Hundreds of nobles sat in stunned silence, struggling to process the violence they had just witnessed. They had come for entertainment, but Laurent Ferrum had given them a disaster.
Up in the Yumaki VIP box, Mizuki felt cold. Her fingers dug into the leather of the couch. She had seen—and felt firsthand—what Noll and X were capable of.
But looking down at the crater in the stone floor, she realized that logic and durability didn't matter against a monster like that. They weren't just losing. They were being dismantled.
Laurent forced himself up. His heavy breathing rattled into a wet wheeze. His shirt clung to his skin, soaked in cold sweat, yet he forced his spine straight.
“I am just getting into the rhythm. Let’s see if you can handle me.” Laurent wiped the sweat off his face. The next second, a blue circle flared to life beneath his boots.
A pillar of blue light erupted, fully engulfing Laurent.
“Eat this, freak!” The scream cracked from the other side of the arena. Illian, bloodied and trembling, stood there with his hand raised. His face was twisted in rage and disgust. “How dare you attack me?!”
Laurent stepped out of the fading light, smoke rising from fresh burn marks on his cheeks.
“So you do have a manhood! Or are you simply sure you will defeat me?!”
“They are strong, yes. But they are alone. Noll and X are a team,” Genichiro commented.
Mizuki watched the blue light burn. Illian was broken. Laurent was dying on his feet. Yet neither of them looked down. They stared their fears in the eye and screamed at them.
Mizuki felt a fire ignite in her gut.
Those two, bloodied and broken in the dirt, were still standing. They inspired her. If a "freak" and a "coward" could stare down death, she could stare down a Percival.
She stood up. The motion was sudden enough that Genichiro glanced at her.
“I have to do something,” Mizuki said. Her voice was steady. She didn't wait for his permission, leaving the Yumaki room. She knew exactly where she was going.
Let’s see if she has ever changed.
Mizuki made a sharp turn at the intersection, her heels clicking against the marble. Her target was the balcony. The one place where the wind was loud enough to drown out the screams, but the view was clear enough to see everything.
She pushed open the heavy balcony doors, the night air rushing in to bite at her skin. Moonlight spilled across the cold stones, stretching her shadow into a long, wavering streak against the marble.
The terrace was empty. Mizuki approached the edge, gripping the cold stone railing as she looked out. From this height, the entire nation of Altavia lay in the palm of her hand.
She looked up first. The Spire itself—the estate of Clan Kris—dominated the north-east, its crystal architecture piercing the sky to commune with the stars.
Below, in the sheltered heart of the capital, lay the inner square. The Francis cathedrals, the Fong workshops, the Carolus archives, and the Hippocrates hospitals. They sat clustered together, safe and illuminated, protected by the monsters living on the edges.
And those edges were sharp.
To the east, the Yumaki estate vanished into the dense, fog-choked woods.
To the north, the Vane manor watched over the freezing glaciers and the dark ocean.
To the west—the most volatile front—the Karyu stronghold stood guard against the Krinden border, a dormant volcano waiting to erupt.
To the south-east, the golden dunes of the Ferrum desert stretched into the horizon. There was only the unforgiving sun and sand.
And finally, to the south, looming against the jagged silhouette of the mountains... the Percival Estate.
Mizuki’s eyes lingered there. It was a fortress of black stone, swallowed by the shadow of the peaks. Cold. Isolated. Unreachable.
Suddenly, she heard a faint hum. Mizuki turned around, her hands gripping the balcony fence so hard her knuckles turned white. She braced herself for a confrontation, as the figure slowly and gracefully walked in.
It was Bella. Her eyes were closed. She was swaying slightly, her boots making no sound on the stone. And she was humming. It was a soft, lilting melody. Three notes climbing up, two sliding down. A simple, fragile tune that belonged in a nursery, not a gala. Mizuki’s breath hitched. She knew that song. Every child in Altavia knew it. It was the lullaby mothers hummed when the thunder was too loud. A Mother's Love.
Bella didn't look like the "Silver Claw" now. She held a glass filled with a strange, opaque pink liquid—pomegranate juice mixed with milk. A child’s drink. She took a sip through a straw, and for a second, the sharp, predatory lines of her face softened. She let out a content sigh, licking a drop of creamy sweetness from her lip.
But the illusion of innocence was shattered by what hung at her hip. A rapier of disturbing beauty rested against her emerald dress. Its guard was a complex, swept-hilt cage of silver rings, shimmering with a cold, dormant power of a Nexus-Blade. It was a masterpiece of violence that looked too heavy for such a slender frame, yet it sat there as naturally as a limb.
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She looked... peaceful, despite the weapon. She looked like the girl she was before the funeral ten years ago. Then, Bella opened her eyes.
“You haven’t changed, huh?” Mizuki said, smirking, trying to ignore the sword. “You always loved to look through the balcony…”
Bella didn't blink. She just looked at Mizuki with a blank, glazed expression, the straw still between her lips. She took another long, noisy sip, the sound cutting through the silence.
“And…” Bella pulled the straw out, tilting her head. “You are?”
The question hit Mizuki harder than a physical blow.
“Are you serious?!” Mizuki’s voice shaking with suppressed anger. “Was our friendship a joke you can just forget?”
“Oh. That.” Bella waved her hand dismissively, the ice cubes in her glass clinking. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business!” Mizuki stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply on the stone. “You didn’t answer my letters! You became this… this thing! I deserve an answer. I deserve to know why you distanced yourself.”
Bella sighed, a long, bored exhale that puffed into the cold night air. She didn't even look at Mizuki; she was watching the condensation drip down her glass.
“I call you to a duel,” Mizuki declared, her voice trembling but loud.
Bella paused. Her eyes shifted back to Mizuki, looking at her trembling hands.
“To the first blood,” Mizuki said, locking her knees to stop them from shaking. “If I win, you tell me everything. If I lose, I will not pursue you any longer.”
Bella let out a short, dry laugh. It wasn't a happy sound. It sounded like dry leaves crumpling. “Oh, please. As if you can beat me.”
Mizuki took a step closer, invading the personal space of the Percival heir. It was only then, standing toe-to-toe, that the physical reality hit her.
She was tall. Almost a head taller than Bella. The realization seemed to annoy Bella more than the challenge itself.
For the first time, the mask of boredom slipped. A small, irritated vein pulsed at Bella’s temple as she was forced to tilt her chin upward to meet Mizuki’s gaze.
“Fine.” Bella sighed, the sound heavy with annoyance. “But I do this only to ensure you stop pursuing me about these... irrelevant matters.”
She turned sharply, her heels making a crisp sound on the stone as she walked away.
“Come,” she threw the command over her shoulder without looking back. “There is a private reception room nearby. It is secluded.” She opened a heavy oak door and waited, her silhouette framed by the darkness inside. “And since the world is watching those four in the arena... nobody will be around to witness your humiliation.”
Mizuki stepped across the threshold, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind her. The sound cut off the distant roar of the arena instantly, replacing it with a suffocating silence. The room was sparse, lined with wood panels and empty weapon racks.
Whoosh.
Before she could even scan the perimeter, a dark object sailed through the air, aimed directly at her chest.
Mizuki’s hands snapped up, her reflexes taking over as she snatched the projectile out of the air. It was a vacuum-sealed package, heavy and soft. She looked down, tearing the seal. Inside was a bundle of black fabric—a compression shirt, pants, and boots. It was standard training gear, designed for high-mobility combat.
She looked up, confused. "Bella, what is—"
The words died in her throat.
Bella stood in the center of the room, her back turned. With a single, fluid motion, she unzipped the back of her emerald gala dress. The expensive fabric pooled around her ankles in a shimmering heap, leaving her standing in her undergarments.
Then she stretched.
Mizuki froze, her face flushing a deep crimson. She immediately averted her eyes, staring intently at the wood grain of the wall. "Bella! What are you doing?!"
"We are all girls here," Bella’s voice was flat, devoid of any modesty or embarrassment. The sound of rustling fabric filled the quiet room as she carefully hung the dress. "Don't be shy."
Mizuki heard the snap of elastic. She risked a glance and saw Bella pulling on her own set of black combat gear with warrior’s efficiency.
"Besides," Bella continued, smoothing the tactical fabric over her arms. She turned to face Mizuki, looking like an assassin rather than an heiress. "That dress of yours is cute. It would be a shame to tear it apart during the fight. So, change to an appropriate combat suit."
Mizuki swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the package. She watched Bella treating the gala dress with more care than she treated their friendship. Bella wasn't here to play aristocrat. She was here to work.
Mizuki nodded, the embarrassment fading into a cold resolve. She moved to the corner of the room and began to undress.
Silk and lace were traded for polymer and elastic. As Mizuki pulled the tight black shirt over her head, without taking her hat off, she felt the restriction of the corset vanish, replaced by the cool, second-skin feeling of the combat suit. She rolled her shoulders. She felt lighter. Faster.
She turned back to the center of the room, her boots adjusting to the grip of the floor.
"I'm ready," Mizuki said. Then she paused, her hands opening and closing on empty air. "Except... I don't have my bat."
She scanned the wooden weapon racks lining the walls. There were rows of spears, foils, and daggers, but nothing that resembled her signature weapon. Finally, on the bottom shelf, she found a heavy iron training club—a blunt, brutish instrument meant for strength conditioning.
It wasn't perfect, but the weight felt familiar. She hefted it, testing the balance. But as she swung it slightly to the side, the tip nearly brushed the wall.
Mizuki frowned, looking around the narrow rectangular space.
"Wait, here?" Mizuki asked, lowering the club. "Bella, isn't it too cramped up here? This is just the preparation room. The actual duel hall is through those double doors, isn't it?"
She was right. For a swinger like Mizuki, this room was a coffin. She had no room to generate torque. But for a fencer like Bella, who moved in straight lines, this narrow corridor was a kill box.
Bella didn’t answer.
She walked to the weapon rack, her hand brushing past the intricate silver hilt of the Nexus-Blade hanging at her hip—the weapon she had meticulously strapped back on after changing.
Mizuki tensed, expecting the legendary steel to be drawn.
But Bella ignored it.
Instead, she reached past the masterpiece and grabbed a plain, standard-issue training rapier from the wall. A dull stick of steel with no history and no soul.
She weighed it for a second, then switched it to her right hand.
“Huh?” Mizuki was taken aback, staring at the cheap blade, then at the unused Nexus-Blade on Bella's hip. “Aren’t you left-handed? And… you’re not using your real weapon?”
Bella didn’t acknowledge the question, nor did she acknowledge the complaint about the room.
She touched the tip of the training sword, bent it to check the flex, and released it, making it vibrate as she moved her hand to follow the tempo. Then she swung.
Swish.
Mizuki felt the air pressure rise across the room from the sheer speed of the swing. Bella looked satisfied with the piece of junk.
“You still remember?” Bella chuckled.
She placed her dominant left hand behind her back, then raised the rapier high above her head, the blade pointing sharply downward like a scorpion’s tail.
“Thanks for letting me occupy a part of your mind. Too bad you can’t thank me too.”
Mizuki flinched, bracing herself, her knuckles white on the grip of the iron bat. She expected the air to scream. She expected a lunging thrust that would tear through her guard.
But nothing happened.
Bella simply let her arm drop, the deadly tension vanishing from her posture as if she had just grown bored.
“And you are right,” Bella said, answering the question Mizuki had asked moments ago, completely ignoring the tension she had just created. “This is cramped. It is just a common preparation room.”
She pointed the tip of her training sword toward a reinforced door on the left.
“The arena is through there. After all...” She glanced at Mizuki’s heavy club. “I want you to have enough space to swing that crude thing. I wouldn’t want you to have any excuses when you lose.”
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