At first, Keter suspected that Norman might be a Doppelganger. While it was possible to copy one’s appearance with magic, only a Doppelganger could replicate even their memories. However, Norman had just made a mistake—he underestimated Pashian’s Martial Spirit and ignored the significance of his orange aura. As a result, Norman’s Aura Sword was completely blocked by Pashian’s Martial Spirit, leaving him utterly defenseless. If this were a real-life battle, this would have been a feast for Pashian. He could have cleanly sliced his neck to decapitate him or driven his sword through his skull. But since intentionally killing someone was grounds for disqualification from the tournament, Pashian instead went for his arm. If you make a mistake like that, you should be glad it was just your arm. It was difficult to tell whether it was pure instinct or he thought no one would be able to see, but Norman dodged the attack with an inhuman motion. His right arm twisted all the way back to his shoulder. This wasn’t just flexibility; it defied human anatomy. No ordinary person with bones could move like that. There’s only one monster that doesn’t have bones: slime. That was the only explanation for Norman’s movement when he evaded Pashian’s sword. This was what intrigued Keter. Slimes were considered monsters, not non-human races. The definition of monsters differed by kingdom, scholar, and individual, but generally, monsters were beings unable to communicate with humans. However, Norman clearly looked human, and he was also trying to act like one, too. How could a slime turn into a human? I’ve never heard of a slime that can do that. Of course, nothing was ever impossible, and a slime that could turn into a human could exist somewhere. But these kinds of mutant monsters usually didn’t exist in the regular world. The Demon Capital was home to monsters with abilities beyond imagination: dirt anglerfish that used beautiful women as their lure, a demon called Oasis that disguised itself as a lake, and swarms of vampire mosquitoes that looked like mist. If Norman were a slime from the Demon Capital, it would explain how he could take on a human form. But at the same time, it made no sense. All the monsters from the Demon Capital are being defended by the frontlines. It shouldn’t have been able to make it here. Even the weakest monsters from the Demon Capital were stronger ogres. Even a rabbit no larger than a fist could tear an ogre apart if it was from there. If the Demon Capital were connected to this world, it would be pretty brutal. Fortunately, the connection had been severed, and only a very small number of monsters could cross over. Plus, a frontline had been established there. The idea that the frontline of the Demon Capital has been breached is absurd. If that had already happened, the world would already be in chaos. More than sixty percent of the kingdom’s military power was concentrated at the Demon Capital’s frontline. If that line were ever broken, the nation itself wouldn’t survive. Even if Sefira was weak in intelligence warfare, they couldn’t possibly be unaware of something like that. After all, Sefira’s own soldiers were probably stationed at that frontline. At that moment, Taragon cautiously said, “Keter, so... what exactly is Norman?” Was I talking too loudly to myself? It looked like everyone had heard. Not just Taragon, but the whole group was staring at Keter like they were dying to know. Myle, Anis, and Taragon looked like they had no idea. Don’t look at me for an explanation. None of you needs to know about the Demon Capital, and even if you did, what would you do with that knowledge? It would just give you something else to worry about, and wear out my voice for nothing. If Dork were here, he would have immediately realized Norman was probably from the Demon Capital and just accepted it. See? I need someone who’s on my wavelength. And right now, the only one like that is Dork. Hang tight. I’ll come get you soon. Anyway, Keter was certain Norman was a slime from the Demon Capital. He didn’t know how he managed to break through the frontline and make it all the way to the city. If anyone might know something about that… Norman, back when he was calling himself Philip, had some close ties with a merchant company owner. What was his name again? Aloren? Alowen? I swear, bland-looking people have the hardest names to remember. Anyway, if I rough him up a bit, I might get something useful out of him, but… The bottom line was that this gooey thing in front of him right now—Norman—was connected to the Demon Capital. And right now, Keter didn’t care much about the Demon Capital, nor did he have a reason to. Sure, if the frontline went down, the kingdom and maybe the whole world would be in danger, but… That’s the army or the royal family’s problem. Keter already had his hands full with rebuilding Sefira and training himself. He would consider looking into it if there was treasure or talent to be found there, but… There isn’t anymore. Plus, it’s so far. If it really started to bother him, he would just dump it on Ultima. After all, once he won this tournament, the Aleron Merchant Company or whatever would become his. Knowing Ultima, with his ambitions, he would probably be thrilled to get a chance to expand into the Demon Capital’s territory. I could probably use that to squeeze a couple more favors from him. Judging by the cheers, it seemed like the match was over. Sure enough, Norman had driven Pashian all the way to the edge of the ring. If Pashian had taken all the advice Keter gave him during the battle royale, he might have lasted longer. But he only listened to what suited him. He had grown, sure, but he still couldn't beat Norman. And he’s still holding back his Martial Spirit. One could activate Martial Spirit more than once. Sure, the side effects stacked up, but who would care about that when they were trying to win? Clearly, Pashian didn’t want victory that badly. I’m guessing it’s because of me. I kept catching him sneaking glances during the match. And I can feel Galahind’s burning stare too. Galahind, the head of the noble alliance most aggressively targeting Sefira, wasn’t someone to underestimate, but he wasn’t exactly scary either. For example, that elixir he gave his knights to enhance their physical abilities was barely effective. That level of doping wouldn’t even count as real enhancement in Liqueur. It was nothing but child’s play. Still, I am curious about the Martial Spirit stacking. Depending on how one used Martial Spirit, even an average fighter could become a genius for a brief moment, though, of course, the cost was their life. But would Pashian go that far just to defeat me? If he did, Keter would actually find it kind of fun, but he doubted it, as Pashian was ambitious. And ambition meant he valued his life and lacked loyalty. So, he would stop just short of dying. Ugh, everyone’s so damn cautious with their lives. How is someone like me supposed to have any fun? I’ve held back long enough. Once this tournament was over, he decided to do two things. First, he planned on bringing Dork back from Liqueur. He was sick of not having anyone to talk to properly. Second, he was going to go looking for a worthy opponent. He had been so busy helping talented people and trying to revive Sefira that he almost forgot, but fighting these kids in the tournament reminded him that he needed someone who could really get his blood pumping. I don’t want just anyone I can fight. I want a true enemy—one I can’t beat right now. Beating someone like that would double the joy of victory and double the growth. But before he could do any of that, he had to finish this tournament. It was almost over—after today’s match, only the individual tournament remained. The matters with Norman the slime and Ailos the Lich would be settled then as well, since both were entwined with the tournament. That was when Keter felt it—prickling gazes, like tiny needles, coming from the general seating area. He turned his head and immediately spotted someone amid the sea of spectators. One person stood out, waving at him with a cheeky grin. Every time that guy showed up in front of Keter, he was up to something. That smug grin… yeah, he’s planning something again. A subtle tremor started at the base of the stands. It wasn’t from stomping feet or crowd excitement. It was coming up from the ground—from underground. “Whaaaa?!” The source of this content ɪs 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✦𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖✦𝕟𝕖𝕥 An explosion ripped through the city center. A rose-shaped cloud bloomed sharply into the sky. Even Norman, just about to finish Pashian off, stopped and looked up in shock. Everyone was panicking except one person: Ailos. He looked right at Keter and mouthed something to Keter. “I’ll come visit tonight.” That explosion was a silent threat that if Keter refused or evaded him, he wouldn’t let it go. In response, Keter raised his middle finger. The explosion in the heart of the city shook the world. It was the same type of explosion that had previously blown up the Feathers Hotel, and citizens were thrown into complete panic. “Wasn’t the terrorist already caught?” “W-what should we do?! Shouldn’t we run?” Tournament or not, some of the citizens were already on their feet, trying to flee. As those trying to stay clashed with those trying to leave, confusion erupted. And it wasn’t just the commoners who were alarmed. The nobles were also attempting to escape the spectator stands. “Move! I said, move!” “If you don’t, I’ll cut you down!” Although the seating for commoners and nobles was separated, the exit was the same, so the nobles began threatening the commoners, drawing their swords. Meanwhile, the Sefira group remained seated, even amid the rush to evacuate. It was because of one simple comment Keter had made. “Just stay seated,” he said. “Huh? Why?” Taragon asked in confusion, but it was Myle who answered in his place. “The explosion didn’t happen in the arena, but outside of it. And this arena is protected by magic. If anything, it’s safer than being outside, not more dangerous.” Anis chimed in, backing up Myle’s calm analysis. “The tournament officials look shocked, but none of them are moving either. Even if there’s another explosion or an attack, they probably know this place is secure. The Immortal Knights are stationed here, too.” The brothers’ reasoning was sound. Soon after, the announcer began to calm the crowd through a loudspeaker. —Please remain in your seats. The explosion outside the arena occurred during the suppression of hidden terrorists. All terrorists have now been neutralized, and there will be no further explosions. Even if another explosion were to occur, this arena is protected to withstand even seven-circle magic. Therefore, we urge all spectators, including nobles, to return to your seats. The announcer’s confident explanation didn’t immediately calm the chaos, but it did reduce the number of people trying to leave. Those who still insisted on leaving weren’t stopped—the staff let them go if they wanted to. Even the nobles, who had initially fled, hesitated when they saw other dignified nobles staying seated, and eventually returned to their seats. Though most spectators came back to their places, many remained standing, murmuring with anxiety. “Are we really safe?” “That explosion was just like the one that destroyed Feathers Hotel.” “My ears are still ringing. I thought the sky was falling.” “Yesterday it was the Undead, and now it’s a bombing? I thought His Grace’s fief was supposed to be safe…” All interest in the finals had disappeared. Anxiety and dissatisfaction now filled the stadium. But the biggest issue of all was that the final match hadn’t yet been declared a clear winner. To resolve this, the announcer stepped in. —The finals of Group B’s team tournament were interrupted due to a sudden explosion. Since resuming the match is deemed too difficult, the outcome will be decided by the judges. Only then did the spectators show a flicker of interest again. But the outcome was obvious. Anyone could tell that Norman had been dominating the match. —All five judges have unanimously agreed. The winner of this match is… After a brief pause, the announcer suddenly grabbed Pashian’s arm and raised it high. —Sir Pashian the Red Wolf!