Chapter 37. 18. The Great Challenge of the Perennial Failure
"I was someone no one had any expectations for..."
"..."
"But I'll show them. That I can do it."
Heavy and serious dialogue that some might find cringe-worthy.
But none of the audience mocked Rumian.
They were already immersed in the solemn atmosphere he had created.
Instead, many people grew curious about Rumian's words. No one had any expectations for him—why on earth would he say such a thing?
The answer came immediately.
"That guy was dead last in his grade until last year."
"He was overwhelmingly last place. Failed every exam and had to take make-up tests... I never thought he'd make it to the finals. He did suddenly take first place in the last exam, but still..."
Stories about Rumian popped up here and there.
People finally understood and looked at the stage with realization.
Of course, if he had always been dead last, no one would have had any expectations for him. They might have even looked down on him.
But the fact that he had made it this far meant he had completely shed that pitiful past.
Therefore, the audience didn't mock Rumian. Instead, they began to view him more favorably for climbing up from the very bottom.
Of course, Karl Krone was different.
Heh.
He let out a faint laugh.
He had met countless guys who stood in this place to defeat him, who had worked tirelessly without resting for even a moment.
And he made all of them kneel before him.
This guy would be no different. He admitted that he had been somewhat surprised, but now that he had decided to give it his all, the game was over.
'I'm satisfied that I brought out my full strength.'
Karl Krone stopped smiling.
His cold expression, as if wearing an iron mask, created a dangerous yet alluring impression. Screams burst from the mouths of several women.
The referee's voice announcing the start of the match rang out. Karl Krone immediately moved toward Rumian.
Boom! Boom!
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Footsteps that erased the distance in an instant. And seven attacks swung in rapid succession.
A groan leaked from between Rumian's clenched teeth. Barely succeeding in his defense, he staggered backward.
One step, Karl Krone's body retreated.
Then, with a single breath, the fierce attack began again.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Karl Krone's attacks were overwhelming.
Fluid yet sharp, and heavy. Beautiful and merciless, like the fluttering of a steel butterfly.
The audience held their breath at the shocking skill that couldn't be seen at a cadet level.
It wasn't until after Karl Krone finished over twenty attacks and stepped back that the sound of breathing escaped their lips.
"Can you handle it?"
"Hoo, huk, huup."
Rumian couldn't answer Karl Krone's words.
It had been a brief exchange, but he was clearly in a difficult spot. Seeing his rough breathing, Karl Krone smiled that alluring smile again.
"I'll come at you once more, so show me. That you can do it."
Having finished speaking, Karl Krone charged for the third time.
Rumian raised his sword with a hardened expression.
***
Boom! Crash!
The sound of swords clashing echoed endlessly through the arena. Almost no other sounds could be heard. At most, only the sound of breathing.
It was strange.
This wasn't an art museum where silence was enforced, nor a concert hall. This was a sword tournament where people should be shouting to cheer someone on.
To watch the match silently without saying a word on such a stage—what kind of behavior was that?
But no one raised any questions about it.
Boom!
Crash!
Craaash!
"Tch!"
Karl Krone, who had attempted three consecutive vertical slashes, stepped back with an annoyed expression. His gaze turned to his opponent before him.
Already exhausted to the extreme. If he pushed just a little more, he could suppress the last-place rebel's uprising and easily claim the glory of victory.
...How many times had he thought that?
He didn't know. He gave up counting anymore.
"Hoo, hoo."
"Kuhek, kheup, heuup, hak!"
Karl Krone took deep breaths, his shoulders heaving.
He had prided himself on stamina more than twice as good as others, but before he knew it, he felt tired and strained. Of course, it couldn't compare to Rumian. The guy looked like he was on the verge of death.
That was why it was even more absurd.
How on earth was that guy still standing?
In a situation where not just his stamina but even his mental strength and willpower should have hit rock bottom, how was he receiving his sword?
As he had that thought, Rumian's footsteps headed toward him.
And then a diagonal slash of tremendous power came flying in.
Clang!
"Ugh!"
Karl Krone quickly raised his sword to block the attack, wearing an absurd expression.
To think he was attacking in this situation. It was ridiculous.
He couldn't accept it. He had let his guard down for a moment, but allowing an attack from someone who had been pushed back the whole time left a deep wound on his pride.
He roared loudly and charged forward.
"Kuaaaah!"
Boom! Crash! Clang!
And so the storm of the steel butterfly began again.
Karl Krone's wing beats poured down cruelly, and Rumian blocked them. Stumbling, coughing. He barely, barely managed to block while screaming through his body and mouth.
They endured like that for thirty minutes.
Finally, Karl Krone could no longer deny Rumian Callad.
"Heok, heok, how on earth, heup, huk, can you endure, huup, this much?"
"Kuup, heok, heoook!"
Now even Karl Krone's breathing had become seriously rough.
Of course, Rumian's condition was much worse, but that had been true from the beginning. Rather, the fear that he might be the first to hit the bottom began to settle in Karl Krone's mind.
Karl Krone, who had leaped back, glared at Rumian with burning eyes. As if demanding an answer.
He didn't even think about whether giving time to a tired opponent was wise. He just thought he had to hear an answer from Rumian's mouth somehow.
Perhaps Rumian had read Karl Krone's heart.
Barely catching his breath, a low monologue spilled from Rumian's lips.
"I was a perennial failure that everyone mocked and ridiculed."
"..."
"Classmates, seniors, juniors, professors—no one had any expectations for me. No one ever told me I could do it."
It was certainly a monologue.
It wasn't words directed at Karl Krone. The sound itself wasn't loud enough to be heard by someone far away.
Like a spell to steady his own heart, the words flowed out slowly and weakly.
But everyone watching the stage through the magical projection could hear his monologue.
"That's why I can't sit down now."
"..."
"Until I show them, I can't fall."
With those final words, Rumian's feet moved again.
Karl Krone, who had been overwhelmed by Rumian's spirit, quickly came to his senses. Then, with a grunt, he charged forward to meet him.
The match resumed once more.
It was a tragic yet beautiful sight.
The handsome nobleman with furrowed brows, and the stubborn challenger who staggered yet refused to fall—it was like a well-crafted play. No, it held a deep emotion that no mere play could capture.
The audience couldn't even think about cheering for either one, simply clasping their hands together and watching the stage.
'The atmosphere is even better than I expected.'
Of course, Teoro was different from them.
With a cold expression devoid of any emotion, he surveyed the audience's faces.
'I thought the lines and actions were a bit excessive, but since the atmosphere was set up well, there's no problem.'
The atmosphere in the arena was exactly as he and Rumian had intended.
He could tell just by looking at the audience's eyes. They were now imagining Rumian's past in their own ways.
The mistreatment Rumian must have endured.
The ridicule Rumian must have endured.
The patience, willpower, and effort Rumian must have poured out to overcome it all!
They were probably being painted in their minds in their own ways. In hundreds, thousands of forms.
And none of those stories would be anything but beautiful.
This created a much more favorable atmosphere than originally anticipated.
'Still, the women's expressions are a bit concerning.'
Teoro checked several women with sharp eyes. They seemed to be in a dazed state, swept away by Rumian's earnestness.
But Teoro knew. The moment Rumian beat Karl Krone, the well-crafted play would shatter and they would wake from their dreams. And once again, an atmosphere unfavorable to Rumian would form.
They might not accept Karl Krone's defeat and might hurl insults at the victor, Rumian.
Karl Krone's influence over the ladies was that tremendous. So great that even with all kinds of staging, it would be hard to overcome.
'Winning really has too much risk... let's go with the original plan.'
Having made his decision, Teoro sent a signal to Rumian.
It was merely a simple hand gesture, but Rumian perceived it ghost-like. And he slightly nodded his head.
Seeing this, Teoro shook his head back and forth.
To have such monstrous skill, such monstrous vision, and yet have been dead last all last year. It couldn't be understood by common sense.
Of course, Teoro's absurdity wasn't important to Rumian right now.
Only finishing the finals splendidly was important. He focused his eyes.
"Haaaaap!"
At just the right moment, Karl Krone was charging in.
Judging by his eyes and spirit, he seemed intent on ending this long fight with this one blow.
It was welcome to Rumian as well. With an exhausted expression, he ran forward to meet him.
For reference, the exhaustion wasn't acting. He was truly tired enough to die.
The aftereffects of using aura imagery excessively were simply too great. He wanted to collapse on a bed and sleep right now.
Of course, even in such a difficult state, he had more than enough ability to create the desired ending.
"Haaaaaaat!"
Rumian roared roughly. Along with it, his sword extended with heavy spirit.
At a similar speed to Karl Krone's sword. Toward a similar area.
However, Rumian's sword didn't reach its intended target and stopped abruptly.
Having placed his sword beside Karl Krone's neck, he breathed roughly.
"Heok, heok!"
"Hup, huup, hak!"
And Karl Krone was the same.
Two participants, each with their sword placed at the left side of the other's neck, breathing heavily as if about to collapse at any moment.
The referee who had been watching them hurriedly ran over and shouted.
"M-Match stop! Match stop!"
"What? What happened?"
"Stop?"
The referee declared a halt in a situation where neither side's hand could be raised. Then entered a meeting with several match officials.
People expressed their surprise at the completely unexpected result and shared their thoughts.
"What? So what happens now? Is it a draw?"
"Rumian was at a disadvantage the whole time, wouldn't it be a bit odd to end it like this?"
"Hey, you should praise him for creating a tied situation while being disadvantaged. Giving it to Karl Krone just because he was pushed earlier makes even less sense."
"Well, well."
The reaction of Karl Krone's superior victory was extremely rare. Most of the audience, even the referee and match officials, and the Knight Academy professors, thought handling it as a draw was right.
But there was one person who agreed with neither side's opinion.
Sir Bucal, a high-ranking knight of Zenas who had been watching the finals from the main seat, gripped the armrest of his chair tightly and thought.
'Rumian... that boy, he's intentionally hiding his true ability!'