# Enhanced Translation
## Opening Shock
In stark contrast to the shocking opening match, the subsequent duels proceeded rather predictably.
The capital's nobility, despite their factional divisions, were all related within three degrees of separation. This was the inevitable result of blood ties—more powerful than school or regional connections—layered throughout their long history.
Moreover, most nobles participating in this tournament were either aligned with the Crown Prince's faction or opportunists looking to switch allegiance to his side.
Any loyal subject with proper sense should have opposed the tournament from the beginning. If the Princess herself was offering herself as merchandise to maintain royal authority, they should have been prostrating themselves at her feet in lamentation.
Consequently, all participants maintained a certain level of aristocratic decorum in their duels. Even in defeat, they needed to display their dignity to the citizens, resulting in safe but reasonably entertaining matches.
And then, the foreigner appeared.
"Kalion Privy Council, Lord Edelplat Coenwulf has entered!"
The crowd fell silent.
This was different from Ivan's case. It wasn't that they didn't know who the participant was.
It was because everyone knew the name Edelplat Coenwulf.
Generally, citizens are more enthusiastic about knights than magicians. Magic feels distant from everyday life, its structure and principles difficult to comprehend, while a knight's martial prowess is immediately understandable.
Thus, citizens rarely remember Kalion's heroes, most of whom were elves and magicians.
But Edelplat was different. The One-Eyed Edel. The hero who faced the Seven Dragon Generals during wartime, losing an eye but saving an entire legion.
That single feat was enough to make citizens' hearts race. Additionally, among the proud elves, her elegant figure walking with just a sword in hand was worthy of admiration.
So the citizens remained silent.
Why would an elf—a female elf at that—participate in this tournament?
Moreover, the strongest elf warrior... suddenly appearing?
"No one seems to welcome me. I'm used to it."
Standing on the platform, Edelplat scanned her surroundings with an amused voice.
She kept her helmet visor down, concealing her face.
This was extremely discourteous behavior. Not because there was any need to verify her identity—since Beolgrin had vouched for her and Krasilov had accepted her, it would be a diplomatic incident if she were an impostor.
Rather, showing one's face was a sign of respect for royal authority. It was a matter of etiquette.
"Are you going to keep me standing here?"
Coenwulf's words caused a stir in the crowd. How rude! How dare an elf! The noise carried roughly that sentiment.
Soon, a knight walked out from the opposite side.
"Pleased to meet you, Lord Coenwulf. I've long heard of your reputation..."
"Enough."
"What...?"
"I said stop talking, human. Don't identify yourself or express your opinions. Your three-inch tongue isn't enough to leave an impression on me."
Coenwulf ignored the announcer and her opponent's introduction as she raised her sword.
The tournament had no starting signal. Once two people stepped onto the dueling platform, preparations were considered complete.
So Coenwulf held her sword at an angle, pointing it at her opponent. With a gesture neither overly rude nor particularly courteous.
"Come. Let your skill leave your name with me."
"How insolent...!!"
All participants here were high nobles. A high noble of Krasilov should never receive such treatment anywhere in the United Kingdoms.
That was common sense. The common sense of human social systems.
But that wasn't elven common sense. Especially not for Edelplat.
In war, noble blood doesn't guarantee survival.
Even a great noble with vast estates and countless riches dies just the same when a sword pierces their chest due to lack of skill.
Remembering a person's name comes not from their bloodline's history but from individual ability, that alone.
Besides, how could the history of human noble houses compare to that of elven privy council families, no matter how deep?
-Swoosh....
The sword smoothly cut through the air.
The sword tip remained fixed without wavering. As if it didn't need to move at all.
Coenwulf didn't even flinch.
"This... rudeness... I will certainly take this up with your elven kind!"
The opposing knight charged forward with thundering steps. With the ferocity of an enraged wild boar. In fact, a trained knight's charge is stronger than a wild boar's even without being mounted.
The weight of full plate armor, destructive magical power flowing through veins, and a lifetime of training creating perfect weight distribution in each strike.
-Kiiiing—!!
The descending blade met Coenwulf's sword, which smoothly swept along it and fell away.
-Chaeeeng—!!
That was enough. Enough to perfectly control the force in the opponent's sword and deflect it outward.
The sword, which hadn't moved even two inches, once again pointed forward without wavering.
Now it was positioned at the nape of the opponent's neck, who had dropped his sword. It was a perfect strike, precisely calculating the direction from which the opponent would approach and when he would stop.
"I... I... concede."
"Too disappointing a fight to remember you by. If you wish, pick up your sword. I'll give you a second chance."
"Do not insult me further...!!"
"An insult is mockery directed at someone not far below your level, human. What I'm doing should be called education, don't you think?"
"Elves... are...!!"
The opponent shouted angrily and turned to leave.
The audience remained silent. The duel had happened too quickly and from too far away for them to fully comprehend.
It seemed like they had exchanged a single sword strike, then suddenly the sword flew away, the opponent immediately declared defeat, and vacated the arena.
In the silence, Edelplat descended from the stage. With the same energetic steps as when she had entered.
And she encountered Ivan sitting deep in the corridor.
Both in full armor, visors still lowered, yet clearly staring at each other.
"John."
"Adel."
The two stopped outside sword range and quietly greeted each other.
"You're the same as ever."
"You've dulled."
Ivan's words made Adel's armor rattle.
"Dulled? Me?"
"Your swordsmanship was more elegant than that. As I remember it."
"Don't you think the opponent wasn't worthy?"
"Swordsmanship is an art you show to yourself, not your opponent. Holding back your sword energy based on your opponent doesn't suit you."
"How do you know my thinking hasn't changed in 10 years?"
"...Enough wordplay. I don't know how to speak indirectly, Adel. Answer me. What's your purpose?"
Ivan quietly asked.
"What does Beolgrin want from this country? Why specifically did you come?"
"Well, I'm rather curious myself. What's your purpose?"
"Victory."
"Mine is... if I had to say, 'interference.'"
Adel spoke with a playful voice.
"Lord Beolgrin's intentions are none of my business. I don't know for what reason or with what thoughts they dispatched me. But the only 'request' I received was one: interfere with others' victories. What about you?"
"The only 'order' I received was also one. Win until the end. The purpose or reason behind the order is not my concern."
"How interesting. Don't forget those words later."
When you meet me up there, I hope that resolve doesn't waver.
Adel chuckled and walked away down the corridor.
Ivan stared at Adel's retreating figure for a long time. Her gait, stride, body responsiveness, and even her "sense."
A transcendent's perception can deduce the body beneath armor. However, information obtainable from someone like her—unrivaled in "physical ability utilization"—is limited.
Hiding her condition would be too easy for her. And that might suggest she's become vulnerable enough to need to hide her condition.
Until 10 years ago, she never concealed her presence in any moment. That's the kind of woman she was. Always laughing brightly, yet occasionally sinking into serious contemplation. Unpredictable.
A master.
A sword expert. The embodiment of sword techniques utilizing all four limbs, a woman considered to have mastered everything.
A madwoman who had lived swinging only a sword for hundreds of years. Elven swordsmanship is divided into before her and after her.
If such a person needed to hide her physical senses from others...
'Has she dulled?'
Is the dementia progressing deeper than expected?
It seems that even with superior elven medicine, they couldn't overcome Alzheimer's. This meant the threat level of elderly elves could be significantly downgraded.
There weren't many young elves who stood out, and most of the Kalion Privy Council elders who managed the nation's power were aged.
Anyway, this wasn't a bad development. If the tournament's most likely winner was in such condition, perhaps he could aim for a direct victory.
The tournament continued for several days afterward, walking a tightrope between the audience's shock and anger.
"The winner is Lord Ivan Petrovich Yermov of the Yermov Viscounty!!"
-Waa...aah....
-Wow... uh....
A madman who always destroyed his opponents within two exchanges, and when they dropped their weapons, he would drop his own, walk steadily forward, and start punching.
Ivan "The Face Destroyer." Said to be the third son from an unheard-of rural estate.
Simple and brutish. That was the nobles' assessment. This man's swordsmanship had no finesse, no honor, and no respect.
This was the common assessment from the nobles who had been shattered by his hands.
And one more.
"The winner is Lord Edelplat Coenwulf of the Kalion Privy Council!!"
-Booooooo!!!
-Go back to your nest, elf!!!
"Ahaha!! If anyone needs a lesson, come up here anytime, everyone!"
Edelplat waved her hand cheerfully despite the audience's jeers and walked away gracefully.
The knights facing her were divided into two types: those who pointed out the elf's rudeness, and young knights who wanted recognition by crossing swords with a legendary hero.
Those impetuous young knights would occasionally visit Lord Coenwulf's quarters seeking friendship, only to be beaten soundly and chased away.
By this point, the nobles began to notice.
-This is a conspiracy.
They would have to surrender their noble titles if they couldn't see that much. When a provincial noble suddenly appears at a tournament that didn't even invite regional nobles and monopolizes victories...
That wasn't a wandering knight who 'coincidentally' found Pritzenkaya and participated out of youthful spirit.
It was Elizabeta buying off a skilled knight to check the nobles.
And the elf was probably trying to interfere with Elizabeta's scheme in an 'elven way' after detecting it in advance.
"Then why not make those two face each other first?"
Duke Sheretif said casually while stroking his beard.
"If the Princess wants to check us and the elf wants to interfere with the Princess, isn't this like a love letter from those pointy-ears to us?"
"Isn't that a bit excessive to call a love letter?"
"Well, they're elves, what can you expect?"
The gathering unanimously agreed. Well, they were elves after all.
"Unless the elves reach out to us first, we don't need to bend. So if we make those two face each other, one of them will certainly be eliminated."
This tournament had no draws. The prize was the Princess, after all.
"And judging by how they're acting, that 'Ivan' fellow might land at least one blow on the pointy-eared woman, hmm? We didn't lose due to lack of skill, so that fellow must be quite skilled with a blade. Has anyone looked into the Yermov Viscounty?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. It's one of the northern noble houses established after the war. The third son is said to enjoy hunting and is quite skilled with a blade."
"If he was ennobled after the war, he must have been a mercenary who received wartime honors. Provide him with proper equipment along with some flattery. So that even if he loses to the elf and the Princess discards him, he can crawl under our wing."
It was reasonable. There was no way such an unknown soldier could defeat the strongest elf.
So at minimum, they would provide him with equipment to inflict even minor damage on Edelplat. And simultaneously gain his favor.
Defeated mercenaries are typically discarded. And the Princess was not a woman who valued broken soldiers. That lowborn would certainly be abandoned, and then he might remember the nobles' generosity.
Having been under the Princess, he might know something useful, and even if not, recruiting a knight with such martial prowess would be profitable.
"But Your Excellency, what if that commoner actually defeats Lord Coenwulf?"
Then the elves, who had sent a dueling proxy to implicitly propose an alliance with the nobles, would look quite foolish.
And if the third son of Viscount Yermov actually won, wouldn't the prize be lost?
Since elves wouldn't send a female proxy to marry the Princess, an elven victory could mean a new opportunity for the nobles.
But if that knight Ivan won, wouldn't the nobles just become extras in this tournament?
To such questions, Duke Sheretif burst into laughter.
"Can a mouse with a sword defeat a lion? Hahaha, he will certainly lose. The important thing is minimizing our losses."
On the fifth day of the tournament.
After all knights who were supposed to face Ivan and Edelplat forfeited,
With only four participants remaining,
Finally.
Ivan would face Edelplat.
Isabelle sat in the stands, nervously chewing her thumb.
It wasn't exactly a good habit, but her tension was understandable.
Yu-ri was comforting her with a warm hand on her shoulder.
"Uncle Pavel."
"Yes?"
"Is our uncle going to lose?"
"No."
Pavel was also from the Royal Guard. In fact, he had served as the Captain of the Guard. He naturally knew Edelplat.
Therefore, he too suspected that Edelplat's condition was not the same as before.
Meanwhile, Ivan was still at the peak of his abilities. After all, it was only four years ago that he had cut down the Seven Dragon General.
Ivan's skills, which he had steadily honed since then, were higher than they were then, certainly not lower.
So...
"He'll win."
"Pfft?!"
"???"
Yu-ri, who had been listening, suddenly spat her drink onto the floor and began coughing.
Pavel started patting Yu-ri's back.
"But if uncle wins, he'll really have to marry the Princess!"
"Do you want to cheer or curse him?"
"I don't know! I don't want to see uncle lose, but I'll be super pissed if he wins."
"Aren't you too old for adolescent mood swings?"
"No I'm not! Uncle always calls me a pubescent kid!"
"You... just leave."
Pavel cursed himself for having to closely guard these children.
This wasn't what he left the rebels for, he thought.
"Kalion Privy Council, Lord Edelplat Coenwulf has entered!!"
-Booooooooo!!!
So he decided to add his voice to the jeers directed at Edelplat.
"Booooo!!"
Surely that old monster wouldn't hear his voice from here? Would she even recognize him? he thought.
He was one of the most excited people at this tournament.
If the Captain won, well, he'd become the Princess's consort and couldn't continue as Captain, so a promotion was guaranteed.
If the Captain lost, he could say things like, "Well, Coenwulf is tough, right? Ha, I should have been there. You know? The Dragon-Slaying Spear. One hit and both Einar and Edelplat would go down together."
Wait? Does this mean I win regardless of who wins?
And so...