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Scarlette clicked her tongue beneath her veil, irritation flickering briefly through her crimson‑lilac eyes. Fortunately, no one could hear her muttered complaint, nor read the expression hidden behind the shadow of her hood. She straightened her posture and let the irritation fade, pushing it deep down where it belonged.
The clarification had already been made.
There would be no consequences. No misunderstandings.
Now, there were no excuses left.
Scarlette and Asterion faced one another on the center stage of the arena. The noisy murmurs of the crowd slowly died down, anticipation settling into the air like a held breath. The semi‑final match had begun, and everyone present could feel that something different was about to unfold.
Since the Marquis himself demanded a serious fight, Scarlette saw no reason to be courteous.
The bell rang.
Asterion shifted his footing, preparing to launch forward first—instinctively determined to claim initiative. But at the very same moment, the mysterious woman moved.
And vanished.
Asterion's pupils shrank.
Before his step landed, she was simply… gone. No blur. No distortion of air. Just absence—like a candle snuffed out in an instant.
His heart skipped.
"What—?!"
He halted immediately, muscles coiling as his senses expanded. His gaze swept across the stage, sharp eyes searching for movement while his awareness stretched outward, attempting to latch onto any hint of presence.
'Where is she?!'
Nothing.
No aura.
No sound.
No shadow.
It was as though she had erased herself entirely.
'I… can't feel her at all,' he realized, breath tightening in his chest. 'Not even a trace. It's as if she deliberately severed herself from existence.'
Even other Swordmasters usually left some ripple—some residual hint of aura or motion. But this?
This was something else entirely.
The spectators erupted in confusion.
"Where did she disappear from?!"
"I blinked—and she was gone!"
"Even Marquis Valehart looks stunned!"
Asterion forced himself to stay calm, refusing to let panic take hold. He controlled his breathing, grounding himself in the discipline carved from years on the battlefield. If perception failed, instinct would have to take over.
At that instant, something stirred against his chest.
A warmth—gentle, spreading.
Asterion stiffened.
Lunaris Astra reacted.
The familiar pendant beneath his uniform pulsed softly, not violently or urgently, but warmly—like recognition. The sensation was subtle yet unmistakable, radiating outward in a way that made his skin prickle.
Not warning.
Not danger.
But… familiarity.
His fingers twitched reflexively.
Again… he thought, teeth clenching. Why now?
The necklace had never done this before. Not during war. Not in the presence of powerful enemies. Not even when he awakened as a Swordmaster.
Yet ever since this mysterious woman appeared, Lunaris Astra had stirred—responsive, aware.
Before he could linger on the sensation, movement exploded behind him.
A sharp impact struck his wrist.
His scabbard was torn from his grip and sent spinning through the air before slamming onto the stage several meters away. Asterion barely had time to register the loss when another sensation followed—
Cold pressure against his neck.
The tip of a wooden sword rested there.
But to his senses, it felt no different from a sharpened steel blade pressed against his throat.
"You lose."
Her voice came from behind him—calm, cold, and dangerously close.
Asterion froze.
Silence swallowed the arena.
Every spectator stared in disbelief as the mysterious woman stood behind the Marquis, wooden blade perfectly steady at his neck. She hadn't rushed or strained. Her posture was relaxed, almost casual, as though the exchange were inevitable.
Though no blood spilled, oppressive pressure flooded the space. The air itself seemed heavier, especially around the woman who looked ordinary—yet felt anything but.
The rules were clear.
The moment a contestant lost their weapon, the match was over.
Asterion's gaze dropped to his empty hand.
'I… never saw her move,' he realized, heart pounding. 'Not even with my senses heightened.'
For a moment, his mind replayed the brief exchange—the vanished presence, the warmth from Lunaris Astra, the instantaneous strike.
Then he laughed.
A soft, amazed chuckle escaped him.
"Well then," he said as he slowly raised both hands, surrendering fully, "I concede this round."
The judges announced the result to a stunned audience.
Scarlette withdrew her sword and moved back at once, creating distance and breaking the tension. She showed no sign of triumph—only mild irritation, as though the entire thing had been burdensome.
"There's still another round," Asterion said, regaining his composure and offering a crooked smile. "I won't lose next time."
Scarlette responded with nothing more than a sigh.
She turned and started to walk off the stage.
Before stepping down, she paused and glanced toward the event host nearby.
"I forfeit," she said evenly. "I won't be continuing to the next round."
Shock rippled through the crowd.
Before she could leave, a hand clasped around her arm.
She didn't turn.
She already knew who it was.
"Is there anything else, Marquis Valehart?" she asked, voice devoid of warmth.
Asterion blinked.
Only then did he realize what he had done.
He released her arm immediately, stunned at himself, heat rushing to his face as embarrassment surged. He stepped back hastily, raising one hand in an apologetic gesture.
"I—sorry. That was inappropriate."
His ears burned.
If the spectators noticed his reddened face, they were polite enough not to comment.
From the high platform, laughter erupted.
The Crown Prince leaned over, clutching his stomach as he wheezed.
"R‑royal Father—Pffft! The Marquis is already shooting hearts!"
The Emperor covered his mouth, shoulders shaking as he laughed.
"There are countless noble ladies lining up for him," the Emperor said between chuckles, "yet this is the first time I've seen him act so boldly—and toward Scarlette Overland, no less."
The Crown Prince wiped tears from his eyes. "Imagine his face when he finds out who she really is."
The Emperor's laughter softened into an amused smile.
"That revelation will be… entertaining."
Back on the stage, Asterion cleared his throat, struggling to reassemble his dignity.
"Since you're withdrawing," he said carefully, "may I at least know your name? You already know mine. It seems fair."
The mysterious woman hesitated.
She clearly wanted to leave. Her body language screamed annoyance. But after a brief pause, she turned to face him—still hooded, her features hidden.
"Call me Letty," she said flatly.
Before Asterion could respond, she stepped away.
Straight into the crowd.
Gone.
Again.
Asterion stood there longer than he meant to, staring at the empty space she left behind.
"Letty…" he murmured.
Against his chest, Lunaris Astra radiated faint warmth once more.
Not urgency.
Not warning.
Just… recognition.
Scarlette disappeared among the spectators, jaw clenched beneath her veil.
'What a troublesome matter…'
[END OF FLASHBACK]
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