Cicel Yurensto happened to encounter the old man Alonso.
Despite his age, Alonso still stood tall, his back straight and his eyes shining brightly. The childlike innocence in those eyes made him seem at least two decades younger.
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
“It is, Sir Knight, it is.”
This man was once Cicel’s opponent in the tournament, where he had abruptly surrendered and walked away, dissatisfied with her response.
Cicel shrank back a little.
She still couldn’t understand the reason behind Alonso’s surrender. However, she vividly recalled the look of disappointment and disillusionment in his eyes—a look that left her feeling somewhat uneasy.
The old man fixed his wrinkled, sunken eyes on her. With the wisdom of someone who had lived long, he vaguely noticed the subtle change in the female knight.
“Your eyes have changed quite a bit. Has something good happened?”
“⋯⋯Yes, perhaps.”“You feel the need to add ‘perhaps’ even when identifying something good?”
“It’s complicated because bad things are mixed in too.”
Singing alongside Karen had been a good experience, but the costume had felt like a bad thing. She never imagined her unremarkable figure would attract so much attention.
As Cicel recalled last night’s performance, she cycled through feelings of embarrassment, joy, and desire. These emotions gave her a strange kind of courage—a courage to confront disappointment. Summoning her resolve, she asked Alonso a question that had lingered in her mind all along.
“⋯⋯Old man, once you told me I was ‘already defeated.’ What did you mean by that?”
“First, let me ask you this. What do you believe a tournament, a duel, represents?”
“It is a task—an assignment to be completed.”
“Then the opponent before you is nothing more than an obstacle?”
Alonso shook his head, his expression a quiet denial.
“The moment you reduce a sacred duel to a mere task, you strip it of its honor and glory. There isn’t even a trace of respect left.
Why, then, is combat often called a conversation of iron?
Every individual who steps into the arena carries their own aspirations. They have endured grueling training, shed blood, and sweat, and faced countless trials to stand there with unwavering determination for the Hero Selection.
Even a mercenary like Kargan, who you defeated with a single slash, must have poured his soul into honing his skills and stood there with his own desperate wishes and endless effort.
What could be more fleeting than to trample on such resolve without showing even a modicum of respect?”
Alonso continued with measured conviction.
“How can one claim to be a knight without a code of chivalry?”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
“In your next match, observe your opponent closely. You may find yourself gaining far more than you expect. Perhaps⋯⋯ you might even come to see it as a performance rather than a task. When that moment comes, you will be able to hear my answer.”
With those parting words, Alonso cast a final glance at Cicel Yurensto.
Amid the bustling streets teeming with passersby, the female knight stood motionless.
She thought about the dreams of someone close to her. Karen’s wish was to advance through as many rounds as possible, to promote the theater troupe she dreamed of founding one day.
Cicel felt in her bones the depth of Karen’s desperation. Singing on the streets, tirelessly practicing, and simultaneously honing herself—Cicel knew all too well in what color that dream would shine.
But what if a powerful yet indifferent knight were to crush that dream without even granting Karen the chance to voice her story? Worse still, if that knight⋯⋯ had no meaningful reason to win at all?
If all that desperate effort were dismissed by someone so careless—
-This isn’t enough to become a knight worthy of Yurensto. Anyone could do this; you need to try harder
That, Cicel realized, would be very sad.
===============================================================
Cicel felt deeply dejected.
“Do a v-sign, V! Look over here, please!”
“Bunny Princess, take me with you, PLEASEE!! Kyaaack!!”
“Ah, ahhaha⋯⋯ v- v⋯⋯.”
With a distressed expression, she awkwardly raised her fingers into a V-sign.
Even that simple gesture sent the audience into a frenzy of cheers. Her face burned with embarrassment, as if it might explode from the sheer heat. It would have been disastrous without the mask. How had it come to this?
After about four days of performing in a bunny girl outfit and rabbit mask disguise, Cicel had soaked up Karen’s singing techniques like a sponge. She could now sing even the most difficult songs quite well.
Occasionally, she hit a wrong note, but Karen was always there to reassure her, saying it was no big deal. So far, things had been going well. Singing was fun, and the encore requests lifted her spirits for the rest of the day.
But now, things had spiraled out of control.
“Cicel, we’ve, become way too popular⋯⋯?!”
“What should I⋯⋯ what should I do?!”
Yes, the issue was that they had become too popular.
Was it the result of Crazy Wizard’s personal taste in choosing the bunny-girl outfit, or was it Cicel’s unexpectedly captivating stage presence?
What had started as a niche mask-concert that was supposed to be known only to a few people, was now nearly filling to capacity every night.
Their growing fame had spread across Trumpethall. Rumors spread that there was an elegant woman called the Bunny Princess who sang incredibly well, and made eyes joyful!
He even made eye contact with Pink-Haired Lesbian who had come after hearing the rumors.
This wasn’t the kind of fame Cicel had wanted. Nor what Mima had wanted.
Karen and Cicel fled from the crowded stage, and slipped into a small, quiet waiting room to talk.
“⋯⋯But isn’t the bunny-girl disguise amazing? Even with all those people watching, no one figured it out?!”
“Well, who in their right mind would ever imagine a deputy commander of a knight order wearing something like this and singing on stage⋯⋯?!”
“Ouch, owww.”
Cicel puffed her cheeks slightly and glared at Karen before firmly pressing down on her head as Karen smirked mischievously. Karen could sometimes be really annoying.
Karen stuck out her tongue playfully.
“But⋯⋯ it was fun right?”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
“After the tournament ends, you’ll return to your duties, but⋯⋯ when you get vacation, or some free time, come visit me! By then, I’ll have formed a real team!”
But time⋯⋯ was.
“⋯⋯Sure. I definitely will.”
Cicel replied without hesitation, her words coming out before her mind could stop it. And then, suddenly⋯⋯ Cicel realized she held the switch to her own fate in her hands.
If she didn’t use it, ‘Cicel’ wouldn’t die.
But if she didn’t use it, Cicel Yurensto would die.
After hesitating silently for a while, Cicel spoke, fiddling nervously with her bunny headband.
“Hey, Karen.”
“Eung?”
“⋯⋯There’s something on my mind. If you have a moment, could you listen to my sto──”
Inside Karen, Mima silently celebrated. It finally worked. His meticulous plan to win Cicel’s trust had finally paid off. Cicel had opened her heart to Karen.
Zap.
“Ah.”
Suddenly, Karen’s body convulsed violently. So much that it made a loud thud noise.
“⋯⋯Karen?”
===============================================================
I quickly took control of Karen to cover up the situation.
“No, it’s nothing! I just felt a sudden chill down my spine for a moment, don’t worry about it!”
“That’s probably because the outfit is too open at the back. This bunny-girl costume⋯⋯.”
“But thats what makes it cute!”
Although Cicel grumbled with an annoyed expression, I knew she secretly enjoyed the bunny-girl outfit. I had seen her carefully adjusting her clothes while sneaking glances at herself in the mirror.
I thought I might be able to convince her to wear something even more revealing if I persuaded her, but I I decided against it—Yuna’s punches would likely hurt three times as much if I tried.
“Uh, something urgent just came to mind⋯⋯ I’m really sorry, Cicel! Can we talk about this later?”
“A⋯⋯ yes. It’s⋯⋯ fine.”
It probably wasn’t fine. She must have mustered a lot of courage to ask for advice. I genuinely wanted to hear her out—it felt like such a rare and valuable opportunity!
“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow! I’m truly sorry, Cicel. Once this is resolved, I’ll explain everything, I promise!”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
But something more urgent had come up. I left my position and switched from Karen to another clone.
Just moments earlier, I had detected an anomaly.
You could call it creating an alibi—in case I ran into Cicel outside or if she started questioning the reality of this stage itself.
The NPCs I deployed were designed to be physical holograms and were strategically released onto streets where people might encounter them. Even now, the Awl Old Man was wandering through alleyways, and Kay of Battōjutsu was sipping strong liquor, trying to appear cool at a local bar.
When I anticipated the possibility of encountering Cicel, they seamlessly took my place.
At present, with both brackets of the Tournament of 『Courage』 progressing to the round of 32, approximately twenty-three NPCs remained active without their summons being dispelled.
Not all of them were directly participating in the tournament.
I had assigned quite a few to side events, such as roaming the city with lingering attachments after being eliminated from the tournament, or causing trouble outside the competition.
And just now.
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
I had lost connection with one of them. And it had happened in a distinctly physical manner.
Could it have been a simple accident? If they had gotten into a dispute with someone, I had programmed them to send warning signals. Yet, after reviewing the logs, there was no trace of any contact reaching me. This meant⋯⋯ it was dismantled in an instant.
I needed to retrieve the black box to uncover the exact situation. Pulling my hood over my head, I made my way to the last known location where the connection had been severed.
===============================================================
People tend to have weaknesses hidden in the places they least want others to see. Everyone does. The same applied to our father. He wanted to protect and strengthen those vulnerable aspects of himself.
Even if no one in the world was aware of these vulnerabilities, even if they were areas that would remain untouched if left alone, he kept layering armor upon armor, driven by the fear that one day they might be exposed.
『Crazy Wizard』 must be the same. He too must have weaknesses, and he must have gone to great lengths to conceal them.
But would that trouble me?
Not at all. In fact, it was perfect for an operative just beginning to learn the ropes. It revealed exactly where to strike.
The Holy City of Trumpethall had many visitors due to the tournament, and a steady stream of people kept pouring in. Among them were individuals of uncertain origin and others who were even quite evil.
And now, it seemed, a few ghosts had blended into the crowd as well.
Take, for instance, the man walking below me. He called himself Abel and claimed to hail from the distant south, but none of that was true. It wasn’t even clear if he had ever truly existed.
Not a single person knew of his past. It was as if he had materialized out of nowhere in Trumpethall.
Could it be that he had lived his life in some isolated, forgotten village? That would be a plausible explanation, but⋯⋯
There was something more suspicious about him.
He didn’t have the ability to digest food.
Yes, he would eat and drink like any other person, but when no one was watching, he would move to a secluded spot and vomit everything out. None of it was processed—everything exited exactly as it had entered, as if poured straight from a bottle.
What was even more surprising was that Abel wasn’t the only one. There were others just like him. Beings without any traceable past and unable to digest meals.
I tried to capture and interrogate him. Quietly tailing him, I plunged a dagger into his side when the moment was right.
“────.”
“Eueung⋯⋯?”
But something felt off as the blade pierced him. Even as I twisted and jostled the dagger, he didn’t scream. I even attempted to create additional wounds, but nothing worked. It was only after I dismantled him entirely that the truth became clear.
“This⋯⋯ illusion magic, huh.”
My father’s old friend had once spoken of it. There was a forgotten branch of Illusion Magic, one that the current Magic Tower Master had erased from history. It dealt with bringing imaginary entities into physical reality.
I think⋯⋯ they might have summoned beings that mimicked humans using that method. I couldn’t be certain, but⋯⋯
I couldn’t understand the motive behind this, but the effort required to unleash such creations within the city must have been difficult. What mattered most was that someone had invested significant resources to make this happen despite that.
Understanding their reasons wasn’t necessary. Whether the target 『Crazy Wizard』 was scheming to overthrow the city, rig the tournament to his liking, or attempting to make his puppet into a Hero didn’t concern me.
I only needed to focus on one thing: disrupting his plans. Whatever would frustrate him, I would do. By creating cracks in his schemes, I could force him to act—and in doing so, he would reveal his vulnerabilities.
So, I decided to kill every ‘fake human.’
Kill them, and make those deaths as public as possible so everyone would know. That way, reusing those identities would become impossible.
===============================================================
The gathered citizens and their murmuring voices.
At this point, I knew some major trouble had unfolded. The spot where the crowd had formed was precisely where the NPC’s connection had been severed.
I pushed through the throng, using Illusion Magic to part the crowd as I approached the center. And there it was.
“⋯⋯Ah fuck.”
The NPC lay in pieces, blood pooling around it.
This didn’t make sense. It was merely a projection of Hologram Magic, an empty construct of mana that was only capable of exerting some physical force.
It shouldn’t bleed. If cut into pieces, it should have dissolved into mana and dispersed.
So, what was this?
I crouched down and touched the blood and flesh, casting Perception Interference Magic to avoid detection. What I found was real, tangible matter—not an illusion.
Could this be some incredible coincidence? No way.
Thankfully, the black box was intact nearby. I absorbed the information stored within and reconstructed the scene in my mind.
The NPC had been walking down an alley when someone suddenly approached from behind and stabbed it, shattering its form.
The mana fragments scattered, but that wasn’t the end. The hooded assailant seemed to contemplate for a moment, then left the scene── and shortly after.
He dragged in a human who looked identical to the NPC and killed them.
It wasn’t just a resemblance—they were completely identical.
I didn’t understand how, but I grasped the intention. The assailant was trying to socially kill my holograms. By ensuring these “deaths” became public knowledge, I wouldn’t be able to reuse those NPCs.
⋯⋯⋯⋯.
In the middle of the scenario, just before the round of 16 in the tournament⋯⋯ a string of murders targeting participants began to plague the Holy City of Trumpethall.
***
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