Chapter 57
The origins of this confrontation were murky, yet the spectacle provided a perfect spark to ignite the festival’s opening.
The arena, a circular expanse utilized by both the 1st and 2nd Knights Orders, featured a subterranean entrance and a second-story viewing gallery. During the busier months of the social calendar, the space sometimes doubled as a theater, though Yuls had never graced such a performance with his presence.
“That fellow possesses a rather striking countenance, wouldn’t you agree?” Claude remarked casually.
“It is a pity,” Yuls countered. “He is another one of my possessions.”
What began as a simple bout between Roy Gallardo and Lev Zid had transformed into a grand exhibition for the nobility. The assembled lords and ladies, hailing from both the capital and the provinces, were captivated by the rare sight of warriors from Ionad and Pallesa Palace testing each other’s steel.
The aristocrats treated the duel as a festive gala, draped in vivid silks and floral arrangements, their skin painted with celestial patterns and blooms. To them, it was a delightful diversion. In contrast, the Ionad knights who had traveled with the nobles watched the exchange with clinical, calculating intensity.
The tension was even higher among the Pallesa Palace knights. They were loath to suffer a humiliation on their home soil against those Ionad outsiders. The anxiety centered on Roy Gallardo; while he was no amateur, the fact that Lev Zid had previously bested Illich cast a shadow of doubt over Roy’s ability to defend their collective honor.
Yuls scanned the groups of soldiers flanking the arena. The knights were split into two distinct camps, Ionad on one side and Pallesa on the other. He spotted Adi standing directly in front of Roy.
Adi reached out to tap Roy’s shoulder, murmuring something lost to the distance. Roy looked down to respond. It was a common sight; nearly all the knights loomed significantly over Adi.
While it wasn’t unheard of for a knight to lack a massive frame, seeing Adi positioned among those hulking men emphasized a certain quality.
Adi looked remarkably delicate.
“Surely you could part with just one?” Claude asked.
“One what? A knight?”
“Precisely. You have an abundance of everything, after all.”
Such a request seemed beneath the dignity of a Crown Prince, but Claude’s appetite was bottomless. From their youth, he had been unable to tolerate anyone holding an advantage over him. The only reason their friendship had endured was because Yuls had remained a static figure—a boy who never grew up, posing no threat to Claude’s ego. But things were changing.
“Take Bert, for instance,” Claude suggested.
“Bert served my father first,” Yuls reminded him.
“Indeed. People claimed the late Duke despised you, yet he bequeathed you his most trusted man. You were raised in a cradle of affection, Yuls.”
“What is your point?”
“That you can afford to be generous with a single knight. For a friend.”
Claude chuckled, signaling his head chamberlain. When the man produced a pipe, Yuls’s expression darkened.
“Do not light that in my presence. If you do, don’t expect my support anymore.”
“You are far too sensitive.”
“Put it away.”
“Are you fretting over my health? We truly are the closest of kin, aren’t we?”
Yuls chose to ignore the jab. In the ring, Lev Zid and Roy Gallardo moved to the center. They exchanged brief words, unsheathed their blades, and offered the traditional salutes. Yuls found the ceremony tedious. His focus was entirely on Grimaldi—the one in the ring, and the one perched on the far balcony overlooking the fray. Both were watching Lev Zid with unwavering focus.
The ring of clashing metal drew Yuls’s eyes back to the duel, but they inevitably strayed toward Adi. As the fight persisted, even the previously bored Claude began to lean in with genuine interest.
“Lev Zid is losing ground. That style is highly unconventional. Who is that man?”
“Roy Gallardo.”
“Gallardo? I thought the Baron was merely a bureaucrat.”
“You actually remember the name?”
“Of course. He was a sensation in the Capital. If memory serves, a high-ranking lady abandoned her status just to wed him. I suppose his looks were the cause. He certainly makes for a handsome ornament at one’s side.”
“You place an absurd amount of value on appearances,” Yuls noted.
“Adoring beauty is no crime. Besides, you are no different.”
“I have no interest in such trifles.”
“And yet,” Claude pointed out, “you surround yourself exclusively with the exquisite.”
As Claude spoke, Roy executed a perfect parry against Lev’s downward strike, snapping his blade up to rest against Lev’s throat. It was a move that looked effortless, but Claude recognized the terrifying skill required to make it so. He shifted forward in his seat.
“That isn’t the Gallardo style,” Yuls observed.
“No,” Claude agreed. “That is the Grimaldi technique.”
“You recognized it?”
“Count Grimaldi was the man who first taught me to hold a sword.”
Years ago, when the reigning king was still a prince, the newly minted Spencer Grimaldi had arrived at the Escort Knight Division. It had been mere months after Claude’s birth.
Claude had spent more of his childhood with Spencer than Sir Adrian Grimaldi ever had. The Count had been his mentor in many things, especially the blade. Though Claude lacked natural brilliance, the Count’s tutelage had made him a competent swordsman. He hadn’t touched a weapon in years, but his eye for the craft remained sharp.
Roy Gallardo was technically less skilled than Lev Zid.
“The Count flatly refused to show me that specific move,” Claude mused. “He claimed it was a family secret.”
That secret was now the deciding factor. Lev Zid was clearly blindsided by seeing the Grimaldi style mirrored back at him by Roy. The technique relied on reading and reacting to an opponent’s momentum; if the practitioner themselves was countered, it often led to a total breakdown in their rhythm. It was a style designed to be defeated only by another Grimaldi, which was why it was never shared with outsiders. Until now.
Amused, Claude glanced at the Count across the arena. Spencer appeared stoic, but Claude could sense the man’s suppressed rage. He then looked for Sir Adrian Grimaldi among the onlookers.
“I suppose Adrian was the exception to the rule,” Claude said with a smirk. “Wait—Sir Lev Zid is also employing Grimaldi techniques, isn’t he?”
“He is the Count’s primary vassal,” Yuls replied.
“Vassals aren’t usually privy to the inner sanctum of a family’s style. The Count must have had a specific goal in mind.”
“He did. He intended for Lev to marry his daughter. He wanted him in the family tree.”
Yuls squinted. “You mean Adrina Grimaldi and Lev Zid.”
Yuls had no interest in a dead girl, yet the idea of that union left him feeling strangely unsettled.
“Precisely. Though that plan died with her.”
Yuls’s gaze returned to Adi. He couldn’t stop wondering why Adi looked so fragile compared to the others.
“Adrina was a rare beauty. Since they were identical, I imagine you can picture her perfectly?”
“I never saw her,” Yuls said.
Even identical twins could look like strangers depending on their spirit and posture. Claude spoke as if the two were worlds apart.
“I have a portrait of her. Would you like it?”
“Why would I want a painting of a ghost?”
“To appreciate her grace.”
“Keep it.”
Yuls had no use for the dead. He needed Adrian Grimaldi. Whether the man was a victim of his sister’s fate or the master of his own, Adrian was the one currently altering the course of Yuls’s curse.
“You should be the one clinging to her image,” Yuls added.
“Why stop at a picture? I intend to claim everything she left behind. It all belongs to me in the end,” Claude declared.
His arrogance was absolute. He spoke as if the crown and all its holdings were already his. Yuls had once shared that certainty, though he doubted Claude would live long enough to see it if he didn’t give up the tobacco.
“I hope you get what you deserve.”
“I will. Especially since my most formidable rival has no interest in the throne,” Claude whispered, his eyes locked on the duel.
In the ring, Roy’s knee slammed into Lev’s midsection with brutal force. Claude let out a sharp bark of laughter.
“Is this how knights settle things now? With street brawling?”
“……”
“Do you think he’s injured?”
Recalling things Bert had mentioned, Yuls remained silent. Roy had finally crossed a line. Despite the blow, Lev managed to struggle back to his feet and raise his sword, but the tide had clearly turned in Roy’s favor.
“The most dangerous enemy,” Yuls repeated softly.
Claude turned to him. “You don’t want this seat, Yuls.”
“Which is why I tolerate you. The others are far too hungry for power.”
“Of course. Though you did try to have me killed.”
“Did you really think those assassins were meant to succeed? It was a trial.” Claude shrugged. “A trial for Sir Adrian Grimaldi.”
“Testing what, exactly?”
“His prowess, for one.”
“And the other?”
“His loyalty to his orders.”
The weight of the words was clear. Yuls didn’t need to ponder the meaning.
“Adi knew,” Yuls realized. He remembered Adi suggesting to Bert that they increase the security detail. “He knew someone was coming.”
That explained everything.
“What was the order you gave him?” Yuls demanded. “Was he told to save me, or to let me fall?”
