Andras knelt beside Anita while Noelle was already elbow‑deep in glowing healing magic.
"Easy, Anita," Andras said quietly. "Noelle will patch you up in a moment."
Noelle focused, tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
"You received a fatal wound," she stated in a completely matter‑of‑fact tone. "I stopped the internal bleeding. I had to restore three of your internal organs. Now I'm clearing the blood from the inside, then I'll close the wound. You owe me an entire barrel of honey‑ale for this."
Anita opened her eyes and let out a raspy laugh.
"For that, I'll lick your honey‑cup clean if you want."
Noelle paused for a moment, then sighed.
"Looks like I need to heal your brain too."
"Almost dying made me hungry," Anita muttered. "How about we eat pizza for lunch?"
Andras looked up at the sky as if searching for a pizzeria sign.
"There's no place in the capital that makes pizza."
"I'll bake some for dinner," Noelle said. "But it won't be ready for lunch. I still need to buy the ingredients at the market."
"Then after Andrea's match, let's go to that inn," Andras suggested, "the one that grills that amazing homemade sausage."
Anita grinned.
"Sausage works too. Especially yours, Young Wolf."
Noelle didn't even look up — she just shook her head.
"Don't mind her. She probably has a concussion."
"Yeah," Andras nodded. "She used her head in battle for the first time in her life."
Noelle burst out laughing.
"Hahaha!"
"I'll lick both of you clean…" Anita mumbled half‑conscious.
"All right," Noelle said. "The wound is closed. No trace left."
"Thanks!" Anita sat up and flashed a wide smile. "You're a lifesaver!"
The spectators stared in disbelief as the Windstorm — who had been cut down with a fatal wound just minutes earlier — was already back on her feet.
The Wolf Knights' cheering section erupted in celebration.
Eris finally turned around.
She saw Anita standing.
She saw that she was alive.
Only then did she slowly walk off the battlefield — silent, blood on her face, but with relief in her eyes.
Anita suddenly grabbed onto Andras's arm.
"Oh, right! I was gravely injured, Young Wolf… carry me in your arms!"
Andras raised an eyebrow.
"Should I give you a healing kiss on the wound too?"
"Yes! I want that too!"
Andras sighed.
"If you've got this much energy left, then you're perfectly fine."
The laughter of the Wolf Knights, the children's cheers, and the warm sunlight filled the Arena all at once.
The Windstorm had survived — and she was still the same cheeky, wild, lovable wolf‑girl who had once eaten pizza in the shadow of a wooden training dummy nine years ago.
A one‑hour break was announced between the semifinals. The spectators buzzed with excitement, dissecting every moment of the first duel: Anita's wild assaults, Eris's terrifying composure, and the final dramatic strike. The Wolf Knights returned to their changing room to prepare for Andrea's match.
Meanwhile, Eris Scarlett walked silently toward her own changing room, head lowered. The blood on her face had dried, though the wound was still visible — the light element was healing it slowly. As she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, her father, John Scarlett, Captain of the Royal Knights, was already waiting.
His face was a storm of anger, worry, and disappointment.
As Eris approached, John raised his hand — and slapped his daughter across the face.
The sharp crack echoed through the stone walls.
"I am disappointed in you!" John hissed. "Were you trying to kill that girl?!"
Eris flinched, but didn't step back.
"She tried to cut my throat!" she shot back. "If I hadn't reacted in time, she wouldn't have sliced my face — she would've slit my neck!"
"But she didn't!" John roared. "She couldn't, because you're strong! And with that strength, you nearly killed her!"
Eris's voice trembled.
"I didn't mean to kill her… I just panicked when her knife cut across my face. My hand moved on its own. By the time I realized what I'd done, she was already on the ground."
John let out a long breath, though the anger didn't fade.
"Thank the Goddess the Wolfwoods have an elven healer. Otherwise our healers wouldn't have been able to save her."
"That maid is a half‑elf," Eris murmured.
"That's not the point!" John snapped, slicing the air with his hand. "Don't you understand?!"
He stepped closer, his voice dropping into something deeper, heavier.
"The Goddess chose you as the Hero. You were given this strength to protect people — not to take their lives! This Knight Tournament is not worth anyone dying for!"
A tear glimmered in Eris's eye.
"I know… I'm sorry… I didn't want things to turn out like this…"
"Stop crying!" John barked. "It's shameful — not just for a Hero, but even for a Knight! You're not a child anymore. Pull yourself together!"
He stepped back, then continued in a hard, unyielding tone:
"What do you think the Wolfwoods think of you now? They are our allies in the war against the demons! And you nearly killed one of their warriors! Wash your face and go apologize to that girl — and to Young Wolf as well."
Eris's head snapped up.
"Why? Is that female Wolf Knight going to apologize for trying to cut my throat ten times during the duel?"
John's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Don't make me slap you again."
Eris lowered her gaze.
"Fine… I understand. I'll go apologize."
John took a deep breath, and his voice softened.
"Listen, Eris. I know you carry more responsibility than anyone else in this world. But you're a strong girl. My girl. You can handle this."
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"If you need help, I'll always be here. Apollonia too. And every Royal Knight will fight at your side, no matter what happens. The Royal Family supports you as well. We have a good King, and you get along well with the Princess."
Eris nodded slowly.
"It's not a problem if you make mistakes," John continued. "Everyone makes them. Even Heroes. What matters is that you admit it — and make sure it doesn't happen again. Do you understand, my daughter?"
Eris wiped her tears.
"Yes, Father. I'm truly sorry… please forgive me."
John gave her a faint smile.
"You don't need my forgiveness. But see? It's not such a big thing. A few honest words, and the Wolfwoods' anger will calm down."
Eris nodded and headed toward the door.
"You're right. I'll go wash my face."
The Hero stepped out of the changing room — not triumphant, not proud, but like someone who had just learned something important about her own strength… and her own responsibility.