Melvin was settled down with the rest, glazing over Group B's second-day matches. His eyes were laid on Jessica's arena.

Jessica was currently up against an adult cavalryman, exchanging wild blows using her vanquish style sword techniques as opposed to the cavalryman's horse riding sword techniques. The two were stuck in an impasse with neither being able to find an opportunity to break the deadlock. Fortunately for her, these horsemen were not allowed to bring in their strong suit companion; otherwise, Jessica would not be able to stand her ground against him.

" . . . "

Although his eyes remained on her, he found it onerous to watch. It had only barely been a day since his match with Hayate. It was very taxing for him to pose well in his exhausted, debilitated state. Most of his injuries had not been recovered naturally and were through external methods like ointments and potions. Ointments tend to be acceptable as they helped aid the natural recovery, with the drawback being slow results. While potions were fast and in comparison were instantaneous but caused detriments in the long run. That is why it argued to be superficial medical aid. Furthermore, there is one crucial matter that these medical aids were not able to accomplish—the healing of the subconscious. The body's consciousness would still be stressed even if it may not appear so. That was indeed so for Melvin's mental state.

Despite all this, Melvin was here. He was too keen to watch how his roommates and rivals would perform.

And above all . . .

He was Melvin Serven!

How could he lay in bed all day by that ignoramus?

It was a fluke! Lucky win!

There is no word known as defeat under Melvin Serven! All terms related such as defeat, loss, and failure are subject to his opponents. Not him!

That was precisely the real reason why he was here.

To meet eye to eye against Hayate and demonstrate that he could not hold a candle to this Serven.

(Hmph! To brazenly train while I am imprisoned in a period of convalescence, despicable!)

According to Alexia and the rest, after the judge had declared Hayate was victorious, he unhesitantly asked to retire from the tournament. Hayate's unforeseen pronouncement created waves of uproars amongst the crowd, and it spread like wildfire, especially amongst the swamp people. They thought that Hayate had sustained terrible internal injuries. When the truth was revealed, people became even more riled up. It turned out that Hayate had grasped some sort of enlightenment and requested himself to be in closed doors to fully comprehend and reap the profound intricacies. In response, the reception was positive. Authorities of the Orphanage and many others favourably advocated his request. In fact, Apostle Farden took it personally to watch over him and guide him if required. It was quite confounding but not out of the realm of possibility. After all, Hayate relinquished his opportunity to compete in this grand event in order to consolidate his learning. Many people had taken a new light to Hayate in spite of his arrogance and felt that he indeed had the mindset of a rising young prodigy.

Once again, he began to recall the scenes from yesterday. While wincing, his seafoam, light-blue eyes felt prickly with pain and simmering anger. It was selfish and cocky, but he wished that Hayate had waited for him to finish his technique. He even dared to forcefully squeeze his last drops of drained mana to act, even if it were to endanger his life. He had to win, win, win, and continue to win to prove himself. But look at him. He wanted to show the world starting from the tournament that he Melvin Serven was here! However . . .

(Three fucking duels! Only two fucking measly wins against ordinary “knights”. And, and, and, against that Ignoramus . . . #$%^&*$%^&*!!) Melvin was steadily imploding in great fury and rage. Following the track of downward hell, he thought about what he said to the old man, his words, and the possibility of him having watched his match. In any minute, Melvin was about to explode in his tantrum.

"Melvin."

Melvin aggrievedly shook his head and met the owner of that unpleasant voice.

"It's merely one lost? Why are you acting like a sore loser?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Fuck you. How can a mindless insect like you comprehend this Serven's misgivings? An insect shell, with no purpose, without even knowing why, nor know of its former self . . . takes the liberty of criticising me?"

"Fallacy. It matters not. You are a sore loser."

"You!—"

"What are you two doing?!" Stilla barged in.

"Stilla."

Stilla froze dead in her tracks from Dalis's call. She abruptly shut up; a little afraid. The icy and solemn tone of his voice, and the penetrating deep cold eyes ejected her doubtlessly. When she instinctively cowered back, Dalis's gaze considerably softened. He briefly raised a palm facing outwards to her and very lightly bounced his palm: a visual sign to tell her to stop.

Melvin's hands clenched and drizzled. He appeared to be more further incensed. But, he did not say anything.

"Melvin, recall. How many times have you *cough* defeated me."

"Is this one your customary trick questions?"

"No." Dalis stared fixedly at Melvin's eyes.

" . . . Many times. Never have you surpassed me in knowledge, comprehension, mana techniques, teachings . . ." Melvin proudly recounted and vaunted. Dalis was dull and took everything in one ear and out the other, but he did feel antagonised when he heard the word appearance. He placed that in the back of his mind for later. For the time being, Dalis magnanimously allowed him to use him to vent out his suppressed anger.

"Ah yes, there was also sparring and duels. Naturally, you refusing my challenges was an act of conceding."

"Melvin." Dalis rolled his eyes, then switched gears, and solidified his demeanour. "Do you remember the first time you challenged me? Rather, the first couple of times."

Melvin's mouth abruptly clamped, and he did not say anything.

Long story short, they were flawless defeats by Melvin. At one point, he had forgotten. Those were in the very early days of his time with Dalis. Dalis, in those days, was the embodiment of being nonchalant and aloof; he did not seem to care about anything. At times, Melvin had a vibe that he was in proximity with a walking dead, but even that did not seem quite right. Despite all this, when it came to fights, he was insanely committed, and he could be described as frightening.

It was as if he was a natural fighter . . . experienced fighter . . . a warrior. . . he was unsure. Unsure even in the present.

The silence was stifling and made Dalis, to a degree, feel awkward. Instead of waiting for Melvin's response, he decided to speak.

"Ahem . . . You realise, correct? One loss means nothing."

Dalis indicated that he was no longer inclined to speak, and he focused all of his attention on the matches.

"Jessica!!"

"Gah! What a shame!"

Dalis, Stilla, and Melvin missed the scenes before the outcome of Jessica's fight.

Jessica had, unfortunately, lost her battle against the cavalryman.

***

In another arena . . .

Sporting a lavish exquisite yellow martial robe, Wang Yong smugly entered the stage. He ruffled with his gorgeous orange dragon imprinted taoist handkerchief tied over his hun yuan bun [混元髻] and nodded, satisfied. Although he was disdained to do so, he marched towards his musclehead opponent, appearing like an emperor on vacation visiting a small town of a nearby nation to greet the commoners.

Almost immediately, he stirred the crowd in a soup of bitter salt.

"Curses! That brat is a genuine Feeria snob. Could he be from the Orphanage?"

"What were the Vanquish authorities thinking?! How did somebody like him manage to be put in the internship program?"

A kingdom noble peered over to scrutinise Wang's excessive, exquisite attire. "It must be the temptations of the devil! They probably were plagued by the sin of greed. *Sigh* They should learn from Cresuilge Kingdom! Money? What matters is the people!"

"Even that pompous Swamp prodigy and arrogant blonde child were much better than this!"

"Bless Caleyar, he is not even trying to act like an expert! He is—"

The woman had abruptly paused her words when Wang turned his attention to her side of the crowd. He was “happily” waving to greet people like her: the commoners.

Understandably, the woman fainted from her seat, knocking a small number of commoners like dominoes.

Many faces from the Vanquish territory, Orphanage, and Zetral sunk green as peas. They all felt sick in the stomach from watching Wang Yong and the disaster he had caused.

"Young master Yong!"

Amidst the crowd, a few thousand outliers were cheering Wang on! Hands clasped behind their backs, many of them respectfully nodded their heads approvingly to him. Some of them even dared to stand up and give Wang abundant rounds of applause, cheering his greatness. If the knowledge that the Feeria internship students were entering the tourney were not such a short notice and had they known what was occurring now, they would have immediately booked at least half the seating here to watch this beautiful scene.

Wang was already gratified from his reception from the majority, and when he noticed those few outliers, he felt warmly touched.

(Tsk! So there are a few commoners who understand me! Good good good!)