"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the finals of the 22nd Major! I'm your host, Bigmouth Mob, bringing you the thrill of flying through the skies! And if you want to feel like you're flying yourself, your first choice should be the brand-new Winged Knight Armor—"
The match hadn't even started yet, but the host was already heating up the crowd. At the same time, hooded figures drifted through the stands, quietly offering bets to spectators.
The betting was perfectly legal here, backed by the General Chamber of Commerce. No one worried about payouts. But if anyone dared to try skipping out after losing… well, they'd soon find the Armorless Union knocking on their door for a "friendly chat."
"Bigmouth Mob is full of crap. I bought a Winged Knight set after saving for half a year—thing overheats like crazy. After just a few matches, I was about ready to pass out. Looks good, sure, but that's it."
"Careful, that armor's endorsed by the Light Knight himself. You sure you didn't get a knock-off?"
"Bullshit."
Felix overheard the two knights bickering as they passed by the door. Then came a knock. Senomi opened it to find a hooded middle-aged man.
"Mr. Pioneer, care to place a wager?"
"What's Margaret's payout?"
"1.5 to 1, sir."
"Three hundred thousand on her, then."
"…Sir, that's quite the stake."
Despite Margaret's reputation as the underdog, the public still pinned their hopes on the Light Knight. Most of the money was flowing his way. Felix, who already knew how this would play out, saw this as a chance to claw back some losses. Not much, but something.
After signing the forms, he leaned back into the soft sofa, calmly waiting for the match to begin.
Players had flocked to the arena too, though only a few had managed to get inside. Most lingered outside, patrolling the streets. They remembered all too well what had happened four years ago. If an ambush struck Margaret on her way here, it would fall on the so-called "Fourth Calamity" to step in.
Besides, Margaret's image as the saintly lady-knight had already captured players' hearts. Many quietly hoped their leader Felix would pull some miracle—working his silver tongue, charming Margaret into joining Tomorrow's Development.
Of course, that was mostly wishful thinking.
"Big brother… Margaret will be fine, won't she?"
"She'll be attacked," Felix answered softly, patting Senomi's head. "But she'll be alright."
Margaret wasn't like the Black Knight. When the Black Knight fell, she had no family, no allies, so the K.G.C.C. had struck to kill.
But Margaret was different. She carried the name of the Nearl family. To actually murder her would be to invite a blood feud with the old knightly order—and no amount of money could buy one's way out of that. For the wealthy, money made them cautious with their lives. None of the Organization's leaders were foolish enough to go that far.
So far, every ambush against Margaret had been half-hearted—meant to intimidate, not finish her off. But instead of backing down, Margaret had grown braver with each attempt.
This was never part of the Organization's plan. They were stuck now—press harder and they'd provoke the knights, back off and they'd look weak. The result was these clumsy, half-measures of assassination.
The Platinum assassin assigned to the job had already lodged a complaint with the Armorless Union. The missions were too dangerous, impossible to balance with her own safety, and certainly not worth the meager pay. Worse, every encounter carried the risk of drawing the Nearl family's wrath. Who would want that job?
Unfortunately, there was no one else to take it. Like it or not, she had to carry on.
"…I'm tired. I want out. Tell me—if I've saved up a few tens of thousands of marks, is that enough for a quiet retirement?"
"Little Pegasus, I get it, the work's exhausting. But rent alone in Great Knight Territory costs several thousand a month. Add food, living expenses… you'd burn through it all in no time."
"…Maybe I'll just move to the countryside. Things are cheaper there."
"Sure, but then you won't find any shopping streets or knight gear boutiques the girls love so much."
Platinum let out a long sigh and cut the comm. She cast a glance at Margaret in the distance.
Once again, she had been forced into another staged attempt. And once again, she had deliberately gone easy. Margaret cut through the "defensive ring" without much effort and continued her march toward the arena.
After so many years of grinding away at work, he still couldn't even afford a single VIP ticket for the Major finals.
Roy barely avoided a lethal slash with a clumsy backflip, sweat running down his spine. Even so, he grinned like it was all a joke.
"Come on, Młynar, no need to be this serious. Your niece's already stepped into the arena. Relax. At least for now, we're not trying to take her life."
Młynar cast him a cold glance. Roy gave a sheepish chuckle, whistled, and signaled his crew to retreat. They slipped away into the shadows.
Młynar lowered his sword and picked up a discarded newspaper from a public bench. Today, both his boss and his superiors had gone to watch the Major. With no one breathing down his neck about overtime, he suddenly found himself with a choice.
Should he go watch?
Of course he should. Schnitz and Yolanta's daughter—needed someone looking out for her.
"——Ooooh! And here comes Margaret! But… huh? She's already got blood on her face. What's this, did she cut herself swinging her sword around in the locker room?"
The announcer, Bigmouth Mob, cracked a cheap joke. The crowd roared with laughter, then turned cruel, booing the sixteen-year-old girl and shouting for her to get off the field.
Across the arena, the Light Knight also known as Silver Knight finally opened his eyes. His expression was calm—unnervingly calm. It was different from the persona he'd always carried. In past matches, he had fought with an easy smile, beating opponents with a flair that drew cheers. But today, he wasn't smiling. His hand rested firmly on the hilt of his rapier.
"And now, the grand final of the 22nd Knight Tournament! Ladies and gentlemen, let me feel your passion!"
"OOOOOOHHHHH!"
The audience thundered, fists pumping in the air. Scattered among them, players stood to cheer Margaret on. For them, chivalry would triumph.
Today's battlefield was a maze of towering stone pillars—a terrain that favored agile fighters. For heavy, brute-force knights, it was nothing but a trap.
Margaret and Light Knight faced each other across dozens of paces. She searched his eyes for emotion but found only stillness… and a burning hunger for victory.
This wasn't the same knight she'd fought before. Gone were the charming taunts and the sly, easy grin. He said nothing.
"Sir Light Knight…"
"Begin."
He cut her off, drawing his rapier in one smooth motion. The air itself seemed to sharpen.
Margaret realized instantly that he wasn't the same as before. There was no room for carelessness. She'd come this far. Stepping onto this arena meant one thing—her only goal was the championship.
Both fighters lunged.
The Light Knight's blade no longer danced with elegance. Instead, it struck directly at Margaret's openings, ruthless and precise. The frivolous flair was gone. He wasn't trying to dazzle her with tricks. He knew it wouldn't work.
"Whoa, his offense is still vicious!"
In the VIP box, members of the K.G.C.C. and their investors lounged on plush sofas, eyes glued to the broadcast screens. For a moment, they couldn't hide their admiration.
The Organization's representative smiled faintly. The knight clearly understood what losing here would mean for him. Against Margaret, he was giving everything he had.
Seeing that victory seemed within reach, the investors began to whisper among themselves, making quiet deals and offers.
For the knights, this was about honor, glory, and reputation. For the Organization, it was nothing more than business.
Then, in the arena, light appeared.
It was a radiance as dazzling as the sun itself, piercing into the hearts of every spectator. Margaret stood bathed in that holy brilliance, her Lance shrouded in a blazing glow.
"Light Knight… I'm coming."
Hearing her words, the Light Knight smiled. That smile was so effortless, so free—just like when he had first risen to fame.
"As knights, we should never hold back on the battlefield."
"Yes."
Wind surged around him, elemental force swirling at his side. His figure blurred as gales howled across the arena, vying with Margaret's light for dominance.
"As expected, light-element Originium Arts are overwhelming."
The Light Knight's smile faded. "Then come, Radiant Knight!"
Light and wind clashed violently. Cameramen were knocked to the ground, while spectators closest to the field instinctively shielded their faces. Hats and scarves were torn away by the raging gusts, whirling out of the arena.
Already unleashing their finishing moves?
The leaders of the K.G.C.C. tensed, their eyes fixed on the arena. Not only them—every spectator was riveted, staring at the roiling dust cloud.
Regardless of the outcome, this might go down as the shortest championship match in history… No, wasn't the Black Knight's last victory over the Light Knight just as swift?
Was the Light Knight about to become the benchmark for "defeated in record time"?
When the dust finally cleared, the Light Knight was revealed—kneeling on one knee before Margaret. The breastplate over his chest had been shattered by a direct strike of light, fragments scattering across the ground.
Margaret stood above him, lance in hand. Though she remained upright, her ragged breathing betrayed her exhaustion; she looked as though she could collapse at any moment.
"I won," she whispered.
Her words were caught clearly by the microphones and echoed across the giant screens.
"The Light Knight has lost consciousness," a staff member confirmed after rushing forward. And indeed, though his will had kept him standing, his body had long since given out.
"…What!"
The Organization's representative froze, eyes wide. Already, however, investors were rising from their seats and filing out. To them, it was simple: the General Chamber of Commerce might be powerful in Kazimierz, but if it couldn't even control its own tournament, could it be trusted to secure their future business?
"..."
Around the conference table, the Organization executives seethed. Some clenched their fists, some sneered openly, but most radiated a smoldering fury.
"Gentlemen, regardless of the Light Knight's defeat, Margaret Nearl has won the championship. Shall we proceed as usual?"
"What else? If we bend the rules here, we'll look like we can't afford to lose."
One executive waved a hand as if swatting away flies, his voice sharp with disdain. "I said it four years ago—the Light Knight was unfit. I voted against him then. He's done nothing but disappoint, and now he's failed us at the most crucial moment. We'll settle accounts afterward. For now, all that profit he's enjoyed these years—it's time he paid it back."
"As for Margaret Nearl… give her what's owed. The knighthood, the statue—those can't be denied. But finding a way to drive this uncontrollable knight out of Kazimierz? That will take planning."
The men exchanged looks. They had already braced themselves the moment Margaret toppled the Light Knight. Yet that did little to ease the bitterness.
A knight they had molded, a champion who had dominated for four years, snatching every trophy but the one that truly mattered—failing, here of all places.
It was infuriating.
It felt like betrayal.
"Tell the Armorless Union to hold back for now. Margaret just won the championship—she's at the height of attention, the spotlight's all on her. Striking now would be reckless."
"Understood… what about the Nearl family?"
"Keep the Armorless Union watching them closely."
"And the Foam Knight? Do we still need to deal with him?"
"No. The Pioneer bought him for two million."
"…I saw the report. He also spent ten million on the Verdant Knight or Azure Knight If you are not familiar with that name. Truly extravagant. Convenient, though—we needed those funds to smooth things over with our investors. Still, the Pioneer's taste is peculiar. Don't tell me he's like those other investors—a knight collector?"
It was meant as a joke, but fell flat. The officials kept their faces stiff as they filed out one by one.
"Any chance of putting the Light Knight up for sale?"
"Eight years of training and popularity behind him. Even if someone could afford it, who would buy? Best to handle that one internally."