While the tournament was progressing, on the one hand, inside the area reserved for female fighters, Valeria tightened the straps of her armor, her gaze steady and focused. The preparation space was clean and relatively quiet, the sounds of the ongoing battles outside muffled by thick walls. She took a steadying breath, savoring the calm. This area, unlike the bustling spaces filled with male fighters, felt like a sanctuary—few came here, especially close combatants like herself.
‘At least I can prepare in peace,’
she thought, appreciating the solitude. Though the strength of an Awakened wasn’t determined by gender, it was true that most female Awakened chose to master magic over melee.
As a result, the close-combatants here were few and far between, and Valeria was grateful for the space this afforded her. It allowed her time to center herself, to focus on the match ahead without distraction.
At least, compared to the male prepping room which was filled to the brim, with the smell of sweat and other things, this one was much better.
‘It’s not as if I mind it,’
Valeria thought, briefly comparing her preparation room to the crowded, humid space set aside for the male fighters. The smell of sweat, the clamor, the gritty, unfiltered atmosphere that came with the territory of warriors—she didn’t find any of it unpleasant. She understood it as the byproduct of hard work, of hours spent training and pushing oneself to the limit.
But she was still meticulous about keeping herself clean. Being a knight wasn’t an excuse to neglect her hygiene; she had always held herself to high standards in every regard. Clean armor, clean gear, and a clear mind were all part of her preparation. Just as she’d spent hours polishing her sword, she took care in keeping herself presentable, though it wasn’t out of vanity—it was about respect and discipline.
With a steadying breath, Valeria closed her eyes, centering herself, pushing away stray thoughts of cleanliness or routine. This was her first time facing something like this alone. She’d fought countless battles and sparred against formidable opponents, but during those times, she had always known her family’s knights stood by her side, ready if needed. Here, however, she was solely responsible for herself, and the weight of that reality settled on her shoulders.
‘It’s nothing,’
she told herself, feeling the faint unease but keeping it tightly controlled.
‘This is just another fight, like any other.’
Her fingers brushed the hilt of her sword, grounding her as she steadied her breathing. She couldn’t afford distractions—not from the noise of the crowd, not from thoughts of Lucavion, and certainly not from the small flickers of doubt that surfaced in moments like these.
‘I’ve trained my whole life. There’s nothing to be uneasy about,’
she thought, her jaw tightening in determination.
“Contestant Valeria.”
Just then a voice echoed through the preparation room, calling her name with a booming resonance that left no room for hesitation.
Valeria straightened, exhaling slowly as she stepped toward the arena entrance. Each step felt deliberate, grounding her as she readied herself for what lay ahead. The moment she emerged into the open, a wave of noise washed over her—the roar of the crowd, the cheers, and the clash of metal on metal from the surrounding fights.
The stands were filled with spectators, their faces blurred together in the excitement and chaos. She scanned the crowd briefly, feeling an odd sense of pressure settle around her. Though fights were happening all around, she couldn’t shake the sensation that eyes were on her, sizing her up, watching her every move.
‘Focus,’
she reminded herself, brushing the thought aside as best as she could. It was easy to fall into the trap of thinking the crowd’s attention was directed solely at her, but in truth, most of them were likely engrossed in the other matches.
Still, the feeling lingered—a mix of anticipation and self-consciousness that set her nerves alight.
As Valeria scanned the crowd, trying to center herself, her eyes caught on a familiar figure, seated casually amidst the spectators. Her breath hitched, her jaw clenching as recognition dawned.
There he was—Lucavion, seated among the spectators with that same infuriating smile plastered across his face. He looked utterly at ease, his posture relaxed, arms draped over the back of his chair as if he were merely lounging in a park instead of watching an arena full of clashing warriors. His gaze was unmistakably fixed on her, and the glint of amusement in his eyes made her blood boil.
‘Of course he’d be watching,’
she thought, annoyance flaring.
‘Probably just waiting to see me slip up so he can rub it in later.’
She tried to ignore him, tried to focus on her opponent who would soon step forward. But Lucavion’s presence seemed to loom larger than life, his expression a silent challenge, as if daring her to prove herself.
‘Fine, then,’
she told herself, her grip tightening on her sword.
Yet little did she notice that, as she shifted her focus back to the arena, the lingering irritation from Lucavion’s smirk gradually dulled the restlessness she had felt moments before. Without realizing it, her earlier unease had faded, replaced by an unexpected sense of calm. His presence, frustrating as it was, had redirected her thoughts, grounding her in a strange way.
‘Let him watch,’
she thought, her pulse steadying as her grip on her sword became more confident.
‘If he’s here to see me fight, I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget it.’
The energy from the crowd and the intensity of the arena faded to the background, her thoughts centered now not on the noise, but on the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat. Lucavion’s infuriating confidence acted like an anchor, something familiar amidst the chaos.
She didn’t notice her shoulders relaxing, her stance becoming looser yet more focused. There was no more room for nerves or doubts
Just then, her opponent made his appearance.
He was a slightly elderly fighter, with silver streaks in his hair and the strong, steady posture of a seasoned warrior. A longsword hung at his waist, and his aura indicated the power of a peak 2-star Awakened, not one to be underestimated.
A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as she assessed him. Though skilled, he was not as overwhelming a presence as some of the other fighters she’d seen in the tournament.
The man’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he took in her reaction. It seemed her quiet exhalation had not gone unnoticed. His jaw set, and a deep scowl crossed his face, lines of irritation marring his otherwise dignified features.
“Girl, are you looking down on me?” His voice carried a rough edge, disdain evident in his tone.
Valeria’s eyes widened slightly, realizing her mistake. “No, that wasn’t my intent,” she replied, her voice steady, but her words didn’t seem to ease the older warrior’s mood. He took her measured tone as further disrespect.
“Humph….You look like a spoiled brat,” he muttered, loud enough for her to hear, his gaze hardening. “I’ve fought in dozens of battles, while you’ve probably spent more time polishing that sword than actually using it.”
Her grip on her Zweihander tightened, but she kept her expression calm, letting his insults wash over her without reaction. His words, though meant to provoke, only served to clarify her focus.
‘Let him think what he wants. It’ll change soon enough.’
“START!”
The announcer’s voice echoed across the arena, signaling the start of the match, and the crowd’s cheering rose to a fever pitch. The man unsheathed his longsword, his stance wide and low, indicating his readiness.
Valeria raised her sword, mirroring his intensity. They circled each other, each movement deliberate, measured. Her eyes never left him, studying the tension in his posture, the way his gaze flicked to her feet, her grip, every detail revealing his experience.
–SWOOSH!
Without warning, he lunged forward, his longsword arcing toward her side with surprising speed for someone his age. Valeria sidestepped the blow, her movements fluid and controlled, her Zweihander swinging to parry the strike.
–CLANK!
Their blades met with a loud clang, and she felt the force of his attack reverberate up her arms. He was strong, his experience evident in the precision of his strike, but Valeria held her ground, her own stance unwavering.
He pressed forward, his strikes relentless, his longsword sweeping in powerful arcs. Valeria parried each blow, her breaths controlled as she moved with purpose. His attacks were steady and forceful, but as she defended herself, she noticed a rhythm—a slight predictability to his movements.
‘He’s relying on power and experience,’
she thought, her confidence growing with each deflected strike.
‘But he doesn’t vary his approach much.’
As the man’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardened, and a faint glint of mana flared along the length of his blade. He charged forward with renewed vigor, his sword arcing toward her with deadly intent.
Valeria’s grip tightened around her Zweihander as she focused her own mana, channeling it through her arms and into her sword. The familiar warmth of power surged within her, igniting the blade in a soft, radiant glow. She steadied herself, anticipation threading through her stance as she waited for his approach.
His blade came down in a powerful, mana-fueled strike, but Valeria moved with purpose, deflecting his sword with a precise twist of her wrists. The force of his attack diverted, she sidestepped, her mind flashing back to her duel with Lucavion. She remembered how he had used her own momentum against her, his movements effortlessly dismantling her guard.
‘Just like Lucavion…’
With a subtle shift, she guided the man’s weight forward, twisting her sword to redirect his momentum past her. It wasn’t perfect, but the effect was enough—his stance faltered as he stumbled forward, thrown off balance by his own strength.
Seizing the opening, Valeria pivoted, her stance grounding her as she channeled mana down through her legs. She drove her heel into his side with a powerful, mana-fueled kick. The impact sent him hurtling back, his body lifting off the ground before he crashed to the arena floor, the sound of his fall echoing in the silence that followed.
She stepped forward, her Zweihander steady in her hands as she leveled its gleaming edge right at his throat. Her violet gaze met his, her breath controlled and her stance unwavering, and though she said nothing, the message was clear.
The man, dazed and breathless, could do little more than stare up at her in shock.