章 12: Chapter 12 Peril
"Ugh, my bones feel like they're about to fall apart. These past two days have been unbearably dull!" Cain flexed his fists, the joints cracking audibly.
Lancaster, throwing on his coat, replied, "Why don't you go out for a walk? Stay holed up here any longer, and you'll start to mold."
"What's there to see?" Cain scoffed, curling his lip. "It's just Naye—I've been wandering these streets for ages."
"Tsk, tsk, listen to that arrogance!"
"I'm just telling the truth."
"Your Majesty!" Thackeray strolled in with a smile, carrying a box. "Here's some osmanthus cakes, a local specialty. You must give them a try!"
Lancaster accepted the box, and before even taking a bite, the sweet scent of osmanthus filled the room.
"Talk about good fortune. They only make one batch of these cakes a day. If you don't queue up at three in the morning, you'll never get one," Cain said, his tone tinged with envy.
Lancaster ignored him and gingerly took a bite. The silky texture softened his expression, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Careful, it's still hot inside!" Thackeray thoughtfully handed him a cup of tea.
"Damn, the heavens really are unfair. Why do I have to be dragged out of bed at dawn, while some people get to relax and be fed sweets and tea? Oh, Father of Faal, tell me why!"
"Ever heard the saying? People's fates differ," Lancaster quipped, clearly in high spirits. "Besides, look at our young master Lief, already out practicing his spear techniques at the crack of dawn. Don't you feel ashamed?"
Cain glanced out the window. Lief's small face was covered in sweat, flushed red, yet he gripped the silver spear tightly, practicing tirelessly.
"Hmph, the spear's fine, the technique's fine, but the person—" Cain wrinkled his nose, "he's a waste of it. A complete waste of talent!"
"Hah, hah!" Lief in the courtyard persisted, unaware of Cain's sharp words.
"Tch, if you don't have talent, don't force it. It's just embarrassing!" Cain turned away. "If it were me, I'd rather buy a block of tofu and bash my head against it than make such a fool of myself. It's infuriating!"
"Relax, even if I slept for another ten years, I still wouldn't lose to him!"
"Can I go now? Wake me up before the match, Your Majesty Lancaster!"
Cain's mood, already dark, grew even stormier.
Lancaster waved him off.
"Who ticked him off?" Thackeray asked, baffled.
Lancaster smirked knowingly. "I think I have a good idea." If he hadn't misheard, Cain had muttered one last thing after his "no talent" jab.
"As long as luck's on your side, who needs skill?"
Now that was worth pondering…
"Can we go now, everyone?" Manning leaned against the doorframe, looking at the two still getting dressed inside.
"Just a moment longer. Your Majesty, do you think I should wear the black one or the blue one?" Thackeray held up two outfits, comparing them against his body.
"Whatever you like."
"And should I tie my hair up or leave it down?" Thackeray continued, clearly undecided.
"Damn it, we're going to a combat tournament, not a beauty contest, you maniac!" Lancaster was utterly baffled by the dragon's obsession with appearances.
"You can't say that! Making a good impression on the audience is important, too," Thackeray said, tying his hair up with a ribbon.
"Do you know? Our next opponents are said to be quite interesting," Manning grinned as he looked at them.
"Oh? How so?" Lancaster, now fully dressed, glanced at Manning with curiosity.
"They've fought three matches so far and haven't lost a single one."
"Big deal," Thackeray scoffed.
"That's not the point," Manning waved his hand dismissively. "The interesting thing is, they've won every match using the same technique. And it's just five Mizar knights."
Lancaster frowned, looking intrigued. "How is that possible? Were their opponents all idiots? Winning twice with the same move is already unforgivable."
"That's exactly why it's so fascinating! Let's go, I can't wait any longer!"
"Let's grab Cain on the way."
The three made their way to Cain's door and knocked, but there was no response.
Lancaster pushed the door open and found Cain leaning against the window, staring intently at something outside.
"Cain!"
Startled, Cain turned around. "What the hell? You nearly gave me a heart attack. Couldn't you knock first?"
Lancaster innocently spread his hands. "I did knock. But you—what were you staring at so intensely?"
"Nothing, nothing," Cain hastily ushered them toward the door. "Just enjoying the view!"
"Oh really? The same view you said you'd long grown bored of?"
"Don't worry about it. Is it time for the match? Go fetch that little brat, I'll be right there."
After the door closed behind them, the three exchanged confused glances.
Thackeray, with his keen eyes, had caught a glimpse of what Cain had been staring at—a small figure outside the window.
"The third round of the Knight's Festival team competition will now begin. Queen's team versus the Fensa team. Will both teams please take the stage."
Five figures approached from the opposite side, wrapped tightly in black cloth, their faces obscured.
"Lancaster! Lancaster! We love you!" Lancaster had long since learned how to tune out the deafening cheers from the crowd.
Instead, his curiosity was piqued by their opponents.
"What kind of battle format do you choose?" he asked.
"Free-for-all!" the leader of the other team responded without hesitation. "We hope you'll accept our suggestion."
"And why should we?" Lancaster challenged, his eyes fixed on the masked leader.
"If you agree, as long as even one of us loses the ability to fight, we'll forfeit the match."
"Oh?" That was a generous offer. In a free-for-all, typically, the entire team had to be defeated to lose. With this rule, they could focus their attacks on a single person.
"But I'm not interested unless you show me your face." Lancaster's curiosity was genuine. Manning had already told him that despite all their matches, no one had ever seen their faces beneath the black cloth.
The man was clearly taken aback, not expecting such a request from Lancaster.
"Won't do it? Then I'll just have to take a look myself." With a swift motion, Lancaster lunged forward, his shoulder knocking aside the leader's mask. The black cloth fluttered to the ground.
A hardened face was revealed, lips tightly pressed, brows furrowed, cold and devoid of expression. Weathered by time and hardship, it was the face of a man no longer young, but with a certain rugged maturity.
The man calmly bent down, retrieved his mask, and tied it back on. "Satisfied?" he asked coolly.
Lancaster nodded. "Since I've had a look, I won't take advantage of you. If even one of us loses the ability to fight, we'll consider it our defeat as well."
As he spoke, a question nagged at him. He didn't recognize the man's face. He wasn't famous. So why the secrecy?
The six opponents bowed to them, and with the referee's signal, the match began.
In an instant, the five of them realized they were already caught in defeat.
They hadn't even managed to register the opponents' movements before they were surrounded. Overwhelming pressure bore down upon them. They could barely lift their swords to parry, their strength drained.
They were caught completely off guard.
What they saw was no longer a simple arena.
Lancaster found himself facing a vast ocean, lightning streaking across the sky as waves crashed higher and higher, sharp rocks scattered all around. One misstep and he would be smashed to pieces.
Cain, on the other hand, felt as though he were a roasting duck, the searing heat pressing down on him. All around, flames raged and thick black smoke billowed, making it hard to breathe.
Thackeray felt the moisture in his body evaporating, his feet sinking into endless sands. Above him, the scorching sun beat down, his lips cracked and dry. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to convince himself it was an illusion, but the sharp sting of sand against his face told him otherwise.
For Manning, the terror of vines entangling him was all too real. They slithered from every direction, tightening around his neck, pulling tighter and tighter.
Lief found himself surrounded by weapons—swords, spears, halberds—all controlled by some invisible force, striking at him with exquisite precision. A spear was already aimed at his chest. He closed his eyes.
Is this it?
Am I really going to die like this, in such a humiliating way?
Is this as far as I go?
No, I won't accept it. I still have so much left to do.
The audience, bewildered, could only see five figures forming a pentagon, with one person at the center, surrounded by the Queen's team.
Their movements were clumsy and slow, nothing extraordinary.
Yet, inside the ring, the five of them were pale and teetering on the edge of collapse.
"Lancaster!" "Lord Lancaster!" The girls in the stands couldn't help but rise to their feet, cheering for their idol, but their voices seemed to have no effect.
He was about to fall.
An elder in the VIP section furrowed his brow, closely observing the battlefield. "What kind of formation is this?"
He strained to remember. "One large array, five smaller ones... five edges, five points..."
"It's... it's the Five-Petaled Orchid!"
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