The Blackfist Clan attendants moved quickly, retrieving Richard Blackfist, who lay sprawled on the ground after the devastating blow from the Second Elder.

Richa Blackfist gave a subtle bow of thanks to the Elder, yet the deep red swelling across Richard's face made me flinch. Was this really alright?

Well… Richa had said he deserved it.

"It was mutually agreed upon," the Second Elder reminded me, his tone light, almost dismissive, though his eyes gleamed with mischief.

I stepped back, keeping my distance. "If the Blackfist Clan complains later, tell them I had nothing to do with this."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to tell them you were involved," the Elder replied with a knowing smile.

"Wait—what fault did I have in this?"

"You didn't stop us when you could have, Davis, so you're partially at fault as well."

What is this old man on about?

'How am I supposed to stop you when you punched him flat in a single strike!' I wanted to shout, but after watching the Second Elder flatten Richard in one blow, I swallowed my words.

'…I'll tone it down a little.'

Richard probably survived the strike only because he was Richard Blackfist. Had that punch landed on me, I would have been crushed on the spot. It was better to stay cautious and avoid inviting such a blow.

Meanwhile, Isabella, with her black eyes that held a subtle bluish tint, watched the Second Elder with sparkling admiration.

"Huh… what are those shiny eyes for?" I muttered under my breath.

"Second Elder! POW! And he went down! That's so cool!" she exclaimed, her small hands clapping in delight.

…Are you seriously calling the Elder beating the crap out of Richard "cool"? Does that even make sense?

The Second Elder, clearly enjoying the attention, laughed heartily.

"This young lady knows what's up!"

Then, with the flourish of a magician, he produced a chikki from somewhere and handed it to Isabella.

"I'll give you this for complimenting this old man," he said proudly.

"Woah! Chikki! You are awesome, Bear grandpa!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with joy.

"Bear? Hahaha! This old man looks that strong, huh?" he laughed, scratching his head.

'No, I think she's just calling you a bear because of how you look,' I thought, silently.

The Second Elder ignored any reason to be annoyed. Perhaps it was her youth, her beauty, or simply his generous spirit—but he let her enjoy her little victory.

Finally, he turned away from Isabella, now content with her snack.

"Davis," he called, focusing back on me.

"Yes?" I replied cautiously.

"About what I was saying earlier, before I got interrupted—"

Right, he had been looking for me.

"There is a fight one must attend after the Nine Day of the Flames ends," he continued, his tone casual but commanding.

"You're participating in a bout? Who are you trying to kill this time…" I asked, only half-joking.

"This time!? I didn't even kill anyone last time! And it's not me going—but you," he corrected sharply.

"…Excuse me?"

What in the world is he talking about?

"Me? All of a sudden?"

Why would I suddenly be dragged into such a mess?

________________________________________

By around 1 o'clock in the afternoon, the Nine Day of the Flames finally began. People from all over Emberhold City had gathered, filling the courtyard with hundreds of spectators.

I had no idea how they expected this to conclude in a single day, let alone within a few hours before sunset.

For now, I was merely a spectator, which was infinitely easier than being forced to fight or judge the series of bouts. Still, a faint tension prickled at me—my own fight loomed on the horizon.

"I hope these fights just never end," I muttered quietly.

If the preceding matches dragged on, perhaps I could evade my next obligation.

The Nine Day of the Flames was captivating. Martial artists showcased their skills with precision and flair, each movement drawing gasps or cheers from the crowd. I wasn't immune to the thrill.

A spearman stepped forward, his long weapon an extension of his body. His technique displayed meticulous training, his reach a clear advantage.

But his opponent was a swordmaiden. A mismatch in style, perhaps, yet she remained composed, dodging each thrust with fluid grace while observing him carefully.

'Distant relative…' she had introduced herself. I caught only part of her name. Fireheart something… perhaps?

"Hya!"

The spearman's patience snapped as he overextended, swinging with increasing desperation. Each strike was heavy, precise—but miscalculated.

His impatience poisoned his technique. Strength without focus weakened him, leaving openings for his opponent.

When the swordmaiden finally intercepted a rebounding spear, she closed the distance. The spearman, now off-balance, could do little as her blade pressed against his neck.

Defeated, he stepped back, disappointment etched across his face.

The judge announced the result:

"Mio wins."

Ah, so her name was Mio.

The fight had been entertaining, yet I doubted she would rise to fame quickly—or perhaps it was just my inability to remember names.

"That girl will be picked, for sure," the Second Elder murmured confidently.

Her composure was impeccable. As a martial artist, that was a mark of greatness. She would be selected one day, if not today.

"How much time left…" I wondered aloud.

Half the bouts remained. The event was proceeding faster than expected, given the sheer number of participants.

On the first day, I had wanted to finish swiftly; now, I prayed the second day's events would stretch endlessly.

I glared at the Second Elder, resentment simmering beneath the surface.

He noticed my stare and chuckled. "Why are you eyeing this old man with such animosity?"

"Don't misunderstand. I'm looking at you with respect," I replied through gritted teeth.

"Even that mouth of yours speaks to me with animosity," he said, laughing as I sighed helplessly.

All because of the blood-relative match I had to participate in. Only Mio and I were blood relatives, so my opponent was clear from the start.

I asked why this was happening.

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