Chapter 182: I Always Stick To My Contract (1)

Norman had actually been a slime-type monster, and a high-rank dark mage had attempted to assassinate Eslow. This was clearly a catastrophe, and the tournament official knew what to do in such a disaster scenario.

Gripping a staff imbued with amplification magic, the announcer made a public declaration to the citizens and participants.

“Dear citizens. Due to the appearance of a high-rank dark mage, we are now under a level-two state of emergency. The tournament is temporarily suspended, and the city will be sealed to root out any potential accomplices of the dark mage. Until the situation is resolved, your safety will be ensured by the Order of the Iron Knights under Lord Eslow’s command and the Eslow Public Security Army.”

Halting the tournament and closing the city was a textbook response.

“How long are we supposed to stay in this city?” asked one of the knights, anxious.

The announcer shook his head.

“There is no set deadline, just until the dark mage is caught.”

“What about the tournament?”

“That, too, will resume once the dark mage is apprehended.”

“Resume? You don’t mean we have to start from the beginning, do you?”

“That decision is up to Lord Eslow.”

“...!”

The idea of restarting the tournament from the beginning stirred unrest among the crowd and turned the participants’ faces sour.

The most frustrated of all were the three Sefira brothers. Keter was a strong contender for the championship, and now they were talking about starting over? Of course, even if the tournament were reset, it was unthinkable that Keter would lose, but it still meant wasting at least another month.

This was an outcome Keter himself didn’t want either.

Worst case scenario, that means another month of this nonsense? I’d rather give up the Bow of the South altogether.

It wasn’t just an annoyance. He had already achieved his goal to display Sefira’s strength and his own to tens of thousands of people. Considering this, not becoming the Sword of the South was nothing but a minor regret.

I have nothing more to do in this city and tournament, and I have to spend another month here? Just thinking about it is hell.

Resting was only satisfying when one was busy; resting because there was nothing to do wasn’t rest—it was just wasted time.

And besides, not even Eslow will be able to catch Ailos so easily.

The tournament officials also said they would only resume once Ailos was caught. But if it was the Ailos Keter knew, he wouldn’t be caught that easily. Sure, if Eslow truly got serious, he would probably manage it, but...

It’ll take at least three months.

Keter couldn’t be bothered to wait one, let alone three. He was ready to withdraw and leave the city. Then...

Whoosh... Boom!!

A sonic boom rang out, and something descended from the sky, landing hard. Leaving clear imprints on the orichalcum ring, Eslow appeared.

Stepping off the ring, he said, “Resume the tournament.”

There was a tinge of anger in his voice. Only Keter knew why.

He lost Ailos.

Whatever Ailos had wanted, and whatever Eslow had failed to stop—none of it mattered now. Eslow’s command overrode all tournament rules that were announced earlier, and even the announcer didn’t argue.

Excuses to not resume the tournament, such as wounded participants, the panicked crowd, the wrecked arena—none of that would sway Eslow.

“L-Lord Eslow has ordered the tournament to resume. The winner of the match between Sir Rajis and Sir Norman is Sir Rajis. The next match is between Sir Maxid and Sir Aman. Please come up to the ring.”

Maxid and Aman climbed into the ring, but they were in no shape to fight. Though healed with elixirs, their torn armor revealed just how severe their earlier injuries had been.

“All non-participants, please exit the ring. The match will begin immediately.”

Even the alchemists from Zarbella, who had been cleaning up, retreated without protest.

However, Maxid and Aman didn’t seem inclined to fight. To them, the ninth Sword of the South had already been determined. They both raised their hands in unison.

“I forfeit.”

“I forfeit as well.”

The announcer looked troubled.

“Forfeiting on-site without special circumstances is...”

He was about to say it was prohibited when Eslow glared at him. The announcer would later recall that moment, saying it felt like his head was on fire; even though Eslow had only looked at him, he had thought he was going to die.

“The forfeits are accepted.”

The announcer caught on quickly, and the rest of the participants followed suit.

“I forfeit.”

Those seriously injured or already dead were, of course, disqualified automatically.

Then came Henya’s turn. She looked troubled. She had a reason she had to become the Sword of the South, and she had sworn never to give up. But...

It’s over.

Even if she didn’t forfeit and fought Rajis, and even if she beat him and miraculously defeated Keter in the finals, she still wouldn’t win on points. Now that hope was gone, there was no reason to cling to delusions.

“I forfeit.”

Henya declared her withdrawal, but her eyes didn’t look like someone who had given up.

Not becoming the Sword of the South doesn’t mean my life is over.

She would find another path. As Wid had said, living was what mattered most. As long as she lived, there would be other chances.

Thanks to the flurry of forfeits, the finals were decided in just five minutes: Rajis against Keter. Rajis, the only one who hadn’t forfeited, stepped onto the ring with a calm expression.

Gulp.

The arena, filled with tens of thousands of people, was so quiet that the sound of swallowing echoed. Despite Norman, the slime monster, the high-ranking dark mage, and all the chaos and casualties, everyone had waited for the match between Keter and Rajis.

Even those groaning in pain forced themselves to stay just to witness it. They assumed that Rajis, since he didn’t forfeit, maybe wanted to give his shot against Keter.

But then, Rajis let the crowd down by saying, “I forfeit.”

Just like the others, he gave up without a fight. The crowd let out a groan of disappointment.

Someone even blurted out, “Giving up without even trying... That’s disgraceful for a knight.”

No one had said a word when the other knights forfeited, but everyone condemned Rajis’ decision. And yet, he wasn’t angry. Instead, he said what no other knight had dared to.

“I am not giving up. I am acknowledging.”

He slowly turned and met the eyes of every person present, from the crowd to the knights to Eslow himself, as if seeking their permission.

“In this tournament, Sir Keter has proven his courage, leadership, and overwhelming strength. I believe there is no one here who would deny that he is the greatest knight in the south.”

Everyone was silent. No one could deny Keter’s unmatched bravery and skill during the battle royale and onwards.

“Of course, Sir Keter is not a perfect knight. He has his shortcomings.”

Rajis didn’t specify it, such as his character or abrasive personality, but everyone knew it.

“But even so, there is no one more deserving of the Sword of the South—no, the Bow of the South—than Sir Keter. And so, I forfeit.”

He voiced what the other knights were too ashamed to say and stepped down from the ring with pride. No one disagreed with Keter’s victory. The only disappointment was not seeing the match between him and Rajis.

The announcer looked to Eslow, who gave a faint nod.

The announcer climbed into the ring and stood beside Keter.

“...And thus, the winner of the individual tournament is Sir Keter. Although Sir Rajis’ points are tied with Sir Keter’s, the rules dictate that in case of a tie, the one who placed higher in the individual tournament is the winner. Therefore, the final champion of the Ninth Sword of the South Tournament is Sir Keter of Sefira!”

The announcer officially declared Keter’s victory. Just as the crowd began to erupt in cheers, Eslow said, “Tomorrow, we will hold the Bow of the South appointment ceremony.”

“...!”

Eslow left right after those words, but their impact was enormous. He had acknowledged Keter’s victory on the spot and had declared the appointment himself. This meant that all the southern nobles were now obligated to attend. They would because this was politics; to miss such a historic moment would be unthinkable. But among them was one person who wasn’t looking forward to it.

Damn it!

Galahind was burning with rage inside. The allied nobles seated beside him were also frowning. Their goal had always been the downfall of Sefira and to strip it of everything it had and claiming it for themselves. They had invested a tremendous amount of time and effort into this plan. And yet, it was an undeniable failure—a total disaster.

They had poured so much money and manpower into this operation, and they had gained absolutely nothing. They had lost millions in gold and dozens of knights had either died or lost their limbs. Worse yet, Sefira, once considered all but dead, had come back to life. There was no news worse than this.

“What do we do now?” Bristan whispered in Galahind’s ear.

Galahind frowned and replied, “What do you mean, what do we do? You plan to quit now, after coming this far? We kill him.”

“Keter, you mean?”

“That bastard is still human. If we target the carriage returning to Sefira, we can kill him for sure.”

Because Galahind and the allied nobles had been among the first to flee, they hadn’t seen Keter’s performance properly. If they had seen him survive four ultimate sword techniques with his bare body, they would have never dared to do something like that. But Galahind, stubborn in his ignorance, couldn't let it go.

I poured so much money and time into this plan!

It wasn't perseverance; it was desperation. It was the sunk-cost fallacy that drove him to lose even more to recover what he had already lost.

Galahind looked around at the nobles who had sided with him: Delmore, Eiwen, and Bristan.

“This is our last chance. We cannot allow Sefira to return home. We must kill them all and crush their family’s foundation, especially Keter. That bastard...”

They had already boarded the same boat, or rather, the back of a flying wyvern. None of the nobles could afford to back out now.

They nodded grimly, and watching them from afar was Keter.

* * *

The Sefira brothers returned to the hotel, but Keter didn’t go with them. Instead, he met with Ultima.

Ultima handed Keter a glass filled to the brim with premium whiskey and said, “Congratulations, Keter. You really did become the Sword—no, the Bow of the South.”

Keter downed the drink in a single gulp, then tossed the empty glass back at Ultima.

“I kept my promise. Now it’s your turn.”

“Ah, you mean the Aleron Merchant Company?”

Ultima had placed a ten-million-gold bet with the head of the Aleron Merchant Company that if Keter became the Sword of the South, he would receive control of the entire company. And in exchange for winning the bet, Ultima had promised to give Keter twenty percent of the company’s shares.

“As promised, I’ll hand over twenty percent of the company’s shares to you.”

“Haha, that’s a given. But that’s not the promise I’m talking about.”

“...You mean now is that moment?”

Back when they first met, Keter had proposed that Ultima go into business with him. But at the time, Ultima had been skeptical. He wasn’t sure if Keter could really protect him, so he didn’t fully commit. Keter had accepted that fact. So, he told Ultima when the time came, he should betray Galahind and side with him completely. And now, Keter was asking Ultima to make that choice again.

“You won’t get a better moment than this, will you?”

“Hmm...!”

“Well, it’s your choice.”

Keter didn’t like to talk too much. He patted Ultima once on the shoulder, then walked away.

“...”

Left alone, Ultima took a swig straight from the bottle of strong whiskey. Wiping his mouth, he pointed to the side. From the shadows, a masked man emerged.

“You heard everything?”

“Yes.”

“You understand what it means?”

“Yes.”

“Get ready.”

“Yes.”

The masked man disappeared back into the shadows.

Ultima let out a soft chuckle and muttered to himself, “Better to live as a dragon’s tail than a lion’s head.”

* * *

The ceremony for the ninth Bow of the South was held in Eslow’s palace. Only nobles were in attendance. People had gathered not just those from the south but also from other regions, so nearly a hundred had gathered.

The location was a simple military parade ground within the palace, with nothing more than a modest podium set up. After a brief moment, Butler Two appeared as Eslow’s representative and made the announcement:

“Keter El Sefira is hereby officially appointed as the ninth Sword of the South. However, given that he uses a bow as his primary weapon, the title will exceptionally be rendered as Bow of the South, not sword.”

It was such a brief and anticlimactic ceremony that it almost felt absurd.

Clap, clap, clap!

Most nobles applauded with such force their hands might burst, showering Keter with congratulations. But among them were a few who merely pretended to clap, such as Galahind and his allied nobles.

They had no choice but to attend the ceremony because of Eslow, but they clearly disapproved of Keter becoming the Bow of the South. Still, they were smart enough to know that voicing opposition would be meaningless, so they remained silent.

“The appointment ceremony is now concluded.”

As Butler Two stepped down from the podium, Galahind rose from his seat.

“Let’s leave. I don’t want to stay here a second longer.”

The three nobles allied with him also rose from their seats, but they weren’t allowed to leave.

“Please sit back down.”

A knight from the Order of the Immortal Knights firmly pressed down on Galahind’s shoulder, his voice grave.

Galahind was stunned. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Other nobles were equally confused as Immortal Knights suddenly emerged from all sides, surrounding them.

Then, a man went to the podium. It was Jeffrey.

He looked down over the gathering and said, “Greetings. I am Jeffrey Edmund, Captain of the Twenty-Second Division of the Order of the Immortal Knights. I’m not much for speeches, so I’ll get straight to the point.”

His emotionless yet piercing gaze swept across the assembled nobles, until it stopped at one man.

“Huh?!”

Galhind flinched in terror as Jeffrey met his eyes. He didn’t understand.

Why me? Why is he looking at me?

“We now begin a summary trial for Marquis Galahind, a traitor who disgraced the sacred Sword of the South Tournament with vile schemes.”

“W-what did you just say?!”

Galahind’s eyes bulged as if they might pop from his skull.