Hugo "I assumed you found such gatherings uncomfortable."
Seated on the high seat, Hugo murmured quietly while staring ahead. His voice was so discreet it did not reach the front-row guests or the lines of knights behind, but the person seated beside him heard it clearly.
Gladia Agrizendro, straight-backed, also kept her gaze forward and spoke.
"I'm tired of noisy places. Must I really be absent from an event held on a family estate?"
"That is a correct sentiment."
Hugo replied formally. Gladia smirked, as if she sensed the remark's double edge. It was a minimal reaction — too slight for anyone who had not been watching closely to notice.
"It's a merely ceremonial birthday, but as the house matriarch I must offer my congratulations in person. You'll retreat to the manor again on the day itself, after all."
Gladia was one of the few who knew why the duke did not relish his birthday. Her implication — that she had come so he would not be alone — landed as a familiar yet cutting irony.
"I am honored."
Hugo answered without changing expression. Inside, however, he felt something more complex. If he parsed the matron's words literally, they sounded as if she had come out of duty for a lonely man who had no one at his side. Of course, her intent was more likely sarcasm.
Her reference to "the manor" meant the Agrizendro family estate. Even considering its ducal provenance, calling the house a manor was somewhat grandiose. It skirted the line of sounding pretentious enough to be dangerous.
Still, Gladia often referred to the duke's residence as a manor — it had once been a royal palace used by the Logia royal family — and the term was not entirely false. Yet today Hugo found the word particularly uncomfortable.
He vaguely perceived how the house matriarch, who had lionized the family and prided herself on its legacy, might view him. As a purported illegitimate son of the previous duke and a masked Bermudan origin used to obscure his bloodline, his birthday was less a birth anniversary than the day he was secretly entered into the Agrizendro family: a false birthday marking the death of his true self and the birth of a noble façade.
The matron, being both his kin and mentor in the laws and rites that made the current Agrizendro duke possible, had always been a double-edged presence. She was the source of his authority and also a rival in the power struggles for his seat.
Remembering such accepted facts, Hugo dismissed the odd hope he had felt when Gladia earlier ascended the steps and extended her hand.
Between the two of them, sitting motionless like perfect plaster statues, flowed the unique coldness of a legitimate bloodline. Their matching pairs of blue eyes were chillingly alike, as if they truly shared blood.
As the arena's glittering waters and noise began to fade into the background, Gladia broke the pair’s silence again.
"I reminded him several times to be careful because he is tall. Being large beyond mere sturdiness makes one appear clumsy and foolish."
Hugo's blue eyes flicked aside reflexively, then downward to his chest. The buttons on the uniform he had newly tailored last year strained. After returning from the campaign he had rebuilt lost muscle and spent months training to relieve stress and regain strength.
"I will keep that in mind."
"Inflating one's size to intimidate is an animal's move. A proper noble displays authority with a word or a glance."
"Is that so?"
Hugo averted his gaze and adjusted his tie and the button of his uniform. A soundless sigh escaped him.
Unexpected words followed.
"You still have time, so at least keep yourself tidy until next month."
Hugo's hand, which had been smoothing his collar, fell. He blinked slowly and turned to the seat beside him.
"What do you mean?"
Gladia still faced forward.
"A suitable match has been proposed. The duke should start preparing."
***
22?
The match allowed twenty-six passers. Realizing only four spots remained, the mask he had been about to tear off the sadist flew behind him in an instant.
An hour ago there were eleven.
Twisting in midair, Leonardo Blaine's heel struck the opponent. The boldly swung right leg only brushed the edge of the cloak and instead wrapped itself in the whip.
Is it possible for another eleven to pass within an hour? Did I miss something?
He tried to sever the black cord tightening around his ankle before anything else, but danger found him faster than the whip’s melt point. The sadist had been swinging his captive Leonardo through stamen columns, lakes, and rocky ridges like a mortar shell, hurling him against every obstacle.
Fortunately, Leonardo triggered an air burst midflight to alter his trajectory and narrowly avoided impact. He charged again using the same tactic, but the vexing weapon remained the issue.
First, I have to deal with that...
The whip split into two as easily as tearing clay. One coiled rapidly around a stamen and drove forward; the other lashed through the air to check Leonardo's grip. Extending and shortening, dividing in half, and feeling like a part of its wielder's body, its versatility denied even aerial combat specialist Leonardo any clear advantage.
Leonardo fired two red rays to halt the opponent’s agile motions. The projectiles arced through the air to the enemy's vicinity but exploded alone in empty sky before striking the target.
"...?"
The blast knocked off several stamen protrusions nearby and the tower's column trembled for an instant. Amid the cloud of debris and dust, a black harpoon glittered. Startled, Leonardo twisted his head and a sharp spearhead whizzed past his temple.
Time seemed to slow. He recognized the opponent's silver-masked eyes staring directly at him within a mere thirty centimeters. Making a split-second decision, Leonardo hooked the passing spear shaft with a glancing jaw move and snatched it with his hand. The shaft melted like liquid and wound around his wrist.
He transformed the whip into a spear.
Knowing he had to become the bait to attack, Leonardo offered his left wrist to the enemy. Then, instead of charging in, he twisted the whip in his grasp and launched himself full speed toward the stamen tower.
Grasping an enemy's weapon made his palm tingle and his whole body heat, but he paid it no mind. Leonardo spun the rope-like line in the air and hurled the opponent toward the tower with force.
When the black whip hooked the upright column, the two suspended figures began to be dragged, centrifugal force working as if metal had been added. Rotating on different trajectories, they were pulled toward the central pillar.
Following the force, Leonardo increased speed and circled the tower. The opponent could not fly but used the whip as a means of movement; unless he too was willing to die, he would never release the whip.
The enemy tried to use the whip in his other hand to grab a protrusion and escape the trap. But the acceleration already attached to both bodies had reached its peak, and the protrusion snapped without providing support. As the black cord tightened around the tower's exterior, Leonardo clenched a searing orb of flame in his right hand and charged at the approaching foe.
The silver mask seemed to anticipate Leonardo’s intent; despite being ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) dragged, the opponent steadied his pose in midair.
Seeing his target in range, Leonardo twisted his mouth.
"I've got your pattern down."
A spear-transformed whip plunged to pierce his right hand. Leonardo willingly offered his right hand, raising his sparking left hand beside his head.
