Chapter 93: The Conservation of Trash (1)

The Second Training Ground was the largest among the fields used for large-scale joint training exercises. It was frequently used a year ago, but it had become abandoned since Sefira began to face significant political pressure and the troops had scattered.

It had been neglected for a long time; its curbstones were worn, and weeds grew sparsely across the area. Devoid of human warmth, the only sound was the rustling of grass swaying in the wind.

Then, footsteps broke the silence.

Tap, tap, tap, tap!

The sound grew louder and stopped abruptly just outside the training ground.

A man arrived, breathing heavily.

“Huff, huff, huff...”

Taragon was the first to arrive. He looked as though he had run out of a bath midway; his hair was drenched, water dripping from his forehead and into his eyes. He wiped it away and scanned the area.

The training ground was vast, too large to take in with one glance, but there was no need to look around. There was no sign of anyone. The only person there was himself.

“Where is Keter?”

Keter had summoned him to the Second Training Ground.

Taragon didn’t understand what Keter exactly meant by “be the first two to arrive,” but the tone of the message was clear: come quickly, or face consequences. So, he rushed over, leaving his bath in the middle of it.

Though no one else was present, Taragon didn’t leave. He lingered, circling the area, wondering if Keter might be hiding nearby. Then, in the distance, he heard more footsteps and turned his head. The sound grew louder, and soon, another person appeared.

“Huh?”

“Oh?”

The second to arrive was Luke. Though he wasn’t participating in the tournament, he had received the same summons and came as instructed.

They stared blankly at each other for a moment. Then Luke, regaining his composure, greeted Taragon with courtesy.

“Ah, Lord Taragon. I am Sir Luke Blendere, from the First Division of the Sacred Order of Sefira.”

“Sir Luke. I’ve heard you’re Keter’s partner.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“...”

Whoosh.

𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

An awkward breeze blew between them. Under normal circumstances, they might have ignored each other and gone their separate ways, but with a shared purpose in coming here, they couldn’t leave.

With nothing else to do, Luke once again broke the silence.

“Pardon me, but may I ask what brings you here, my lord?”

“Ah... I arrived first, so I believe it’s proper for you to answer that first.”

Truthfully, Taragon didn’t feel like Keter was a younger brother. He had received advice from him and even been thoroughly beaten by him, so such feelings were only natural.

That said, he didn’t feel ashamed. Keter was someone worthy of his respect, and age differences didn’t matter in that regard. Still, Taragon wasn’t about to boast about it, so he chose to remain silent.

Luke, on the other hand, was Keter’s partner.

Confident in his connection, he said, “I came here because Keter summoned me. I was in the middle of a meal when the message arrived.”

“What? You too, Sir Luke?”

“Did Lord Keter also tell you to come here, my lord?”

The two pondered what could be going on. They began to speculate about why Keter had summoned not just one of them but multiple people at the same time.

While their imaginations ran wild, another figure arrived at the training ground.

“Lord Anis?”

“Anis?”

The third person was Anis, armed with a bow and arrows, radiating determination. However, upon seeing Taragon and Luke at the training ground instead of Keter, he looked visibly deflated.

“Where is Keter, and why are you two here?”

“Did Keter summon you here as well?”

“How did you know that?”

“I was summoned by Keter too, just like Sir Luke here.”

“What? Wait, what is this...?”

The three turned around simultaneously as another person stepped onto the training ground.

“Huh?!”

The fourth person to arrive was a middle-aged man, who looked visibly baffled upon seeing the three gathered there.

“Sir Brooks?”

“Lord Anis, Lord Taragon, and Sir Luke... Why are you all here?”

With the arrival of Brooks, the lieutenant commander of the Sacred Order of Sefira, Anis quickly realized a pattern among them.

“I think I understand now. Aside from Sir Luke, the rest of us are participants in the Sword of the South Tournament.”

“Ah, now that you mention it, that makes sense. But isn’t there an age limit for the Sword of the South Tournament? I believe it’s restricted to participants under thirty...” Taragon trailed off.

Brooks looked like he was at least in his forties, making Taragon’s suspicion seem reasonable.

Anis leaned in and whispered softly to Taragon, “Sir Brooks is twenty-five.”

“What? But... even considering that he looks old for his age, it can’t be

this

bad, right?”

“There’s a rumor that he gave up part of his lifespan to become the lieutenant commander. Either way, don’t bring it up anymore.”

“Understood...”

After their conversation, Anis cleared his throat and said, “

Hmph

, if my hunch is correct, Sir Darkin will be next to arrive.”

Almost as if on cue, another person arrived. As expected, it was Darkin, the commander of the Second Division of the Order of the Galaxy. With this, all those summoned by Keter had assembled.

“So, aside from Sir Luke, Keter has summoned all participants in the Sword of the South Tournament. But why?”

The five, who were only loosely connected at best, found themselves awkwardly waiting for Keter to arrive. At last, from a distance, they could hear the sound of footsteps at a slow, deliberate pace. They could all tell who it was just from the sound.

“He’s finally here.”

“The one who called us is the last to arrive...”

Keter, of course, was the last to arrive at the training ground. With his hands behind his back, he glanced over the group and nodded.

“Judging by how you’re all gathered here, it seems my message about ‘the first two to arrive’ was completely ignored.”

“Keter. Why did you call us here? Explain yourself.”

Anis, the most capable of pressuring Keter for answers, stepped forward. However, Keter wagged his finger.

“It’s not Keter. From now on, you’re trainees, and you’ll address me as Instructor. Luke, you’re Number One. Anis, you’re Number Two. From there, Three, Four... and you, Number Five.”

Keter gestured with his chin toward Darkin, designating him as Number Five. Enraged, Darkin shouted.

“I’m not Number Five. I’m Darkin, commander of the Second Division of the Order of the Galaxy!”

“From Number Five to Number Two, all of you are participants in the Sword of the South Tournament. So, what were you all doing before I arrived?”

Ignoring Darkin’s protest, Keter turned to question the others, excluding Luke. Once again, Anis confidently stepped forward.

“I don’t know why you’re interested in that, but I’ll tell you since we’re already here. I was practicing Chained Zodiac Archery.”

Taragon raised his wet hands and grumbled.

“I was in the middle of a bath but left midway. Didn’t even have time to dry my hair.”

Brooks gestured for Darkin to speak first, but Darkin, still fuming at being called Number Five, stubbornly refused to answer.

Left with no choice, Brooks said, “I was guiding the training of the knights under my command as lieutenant commander of the Sacred Order of Sefira.”

“I will not answer. You’re not my superior.”

As expected, Darkin refused to respond. Surprisingly, it was Anis who stepped in this time.

“Sir Darkin, you’re right. Keter isn’t your superior, nor did he ask politely. However, we’ve all answered regardless. What does it say about us if you’re the only one refusing to speak?”

Darkin bit his lip and reluctantly answered, “I was maintaining my bow.”

As soon as Darkin finished, Keter said, “Now, raise your hand if you think you can win first place in the Sword of the South Tournament.”

Not a single hand was raised. It wasn’t a matter of confidence—it was something else entirely.

“In my eyes, you’re all trash.”

Anis, Taragon, Brooks, and Darkin frowned at being called trash. Taragon, being more reserved, said nothing, but the others seemed on the verge of protest.

Yet none of them moved. Or rather, they

couldn’t

move. Keter’s sheer presence pinned them down.

After silencing the group, Keter said, “There are thirty families participating in the Sword of the South Tournament, with over two hundred contestants. Of those, fifty are just there to participate, and around ten are seriously aiming for the prize. And the rest? What do you think they’re there for?”

Keter pointed his finger at the group.

“They are there to utterly destroy you. Not street thugs, but at least two-star knights. Over a hundred of them have gathered for the sole purpose of crushing you.”

The history of the Sword of the South Tournament was long, and so was the history of Sefira. Yet, throughout that long history, Sefira has never received an invitation to the tournament.

Everyone knows why. But at this point, no one dwells on it anymore.

“Everyone’s heads are in the clouds. They think participating in the Sword of the South Tournament is some thrilling social event. Do you really believe that the people who have ignored Sefira for centuries suddenly want to share a meal, have a drink, and resolve misunderstandings? Answer me, Number Two.”

Anis, named Number Two, flinched when he was called out.

“Do you know the rules of the Sword of the South Tournament?” Keter asked.

“...It’s not too late for me to learn them at the venue.”

“No, it’ll be far too late by then. Let me enlighten you. There’s a rule: ‘No murder charges will be applied to any fatalities during the tournament.’ There’s also a rule against attacking an opponent after they surrender, which is deemed a serious crime. But do you know who enforces those rules? The tournament overseers. And do you know who those overseers are? They are dispatched from prestigious master families of swordsmanship. You are not attending a social party; you are walking straight into enemy territory.”

Keter’s voice grew sharper with each word.

“Let me paint a picture of your future. It will be miserable and humiliating. In front of tens of thousands of spectators from across the south, you will find yourselves groveling in the dirt, begging for mercy in front of the nobles.”

Keter’s blunt words made their faces flush with shame, and their muscles visibly tensed.

“I don’t care if you end up a mess. I don’t care if you lose a finger or a foot. But who are you? Who are you really? You’re knights of Sefira, bound by its bloodline. Your defeat is Sefira’s defeat. Your humiliation is Sefira’s humiliation. And what did you say you’ve been doing until now?”

Keter sighed and shook his head.

“Chained Zodiac Archery, a bath, supervising training, maintaining a bow... Do you really think that’s enough? Do you think you can survive the Sword of the South Tournament like this? It’s been two months since your participation was confirmed. What have you been doing during that time? What effort have you put in? At this rate, you might as well spend the remaining three months practicing songs and dances.”

The participants in the Sword of the South Tournament had no response.

Keter wasn’t even using his aura to suppress them anymore. He had withdrawn it long ago, as if daring them to speak up. None of them opened their mouths. Keter clicked his tongue.

“If you lack any proof, at least show some confidence. But instead, you have all been complacent, thinking that it will work out somehow. You all think, ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ You, who call yourselves Sefira’s descendants who swore allegiance to Sefira, are the very ones actively contributing to its downfall without even realizing it.”

The four members had moved past anger and into self-reproach. Their expressions were grim, and some closed their eyes tightly. They had admitted their complacency. They couldn’t deny it. Keter wasn’t exaggerating—he was just telling them the simple truth.

It was a future rooted entirely in reality. If they entered the Sword of the South Tournament as they were now, disaster was inevitable. Even facing a single knight would be overwhelming, let alone enduring coordinated attacks from dozens. For an archer, being exposed was a massive disadvantage on its own.

Keter’s words pierced them like daggers, cutting them deeply.

Just as the training ground was about to be filled with the weight of their despair, Keter suddenly grinned.

“But don’t worry.”

He showed them a confident thumbs-up.

“You’ve got me.”