar found himself thrust to the ground, as Darr, his grip iron-tight on the sword hilt, lunged in an attempt to deliver the final blow. Edgar's quick reflexes saved him; he rolled aside on the hard, unyielding ground. With a burst of newfound energy, he sprang up, seized his Phoenix sword, and in a swift, decisive move, drove it deep into Darr's chest. Blood surged violently from the wound, signaling the impending demise of the once-formidable knight. Darr's lips quivered, struggling to form words. Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, he whispered faintly but earnestly, trying to convey a final message.

"Lockdar... said... if I kill you... he would help me... regain... my kingdom, Darr said, dying in Edgar's arms."

Edgar won the fight but at a very high cost. He had killed the brother of Princess Valleria. How was he going to tell the girl he was in love with that he had killed her brother? Because he was in love with the princess who had saved his life a while ago, even though he kept trying to deny his feelings for her.

Lockdar would pay sooner or later, no matter how powerful he might be. As long as he had that sword with him, he couldn't be easily defeated. However, now he had to focus on the tournament. He wanted to win, to prove he was worthy of the Argyle name, the name of the last knight who won the title for Tuzmad.

Next was the fight between Torquil and the Nameless Knight, one of the Death Bringers. Edgar thought it was going to be a very interesting fight, after seeing how easily Torquil had defeated the other Death Bringer. The two entered the arena, and at King Ludrol's signal, they shook hands, then started the fight.

With a single sword strike, the Nameless Knight shattered Torquil's shield, and with another blow, he forced Torquil to drop his sword to the ground. A kick to the chest knocked Torquil down, and his attempt to rise was his undoing. The black-clad knight's sword swiftly beheaded him, shocking everyone.

No sooner had Darr's lifeless body been removed from the arena, another knight fell victim to this cursed tournament. Unable to contain his anger, Edgar rose furiously from his seat and stormed into the arena without waiting for the king's signal, charging at the Nameless Knight.

The knight removed his helmet, revealing his terrifying face. His face was burned, and a deep cut marred his right cheek. It was none other than the Death's Breath, whom Edgar had encountered in the Dark Forest.

"We meet again, Edgar Argyle. This time I won't let you breathe another day. Prepare to meet your parents!"

"Before I kill you, tell me, why did you lie that you and your comrades killed the wretch's family? Well, you didn’t fool me but the Edgar of this dimension, whose friend I killed earlier. I'm referring to that pathetic prince, Darr, or whatever his name was. By the way, I don’t like it when someone takes credit for my deeds."

"What? You're that Edgar? The Emperor's right hand? asked Death's Breath fearfully."

"What do you think? Would Edgar kill a friend?"

Death's Breath threw himself at Edgar's feet, begging for mercy, to the astonishment of the onlookers who had their eyes fixed on the arena, unaware of what was happening. Edgar wanted to find an easier way to kill a Death Bringer, other than burning them to ashes, especially since he didn't have powers like Torquil.

"Please, Lord Edgar! I beg you, don't cut my throat, pleaded Death's Breath. If you spare my life, I swear to serve only you."

"I almost feel sorry for you. I appreciate that you told me how to kill you more easily. Seriously, did you really believe me when I said I was the Emperor's subject?"

"What? I can't believe I was so easily fooled, raged Death's Breath, who had no choice due to the Phoenix sword at his throat. Anyway, I am willing to serve and protect you with my life, if you spare it."

"Why should I believe you? You serve the Fire Demon. You would never betray him."

"Yes, I would, especially when my fate is sealed. My mission has failed, you are still alive and have won the tournament. If you don’t kill me, the Fire Demon will. Spare my life, and I will switch sides and divulge the demons' plans to you."

"Fine, so be it... But if you try to deceive me, remember I know how to kill you."

"You won't regret this, my lord, said Death's Breath, vanishing magically in a cloud of dust."

Had Edgar made the right choice in sparing the Death Bringer's life? Nothing could prevent him from presenting himself before the Fire Demon, claiming Edgar's trust in him, offering a chance to backstab Edgar at any moment.

The spectators, who had been watching breathlessly, were greatly disappointed to see that the fight between the last two knights did not occur. On the other hand, King Ludrol was utterly baffled as to why Edgar had spared the life of the Death Bringer. He had no choice but to declare Edgar the champion of the Tournament of the Ten Knights.

His name was called out powerfully in the crowd, as people applauded the young knight. King Ludrol gestured for Edgar to come to him, placing a medal around his neck and then loudly proclaiming:

"Tuzmad, behold your champion!"

At the king's feet lay a chest containing a thousand gold coins, the prize due to the winner of the tournament. It was a true fortune. With this money, Edgar could buy lands, animals, servants, and even a lordship title. He would no longer need to work for the rest of his life.

From the crowd emerged the two brothers, Tenzim and Turalon, congratulating Edgar on his victory. They were no longer considered outlaws, as Edgar had requested the king to withdraw all charges against them.

Participating in the Tournament of the Ten Knights had not been a pleasant experience for Edgar, forced to kill to avoid being killed. He had just become a hero to hundreds of people who had watched the tournament with bated breath.

"Why, Edgar? Why did you have to kill him? Was this title so important to you?" came a thin, trembling voice.

It was Valleria. With tears in her eyes, she tried to look at Edgar, struggling to control herself and not to lash out at him.

"Edgar had to do it, didn't you see? Your brother seemed to have completely lost his mind," said Tenzim.

"Valleria, I can't imagine what you feel, but try to understand... Edgar had no choice," added Turalon.

"Valleria is right... I shouldn't have killed him. I lost control," admitted Edgar.

He avoided telling the truth about Darr. He wanted Valleria to retain a good opinion of her brother. It was enough for her to have lost her brother; learning he was a murderer would have been too much. Valleria looked at Edgar with contempt, then disappeared into the crowd.

The name of the new tournament victor was shouted from all sides. It was a great honor for the Kingdom of Tuzmad that its representative won the Tournament of the Ten Knights. The last knight who had won the tournament for them was Damyen Argyle, about thirty years ago. King Ludrol threw a grand celebration in honor of the knight who brought victory to his kingdom. Edgar was named the hero of Tuzmad, the highest rank a knight could hold, even more prestigious than that of the army's captain.