# Tournament: A Noble Affair
The tournament was not a festival for the common people. Strictly speaking, it should be considered an evolved form of social gathering for the nobility.
All participants were nobles, showcasing their prosperity, with the ultimate purpose being a royal marriage—specifically, the infusion of royal blood.
Therefore, during these five days of the tournament in Pritzenkaya, all the great nobles spent their personal fortunes hosting banquets every day.
"Oh, my lord! Your duel yesterday was truly magnificent!"
"My goodness, you flatter me, Your Excellency. How could my modest martial skills compare to those of your son? I offer my congratulations in advance."
"Haha, come now! Even if my son has some small talent, what significance does that hold? Is it not all thanks to His Majesty's grace, under which we have honed our loyalty?"
"Indeed, that is so! Haha!"
While intoxicated nobles and their heirs showered each other with pleasantries, simultaneously competing through subtle glances over how factions would realign after the winner married the princess.
The host of this banquet, Duke Sheretif, was among the most displeased individuals.
"Has he still not arrived?"
"No, Your Grace."
The servant bowed his head low. Duke Sheretif tightly clenched his fist, suppressing his anger.
No matter how much he was considered the least among the three dukes, he was still a duke. The most noble aristocrat in this country, and now also the wealthiest.
Unlike other dukes who commanded military forces at various borders, his domain, Yelyabinsk, stretched across the southeastern part of Krasilov Kingdom. This meant it wasn't directly exposed to the recent war and served as a transportation hub mediating ocean trade from Tilles Kingdom.
The immense wealth resulting from this, his authority as a central noble, and his unparalleled standing in Pritzenkaya's noble social circles.
Despite all these factors, both participants in today's duel had failed to attend his banquet. This was an insult.
"I can understand the elf's absence, but is that commoner's condition truly so serious?"
"I heard the princess herself requested to nurse him... but since it's the princess's personal request, information has been difficult to obtain."
"Tsk, how paranoid."
Though relations between the intelligence headquarters and the princess were increasingly cooling, she still possessed Pritzenkaya's finest intelligence network.
It was nearly impossible to extract information from a place under her direct command. Finding this uncomfortable, Duke Sheretif clicked his tongue.
"The priest refused, and there wasn't even a response to the invitation..."
"What shall we do with today's preparations?"
"Leave them. Compensate our 'guests' generously."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The servant bowed deeply and withdrew. The duke tapped the table rhythmically, sinking into contemplation.
'If his injuries are worse than expected...'
Then there would be no problem. But if it was merely exhaustion, fatigue, or insignificant injuries that he was recovering from.
He needed to eliminate him today. Two days until the finals. If he recovered within that time, there would be no way to prevent his victory.
Could his inadequate son, or the other equally inadequate noble who was his opponent, truly fight against Coenulf like that?
No. They couldn't. Even thinking generously, the skill that drew such a struggle against Coenulf was "real."
So that commoner needed to die today.
What to do.
He couldn't forcibly break into a hospital guarded by the princess, and attempting assassination recklessly would be like provoking a dormant lion.
He must remember. Despite the princess's recent authority being diminished due to mistakes, and despite her loyal forces slowly beginning to defect.
Elizabeta Kirillovna Krasilov, the Iron-Blooded Liza. She was a predator who had imprisoned her father and expelled her brother's forces overnight.
The extreme situation where she had put herself up as merchandise was an opportunity that would not come again. He shouldn't provoke her rashly. In nobles' battles, justification was more important than force and execution, wasn't it?
"Your Grace! Your Grace!"
The servant rushed urgently to the duke, who was lost in thought.
"What is it?"
"He-he's here!"
"Who?"
"Lord Yeremov! They say he's just arrived at the mansion!!"
"Alone? Did he come alone?"
"Yes? Yes! There were no other companions..."
"Ha!"
The duke put down his glass and laughed loudly.
So, the one who had been protected in the princess's embrace had come alone to the Crown Prince faction's banquet.
This is why one shouldn't value mercenary-born commoners, Your Majesty.
The duke smiled coldly.
"How could a hunting dog resist the smell of meat? The hungrier they are, the more greedy they become."
There are fools who consider the poor and weak to be righteous. They are wrong. The hungrier they are, the more fiercely and despicably they crave their prey.
One shouldn't expect loyalty from a northern noble of mercenary origin, a wandering mercenary with no right of succession. After all, the success of a plan depends less on how elaborate it is and more on how trustworthy those executing it are.
The princess should have bribed one of the young nobles from the Crown Prince's faction instead. Not a wandering knight who relied solely on his abilities.
"Guide him in. I'll welcome him personally."
When a cherished hunting dog leaves to wag its tail at another house, only to return with just its neck, what expression would the princess make?
Once she loses her last justification and is forced to marry a noble, the rights of royal blood will never smile upon the Krasilovs again.
When Edelplat Coenulf's tournament registration was first completed, Ivan didn't panic. He was a trained agent, after all.
A trained agent never panics during emergency situations in an operation. Confusion is like the first button that leads to misjudgment.
Therefore, Ivan changed his mission objective. This needed to become a somewhat bold and delicate feint operation.
"Welcome! I was greatly concerned when there was no reply. Are you well? Didn't you faint at the arena!"
"I'm the same as usual."
Ivan stared at the duke who greeted him with outstretched arms and replied.
After scanning Ivan's body once, the duke burst into laughter and patted him.
"Truly a man of Krasilov. To think you were this dedicated, yet you didn't show your face even once—I was quite disappointed."
"I see."
"..."
Edelplat Coenulf would certainly advance to the finals. No matter how the brackets were arranged, there was no avoiding a confrontation with her.
If she were to lose, that would be an even bigger variable. It would mean he hadn't identified someone capable of defeating her.
So Ivan had already anticipated a battle with Edel. Not victory, but the duel itself.
"Come, let's go. Everyone will be greatly surprised. The star of today has arrived! Your struggle was truly nothing short of a great honor for our country!"
"Yes."
Then, at what point would it be most rational to face Edel?
It would be in the semifinals. The final four. Whether he won or lost, it was best to clash in the semifinals.
If he were to fight Edel in the finals, it would make it difficult to achieve the mission objective of gathering and defeating the anti-princess faction nobles.
However, if the bracket was arranged so they would meet in the semifinals...
'Naturally, the other semifinal bracket will gather the anti-princess faction nobles.'
Whether he won or lost against Edel, the opposing side would certainly approach Ivan.
The more spectacular and intense the fight, the more so. They would try to persuade Ivan, whose value had skyrocketed, or try to assassinate him. In the nobles' eyes, he was clearly a knight of the princess's faction.
Even if Edel won, it wouldn't matter. Edelplat Coenulf could never marry the princess. The entire House of Nobles would foam at the mouth, and other countries in the United Kingdom would obviously oppose it.
The blood alliance between Kalion and Krasilov would have that much impact. If the inland bear and the ruler of the seas united, becoming the strongest nation in the United Kingdom would be no challenge at all.
'If Edel and I meet in the semifinals, on the other side, without fail.'
The Duke of Sheretif's son and Count Yelchinopov would advance. The two great nobles with the most influence among the surviving Crown Prince faction would need marriage with the princess for new political power.
If Edel won, one of these two would demand marriage with the princess.
If Edel lost, these two would attempt to eliminate Ivan, who had advanced to the finals.
Either way, it didn't matter. All he needed was the moment when those two great nobles, who had been competitors, joined hands.
So the duel with Edel was just a process. A type where winning or losing didn't matter.
As long as Ivan had the strength to move after that duel, that was enough.
And now, Ivan was walking on his own feet. That was sufficient.
"I'll take your coat, Lord Yeremov."
"Mm."
Ivan removed his coat and handed it to the servant. Along with a sword strapped to his waist.
Duke Sheretif quickly scanned Ivan's light attire. The weapon detector in the reception room remained silent. The man was now completely disarmed.
The duke quickly smiled and shook his head.
"You must understand, my lord. The anxiety of old men cannot be helped."
"It doesn't matter."
The servant politely opened the door leading to the banquet hall.
A splendid salon befitting a great noble unfolded before his eyes.
Furniture lavishly made with marble, red velvet curtains embroidered with gold, and the massive chandelier adorned with intricate snowflake-shaped carvings of gold and pearl.
Ivan couldn't recognize any of the drinks and snacks carried by the servants. Tilles wine and various finger snacks circulated busily.
"Now, I'm truly honored to have this opportunity to introduce you. The star of today's tournament has arrived! Everyone, applause for the victor!"
"Waaaa!!"
Applause echoed through the banquet hall. The band, politely, paused their performance the moment the duke opened his mouth.
Ivan slowly scanned the great nobles of Pritzenkaya, wrapped in expensive dresses and suits.
The duke standing beside him patted his shoulder with a warm smile.
"Did the potion I sent help?"
"Yes."
"Good. It wasn't an easy item to obtain."
I'm sure it wasn't.
The potion probably contained some kind of undetectable drug. It would have been a delicate preparation, but there was one thing the duke didn't know.
Ivan never drinks healing potions with his own hands. He would rather endure the injury.
"Ah, this is Count Yelchinopov. Have you heard of him? He'll be your next opponent in the finals."
"You flatter me, Your Grace. Isn't Lord Boris a knight too formidable even for me?"
"My son may have some small talent, but how could he stand against you? I congratulate you in advance. Haha!"
Count Yelchinopov extended his hand with a warm smile. Ivan expressionlessly took his hand.
Beneath the firm muscles, he could feel powerful magic pulsating.
"I was deeply impressed by your valor. I have one question... You're the son of Viscount Yeremov?"
"Yes."
"I heard the viscount's son just turned twenty, but you seem older. Who are you?"
Count Yelchinopov asked, tightening his grip.
"Count Yelchinopov, what rudeness is this?"
"Why bother with manners at this point, Your Grace? The very fact that we waited until now was solely because of this commoner."
Yelchinopov smiled coldly and flicked his hand.
About half of the seated nobles rose. The musicians put down their instruments, and the servants slowly retreated to the walls and drew the curtains.
"Let's dispense with unnecessary formalities. They're not meant for lowborn people, are they?"
"You're impatient."
"Isn't it quite amusing that I'm sharing drinks with Your Grace in this place?"
At Yelchinopov's words, Duke Sheretif sighed as if disappointed and stepped back.
Purple magical lines began to spread across the floor, centered on where Ivan stood. Looking up, he saw magicians on the second-floor terrace, each weaving spells.
Servants drew weapons around the chandelier. Blades gleamed blue beneath the chandelier.
Most of the nobles who had participated in the tournament were already armed. Count Yelchinopov in front of him also gripped a longsword handed by a servant.
"I'll smash that man's face!! My son suffered at his hands!"
A large middle-aged man sitting in the distance shouted roughly. What was his name again? Ah, Count Turgeyev. That's right.
He must have been one of the opponents Ivan had defeated in the tournament. Good.
Ivan slowly shifted his gaze. As he scanned the nobles' faces, their names and factions came to mind. He had memorized the target subjects' personal information without omission.
Almost all the nobles he had targeted were present.
Most of the great nobles from the Crown Prince faction who clung to the House of Nobles were here.
"Scared? You've gone quiet. Hmm?"
Normally, it would be impossible to deal with the nobles one by one.
Because nobles aren't fools. The moment they detected they were being systematically purged, civil war would break out.
So, in a situation where all the great nobles were conveniently gathered.
And with the justification that they were attempting to assassinate "a finalist in the royal-sponsored tournament."
"Shouldn't you be kneeling and begging us now? Can't you think that much? What did the princess offer you? Did that slut spread her legs for you? Hmm?"
No one in this place thought Ivan could escape alive. They laughed while daring to openly speak royal slander.
As Ivan remained silent, the nobles' words grew increasingly heated. The princess who consorted with a commoner. The decline of the thousand-year Krasilov line. The princess's paramour.
"I'll warm the princess's bed in your place, so close your eyes without worry."
Count Yelchinopov released Ivan's hand with a cold smile.
He slowly raised his sword-wielding hand and waved it demonstratively. He too was skilled enough to reach the finals.
Assessing the opponent's condition is fundamental. Ivan's condition was clearly not normal. He was so overloaded that not even a trace of magic could be felt.
If he had also consumed the old Duke Sheretif's poison. These preparations might even be considered excessive.
"Target five. Second floor terrace."
"What?"
Ivan slowly raised his hand and pressed behind his earlobe.
-Target confirmed.
"Eliminate light source."
-Executing.
-BANG—!!
A gunshot rang out. A superhuman would have realized it was actually dozens of gunshots fired simultaneously, overlapping into one sound.
With the gunshot, the curtains billowed greatly. All the lights illuminating the salon shattered in a single moment, simultaneously.
Groans followed. Those with keen hearing would have known they came from the second-floor terrace.
Ivan felt the magical circle writhing beneath his feet dissolve as he reached out.
-WHOOSH!!
With line-of-fire detection, something flew into Ivan's hand.
Simultaneously, Count Yelchinopov's sword fell toward his head. Like a superhuman, he didn't panic at the gunshot and swiftly attacked Ivan before him.
-CLANG!!
Sparks flew. Ivan rotated the axe in his grasp to deflect the sword and stepped forward.
In the darkness, human presences continued.
"What is this! Guards! Guards!!"
This mansion was under ironclad protection from forces personally trained by the duke. It should have been impossible not to detect a raid in advance, even if the opponent had brought an army.
Duke Sheretif staggered in the darkness, scanning his surroundings.
-Click.
Through the broken windows and torn curtains, the friction sound of heavy metal masses was heard.
Ivan raised his axe toward Duke Sheretif, who was fumbling in confusion, and Count Yelchinopov, who was gritting his teeth while holding his sword.
"Where does your loyalty lie?"
Simultaneously, between the broken windows of the salon,
On the terrace railings,
Behind the seated nobles, among the armed servants,
Agents of the intelligence headquarters appeared, aiming their weapons.