The battle royale of Group B ended as a one-man show hosted by none other than Keter. The match began with him throwing all the badges he acquired into the sea so no one else could claim them. Then, he went on to defeat nearly every other participant. He even dove into the ocean to beat Pashian to a pulp after the latter tried to escape by diving underwater. So what did Keter do after collecting all the badges? Instead of throwing them all away again, he handed twenty badges each to Pashian and Henya, forcing them to score seven points. Keter himself also left the island holding twenty badges. “I’ll give a little hope to the ones who fared the best.” With the ownership of all badges now decided, the match ended. The remaining thirty badges sank to the bottom of the ocean. Naturally, all the other participants in Group B scored zero. After the match, the tournament organizers made an announcement through the large screen to the audience. “Tomorrow’s Group C match has been postponed by three days due to maintenance on the island.” Three days were needed to restore the island that Keter had turned upside down. Surprisingly, the audience did not express any disappointment. They were consumed with only one man and his name: Keter, and Sefira. Just speculating amongst themselves wasn’t enough anymore; the audience surrounded the carriage storage area next to the arena, hoping to catch a glimpse of Keter and the Sefira family. Even the nobles were no different. They lined up by rank, waiting for a chance to exchange even a few words with any member of Sefira. Among them were members of Marquis Galahind’s alliance. Just as the tension peaked… The sound of heavy boots hitting the ground made the crowd part as a unit of knights stormed the storage area. People gasped. “The Order of the Immortal Knights!” “That’s His Grace’s personal order!” Wearing pitch-black armor and skull masks, the Immortal Knights exuded a terrifying presence. They didn’t need to ask people to move—everyone did so instinctively. Leading them was the only knight without a skull mask: Jeffrey Edmund. “That’s the knight who cut down Marquis Galahind’s butler in a single stroke.” “But why is His Grace’s knight order here?” “It has to be because of Keter! He used magic! They’ve come to judge him on the spot!” While the tournament had no rule against magic, the kingdom’s law forbade it; the use of magic by anyone not authorized by the crown was strictly prohibited. Only royal mages were permitted to use magic. So the crowd waited even more eagerly for the Sefira family to appear. How would they respond? What defense would they give? Finally, the Sefira family emerged under the protection of the Order of the Galaxy. Myle and Anis looked calm, while Taragon looked visibly tense. Keter swept his gaze over the crowd and muttered, “I’m starving. Let’s head home and eat.” The nobles were enraged by Keter’s brazen attitude, but none dared step up. There was no need to, as the Immortal Knights were here. Not even Rajis, the Sword Dragon of Garcia, could move ahead of Jeffrey Edmund. With thousands of eyes on them, Jeffrey stepped in front of the Sefira family. A frigid air settled over the crowd as people feared he might draw his sword. Then, he moved his arm. Everyone’s eyes widened in anticipation, and beads of sweat rolled down their foreheads, even though the weather was cold. Jeffrey bent his right knee and placed his clenched left fist to his chest. “His Grace sends his congratulations on your victory, Lord Keter.” Commoners and nobles alike questioned what they had just heard. For centuries, Eslow, the lord of this region, had shown no interest in the Sword of the South Tournament. He barely cared about the human world at all. And yet now he was congratulating Keter through the Immortal Knights. Plus, he was the one who defeated Henya, Eslow’s daughter. However, Jeffery addressed him with the utmost respect, even though he was a potential suspect for using magic. “Please board the carriage. The Immortal Knights will escort you.” The nobles couldn’t contain themselves. No one in history had ever received an escort from the Immortal Knights. They followed only Eslow’s direct orders, and Eslow had never shown anyone such courtesy. “Th-then… that means Sefira really did enter His Grace’s palace as guests!” One young noble’s voice sent the rest spiraling. Everyone had known the Sefira family was staying in the palace, but they all assumed they were prisoners or hostages. That’s the only choice they had because no one—not a single person—had ever entered Eslow’s palace as a guest. How could Sefira, the weakest of the noble houses, gain such favor from one of the Four Lords of the kingdom? But now, Jeffrey had declared it publicly: Sefira was a guest of Eslow. It was no longer something anyone could deny. Trying to deny it now would be like trying to deny that the sky was blue. It wasn’t just the nobles that were shocked; even Sefira’s three brothers were stunned. They never imagined Eslow would support them to this extent. They had actually feared they would be branded traitors for turning the island into rubble by using what seemed like magic. And yet, here were the Immortal Knights offering them an escort. “Do you still have business here, my lord?” Jeffrey asked, seeing that Myle hadn’t moved. Myle cleared his throat and finally responded, “Ahem. My apologies. We’ll thank His Grace in person once we return to the palace.” Myle infused his voice with a minor sorcery spell, allowing all in the crowd to hear him. He had just bragged that Sefira was close to Eslow; after all, a southern noble known to be familiar to the Lord of the South could only be advantageous. The Sefira family boarded the carriage, and the Immortal Knights escorted them toward the palace. No one dared to stand in their way. Even if someone had multiple lives, challenging Eslow’s knights was unthinkable. Not even Galahind, despite his considerable influence, could do anything but storm off in frustration. As the remaining nobles watched the carriage disappear into the distance… The door of the moving carriage burst open, and someone ran out. Keter flipped through the air and landed gracefully on the ground. He strolled straight toward the nobles. They didn’t understand what was going on. Why did he jump from the carriage? Why are the Immortal Knights letting him go? And why is he coming toward us? Whatever the case, none of the nobles wanted to leave. Standing before hundreds of nobles, Keter rubbed his stomach and asked casually, “Anyone buying me lunch?” The outcome of the Sword of the South Tournament rapidly spread across the kingdom. Henya’s declaration to participate, Sefira’s remarkable showing, and Keter’s appearance—every detail reached the ears of the nobility, objectively and without exaggeration. Yet they did not believe it—or rather, they couldn’t believe that Sefira had defeated every knight and contender in the tournament. The most unbelievable claim was that Keter, a so-called illegitimate son of Sefira, entered as an independent participant and displayed the power of an army by himself. Who could believe that he destroyed an entire island with a single arrow, defeated Henya and Pashian, both Masters, and even offered them advice afterward? Everyone was on edge about Keter’s identity, and naturally, intense interest turned toward his family, Sefira. They were curious about their response to this and what kind of measures they were taking. The nobles assumed that Sefira wouldn’t be able to respond properly. After all, they were weak at intelligence warfare and politics. But what they didn’t know was this: all information from the tournament was being relayed in real time to Sefira’s mansion via sorcery by Myle. Someone was processing countless documents in the office. It wasn’t Besil; this person was much younger and larger in build. In addition, two elders sat on either side of him, assisting with the paperwork. It was Panir and Reganon, now fully reformed thanks to Keter. It was Hissop, the eldest son of Sefira and the deputy patriarch who had recently returned to the estate. Only the sounds of flipping paper and quill scratches echoed in the office. Then, Hissop set down his pen and rose from his seat. “It’s lunchtime. Please go eat, Lord Panir and Lord Reganon.” Panir removed his glasses and replied, “If you’re thinking of skipping lunch to keep working alone again, don’t bother.” Reganon, still holding his pen, added, “You cannot overwork yourself because you are young. Just look at your father, Besil. He may not show it, but the dark circles under his eyes are no joke.” Despite their concern, Hissop smiled gently. “I will consider it punishment for pushing our old elders so hard.” “Hmph. Why are all of Besil’s children so stubborn?” As Panir complained, the office door opened. It was Suvide, the head butler. He held a sealed parchment in his hand. Clearly, it was of great importance. Bowing, Suvide handed the document over with both hands. Hissop, without even opening it, passed it to Panir. “Please review this with Lord Reganon first.” Suvide smiled with satisfaction at Hissop’s habit of sharing key information with the elders. “Any word from my father, Butler Suvide?” Hissop asked. “No, but there’s no need to worry. He’s eating far better than before. It seems he has regained his will to live.” The reason Besil was absent and Hissop was acting as patriarch in his place was that he had entered secluded training on the very same day he visited Sefiras’s Sanctuary. “I can’t promise when I’ll return. Call Hissop. Support him as deputy patriarch of Sefira.” With that, Besil left with Gasilius, the commander of the Order of the Galaxy, for training. Panir, Reganon, and Suvide, the three central members of Sefira, were worried whether Hissop could truly lead the family as deputy patriarch. Serving as the family’s external representative and governing the entire family were entirely different matters. Nearly ten thousand lives rested on his shoulders—a heavy burden even Besil had difficulty carrying. In addition, power was capable of changing a man. Even the kindest farmer could become a tyrant when given authority. But these worries were unnecessary, as the very day Hissop returned to Sefira, he visited the Suvide, Panir, and Reganon and bowed deeply. “If there’s anything I lack, no matter how small, please don’t hesitate to tell me. I sincerely ask for your support.” Thanks to Hissop’s humility and determination, the Sefira estate remained stable, even without Besil. The soldiers, knights, and vassals trusted him without question. “You need to see this immediately, Deputy Patriarch.” Panir gestured after reading the parchment Suvide had delivered. Reganon stroked his chin with a grim expression. Hissop read the contents next, and his expression changed by the second: surprise, joy, then concern. It contained a full report on Keter’s conduct and achievements in Group B’s battle royale, the first round of the tournament. By the end, it was hard to tell how he felt. The two elders who had already read the entire letter were worried Hissop would be envious or feel threatened. It would be natural, as Keter had achieved too much in too little time, and he had used Sefira’s name without the patriarch’s permission. Besil completely trusted Keter as his son, but Hissop was different: they were half-brothers who had never met each other before. If Hissop were to declare that Keter had no connection to them, he would be completely isolated. “I must write a letter,” Hissop said. “It’s a message for Keter. Tell him Sefira supports him and that he should act boldly, without hesitation.” But like before, there was no need to worry. To their relief, Hissop’s tone carried no resentment, only pride. “‘Archery is stronger than swordsmanship…’ He put into words something I’ve always wanted to shout at the world. I’m deeply satisfied.” Panir let out a booming laugh. “Hahaha! That’s right, Deputy Patriarch! Say what you will about Keter, but that boy doesn’t mince his words!” Amidst the amusement, Reganon warned, “Increased attention toward Sefira also means increased meddling. What’s your plan, Deputy Patriarch? We’ll follow your lead.” Thıs text ıs hosted at 𝖓𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑~𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖾~𝖓𝖊𝖙 Reganon was tested Hissop to see whether he truly had what it took to be the patriarch. He answered immediately, “I’ll summon the Seven Stars of the North.” The Seven Stars of the North were Sefira’s seven strongest knights. Two seats were vacant, and five were currently deployed: Sir Alkaid had entered the Demon Capital with the Kingdom’s Greatest Swordsman eight years ago, Mizar was stationed at the Baen border, Pekda and Merak were fighting monsters on the front lines of the Demon Capital, and Duveh had been dispatched to the Samael Empire. Realistically, the only Seven Stars of the North that could be recalled were Mizar, Pekda, and Merak. However… “The royal court won’t approve bringing them back unless we offer a replacement.” “To replace them, we would have to send a division commander, but that would be losing an arm to gain a leg.” The two elders believed it was impossible to recall the Seven Stars of the North without a cost, and even if they could, replacing them with a division commander would be pointless. But Hissop shook his head. “The royal court doesn’t want a Master-level power. They just want to use up our family’s symbols.” As the deputy patriarch, Hissop had previously visited deployed knights in place of Besil to encourage them. What he saw wasn’t heroic service, but neglect. They hadn’t even been given chances to shine, and it wasn’t any different for the Seven Stars of the North, who were all Master-level warriors. Hissop was frustrated by the mistreatment of Sefira’s vassals and the reality that the prosperity and safety the kingdom’s subjects deserved were being sacrificed to satisfy the nobles’ selfish greed. But he kept it hidden, as he knew from history that fighting back prematurely would only lead to greater resistance. So he waited patiently, like an idiot who knew nothing. However, he wasn’t going to hesitate when the opportunity came, and this was it. “My younger brothers earned fame at their first tournament. That’s more than enough to justify an exchange for the Seven Stars of the North.” “You mean… you are going to send Anis and Taragon to the front lines and border in their place?” “Are you serious, Deputy Patriarch?” Even Panir, known in Sefira for his boldness, was shocked. Reganon, who did anything to reach his goal, also frowned. “Deputy Patriarch, this old man is worried you are sending your brothers to their deaths to keep them from threatening your position.” Noble families traditionally followed primogeniture, provided there was no significant difference in ability between the siblings. Of course, Hissop was the clear heir of Sefira, with Besil’s backing and all his brothers’ agreement. However, the future was uncertain. Fame and praise often bred ambition and greed. Even if they had no such intentions themselves, those around them could whisper that they were more capable than the eldest son and therefore just as entitled to inherit. Panir had once served as a judge and had witnessed many such betrayals—schemes where younger siblings resorted to petty, underhanded tactics to accuse the eldest of incompetence and seize the inheritance. And sometimes, those betrayals led the eldest to preemptively threaten or even eliminate their siblings. That was what Reganon feared: what if Hissop was using this as an excuse to eliminate his newly-famed younger brothers, worried that they would go after the inheritance? But Hissop’s resolve did not waver. “Anis and Taragon can’t live safely in the family estate forever. They need more experience. Even if it weren’t to recall the Seven Stars of the North, I was planning on sending them to the border and front lines.” “Even if you truly mean that, the world won’t see it that way,” Reganon warned. “They will call you cold and power-hungry.” “Your brothers may resent you.” “That doesn’t matter either.” “You’re choosing to look away? It’s a misunderstanding and anger that may never be resolved.” “No. I intend to carry all of it.” “Why burden yourself with hardship?” “Because I believe that is the duty of a patriarch.” Panir and Reganon looked directly into Hissop’s eyes. They weren’t the eyes of someone speaking out of emotion or pressure. They were the eyes of someone long prepared for the weight of responsibility. In Eslow’s fief, there were countless dining establishments and restaurants for the nobility. But if one had to name the best of them all, everyone would say Lagrande. What set Lagrande apart from the rest was that it was run by a chef from Belferio, the kingdom of gourmands. Chefs from Belferio were unlike those from other kingdoms. They were not only chefs but also hunters, famous for sourcing their own ingredients. They fought monsters to obtain blood and flesh, and they weren’t afraid to venture into forests filled with demonic monsters to gather fruits. The Will of Food: because their cuisine was prepared with clear will and purpose, it granted immediate effects upon eating, unlike ordinary dishes. For example, it might relieve fatigue or loosen a stiff shoulder. To sum it all up, the food at Lagrande was absurdly expensive. Even a single glass of water was sold at fifty gold, calling it “water that has been boiled and cooled a thousand times.” The restaurant’s signature dish, the Gargoyle Steak, cost a staggering eight hundred gold. Even high nobles would hesitate to invite someone here for a meal. And in this place, only two people were seated. One was Keter, and across from him sat a man dressed in a pure white suit.