Margaret's elimination match drew little attention. Truth be told, aside from a few celebrity knights, most bouts failed to capture the crowd's enthusiasm. Just like the way people idolize pop stars in the real world, the Chamber of Commerce cultivated tournament knights as celebrities—shiny icons meant to drive fan spending.
But with Margaret hailing from the Nearl family, the spotlight was never going to be hers. Her match was scheduled at dawn, when few would bother getting out of bed to watch, and it was far less hyped than the evening matches featuring the Light Knights. Even the players, who sometimes turned up for rare duels, were absent.
Margaret sat quietly in the locker room, checking over her gear. None of it was company-sponsored equipment, nor anything she endorsed. Instead, she wore the most plain and practical knight's armor, and gripped a Lance of unusual design. From head to toe, the only thing capable of drawing the eye was her own stern beauty.
"So, the brilliance of the Nearl family is to be displayed on such a cheap stage?"
Her uncle's words from the previous night still echoed in her ears.
Margaret knew exactly what this decision meant—for the Nearl family's future, and for her own. Win or lose, she could never go back to being the sixteen-year-old girl who once dreamed of knightly ideals. She had to bear the weight of her family name.
But what is a knight, truly?
She longed to ask, yet when she looked across all of Kazimierz, there was no one who could hear her voice. Perhaps her uncle Młynar would, but if so, he would only give her that weary look of his, and answer in the same tired way as always:
"There is no place left in Kazimierz for a knight."
Was that really what knighthood had become?
The announcer's booming voice stirred the crowd and snapped her from her thoughts. Margaret fastened her wrist guards, tightened her grip on her weapon, and pushed open the locker room door.
The hallway to the arena was lined with portraits of past Kazimierz tournament champions. These were names every citizen knew by heart—some had retired quietly, some had left Kazimierz behind, and others still lingered in Kazimierz, endorsing the tournament for the next generation.
Margaret stopped at the last portrait.
A Caprinae woman stared back, her hair a shining mane of gold, her eyes the same burning shade. Though she wore a smile, it carried an edge—predatory, sharp, impossible to mistake. Twin weapons hung at her back, a pair of Swords that only she could wield with mastery.
"The Black Knight…"
Margaret whispered the name.
The Black Knight had carved her name into history here, winning three consecutive championships in the cutthroat heart of Kazimierz's commercial capital. Few in the past had ever matched the feat, and fewer still could hope to surpass it in the future. The price she paid, however, was steep—an assassination attempt by the Armorless Union.
The Nearl family had always known that it was "the Boss" who spirited her away to safety, carrying her beyond Kazimierz's reach.
Margaret held the Black Knight's gaze as though the woman were standing there before her, silently urging her onward.
Yes. What is knighthood? In the end, the answer could only be found through steel.
Her eyes hardened. Margaret turned, and stepped into the arena.
---
The fight that followed was anything but dazzling. Her opponent was strong, wielding terraforming Originium Arts that warped the battlefield into jagged rock—a terrain wholly unfavorable for Margaret. Still, after a grueling struggle, she managed to seize victory.
The sunlight streamed down, striking her armor and setting it aglow like burnished silver.
"…An angel."
Behind him, Felix heard Magic ZX mutter the words in a daze.
Margaret had advanced. Next would be the winner's bracket—where the malice she faced would only grow harsher, and the smiles on her opponents more cruel.
"Such an amazing big sister…"
Standing at Felix's side, Senomi couldn't help but sigh softly. Then, almost in a whisper, she added, "Her way of fighting… it's different from Sister Degenbrecher's."
"Oh?" Felix glanced at her. "Different how?"
"Sister Degenbrecher can wield any form of martial skill. She doesn't care if the motions are orthodox or where the techniques come from—she always chooses the most direct, the most efficient strike. That's why her attacks flow seamlessly, like water without a break, leaving no gaps to exploit."
As Degenbrecher's closest disciple and the one who had sparred with her most, Senomi spoke with quiet certainty. "But this big sister—Miss Margaret—she fights in the knight's style that Degenbrecher once demonstrated. Without years upon years of training and accumulation, it's impossible to fight the way she does."
Specialization in one path—that was Margaret Nearl's way of battle.
Behind them, the gathered players were already whispering among themselves about approaching Margaret afterward to ask for an autograph. Felix overheard and chuckled faintly. He gave Senomi's small hand a gentle squeeze; her cheeks flushed pink as she obediently walked alongside her "older brother" out of the hall.
The audience had clearly recognized Margaret's strength and charisma, but strangely, no newspaper gave her victory any special coverage. It was as if the entire match had never mattered. Players who had seen her fight were openly frustrated—many had already become her fans, and now watching their idol ignored stung even more.
"Has it occurred to you this might be the Chamber of Commerce's doing?"
That night, players crowded into BaTu Squad's dormitory. Though the Organization had prepared them double rooms, dozens still squeezed together, the captains, vice-captains, and core members of the pro teams. Every night, they held these meetings.
"You mean… Miss Margaret being treated unfairly is because the Chamber of Commerce is suppressing her? But why?"
Xueyu turned toward Dreamchaser, who had spoken.
Dreamchaser nodded. "Think about it. Whether it's posters, newspapers, or announcements, there's nothing explosive about Margaret at all—as if her very existence didn't matter. How often does that happen in real life?"
"You're saying… the Organization wants to bury her."
Dandao Dantart blurted out, smacking his forehead. "I'll go sound out the Pioneer. Judging by his reaction, he clearly knows Margaret. He wasn't the least bit surprised by her win."
"Please do."
Yanfei folded her arms, her tone serious. "This could very well be part of the Pioneer's main mission here in Kazimierz."
"Why else would he show up at the Kawalerielki City at this exact time? Why bring us along?"
Her voice dropped, thoughtful. "Every move the Pioneer makes has its reasons. And from what I've observed… he disappears outside the city at the same fixed time every day, only to return at dusk. Most likely, he's already preparing for something."
She ignored the side-glances some of the pro players threw her way. "I'll ask him myself. Better to take initiative than to sit around waiting for the mission to land on us."
The others voiced thanks but muttered internally—stalker much? Tracking an NPC's schedule down to the hour? What kind of obsession was this?
"Don't forget the Rainy Night Knight. We all know what went down that evening."
That final line closed the meeting. One by one, the pros filed out, already turning their thoughts toward strategy. They had gathered intelligence these past days in the Kawalerielki City, yes—but compared to the Pioneer's efficiency, their progress was painfully slow.
…And then the rain began to fall.
The rain over the Kawalerielki City was cold and biting, pulling Felix's mind back to that night four years ago.
Holding an umbrella, he stepped into the empty waiting room of the station. At this hour, there was no one else—only the person he had come to see.
"...You're here. Earlier than we agreed."
"You look like you've just finished overtime. Had dinner yet?"
"..."
Felix handed over a freshly packed hamburger. "Not the healthiest choice, but it'll fill you up."
Młynar frowned slightly but still took the paper bag. "Originium explosives."
"Not just one arena. All four of them."
Though he had given away the hamburger set, Felix deftly fished out the fries and slipped one between his lips like a Pocky stick. "The amount of explosives isn't huge, but enough to circle the inner ring of the arena floor. Once detonated, the entire stage will collapse. At that moment, the assassins of the Armorless Union lying in wait will strike."
"...They won't throw themselves away until the very end."
Młynar glanced at the hamburger again before taking a bite. The taste wasn't bad—juicy and tender.
"It'll come down to the Light Knight's performance," Felix said, sitting down on the bench. "He's the Chamber of Commerce's great hope. Four years ago, he was crushed by the Black Knight's overwhelming strength. Losing to such an opponent was understandable, but this time... to be honest, his competition isn't all that formidable."
"The Verdant Knight may also be favored by them, but whether in popularity or skill, she isn't on the Light Knight's level."
"In the end," Młynar said flatly, "knights are nothing more than the Organization's playthings."
He swallowed another bite of food. "The Light Knight's sword... refined, but dull."
"You think he's a match for Margaret?"
"Defeating such an opponent—what pride is there in that?"
Młynar's voice remained calm, and perhaps he truly meant it.
"Tomorrow's Development—your company is all slogans. Right now, what you do is no different from mercenaries."
His gaze shifted toward Felix. "Aside from technology, what exactly do you mean when you talk about saving the Infected?"
"The Infected need saving, yes—but more often, they need to save themselves."
Felix's tone was quiet. "Discrimination against them isn't the work of one nation or one faction. It's the accumulation of centuries. In that sense, they're no different from Kazdel. Kazdel needs a king to guide them. The Infected need someone like that too."
"You mean to say—you want Tomorrow's Development to be that presence?"
"I'm only giving them the choice."
Felix never promised more than he could. Tomorrow's Development was not Rhodes Island—the way companies acted was simply different.
"Młynar, sir... you have a visitor."
"—Well, well."
A playful voice cut through the patter of rain. Out of the downpour stepped a Kuranta in a blue-trimmed coat, hair just as strikingly blue, with a bow strapped across his back.
"It's late. Still hanging around outside? Dangerous thing to do."
The man made himself right at home, dropping into the seat on Młynar's other side. He crossed one leg over the other, shoulders spread, posture casual to the point of arrogance.
"They say people run into ghosts on night roads. But you don't look like one."
Felix smiled faintly.
"You jest, sir."
The man's grin was stiff, his eyes sharp. At some point he noticed Felix's hand had already slipped into his coat. Whether it was resting on a firearm or a bomb, he couldn't say.
"And you, white-collar gentleman—your place is several stops away, isn't it? The last train's almost here."
Młynar finished his burger, picked up a fry, studied it briefly, then ate it while keeping his gaze on the paper. "...Do you have a problem with the Nearl family's travel?"
"How would I dare? Only, there are fugitives nearby. If the two of you got caught up in trouble, I'd hardly be able to take responsibility."
His grin returned, easy and careless.
"Couldn't be escapees from the arena, could it?"
"There's nothing worth stealing in the arena. And it's just knights and spectators in there. No place for criminals, don't you think?"
"Is that so."
The three men sat in silence under the rain, in the little shelter by the station, watching neon ads flicker and change across the skyline.
From the distance came the twang of a bowstring, followed by curses and screams carried faintly through the drizzle.
"My apologies, I've made a poor showing."
The man rose to his feet, turned a smile on Felix. "We crossed paths once, four years ago. Back then I was just another passerby to you… but I believe we'll meet again."
"My name is Roy. Lazurite Ranking. I'll be in your care."
"See you around."
"See you."
Roy chuckled, unconcerned, and walked into the curtain of rain.
"Come on, Little Pegasus. Time to work."
"...Does this come with overtime pay?"
"I'd love to swear on it, but you know how it is. The higher-ups are strapped for cash. We underlings just have to share the burden."
The silver-haired girl lowered her head. "Ugh… why do people have to work… why does making money mean working…"
"If you really want answers, you could always ask him."
"Ask who?"
Roy jerked his chin toward the resting room, at the Sankta man inside. "The one who bought the Black Knight for twenty million four years ago. He's got his own company now. If you're serious, think about it. …Shame, though. Right now it's unpaid overtime."