At a moment like this, the audience would normally have let out gasps of surprise. But by then, the fog of Hellish Steam had spread across almost the entire arena, nearly reaching the magical dome protecting the spectators. Not even someone using a high level of Physical Enhancement on their eyes could clearly see what was happening inside.
Fortore's sword had pierced Brasto's stomach, only stopping when the tip struck the back plate of his armor and failed to penetrate it.
Drops of blood trickled from the old adventurer's mouth.
Even though the pain had to be intense, Brasto's expression revealed nothing. Blood continued to run down his chin, yet the same confident smile remained firmly on his face.
Fortore pulled his sword out of Brasto's body just as quickly as he had driven it in.
Then he stepped away and disappeared into the thick steam.
From a safe distance, the captain of the Royal Knights observed the old adventurer, hoping that the wound, combined with the heat of Hellish Steam, which was now hotter than the lava of an active volcano, would finally be enough to bring him down.
Something about Brasto caught Fortore's attention.
The bandages wrapped around the old man's enormous weapon had become increasingly sparse, yet not a single visible strip had burned after coming into contact with Fortore's scorching Steam Blade.
That was strange.
Judging from their current condition, the bandages didn't seem particularly durable, so logically they should have been damaged by that kind of heat.
Still, Fortore didn't dwell on the mystery for long. His mind immediately returned to the fact that he had no desire whatsoever to continue fighting this old man. To him, Brasto was nothing more than a stepping stone that needed to be crushed before he could reach the opponent he actually wanted to face next.
That opponent wasn't a woman either, but Fortore did have a certain interest in fighting him. Of course, it wasn't anything that could be called positive interest.
Fortore wanted revenge.
He wanted to defeat, by any means necessary, the insignificant human who had once managed to block one of his blows in front of his queen, causing him unbearable embarrassment.
At the same time, however, Fortore had to admit that he also felt a degree of gratitude toward that filthy human whose name he had already forgotten.
If that human hadn't stopped him back then, there was a chance Fortore might have caused enormous problems for the kingdom and, above all, for his beautiful queen. That was something that could never be allowed to happen.
In a strange way, that insignificant human had saved one of the most important parts of Fortore's honor.
And for that, Fortore was genuinely grateful.
So, since the wretched human seemed to enjoy fighting, Fortore had decided not to end their future encounter too quickly. Instead, he would do him the favor of making the fight long and painful, allowing the boy to savor every moment of his humiliation.
'He'll get his "fun" battle, I'll get my revenge, and at the same time I'll repay my debt of gratitude. I'd say everyone wins,' the strongest knight thought.
Then he looked back toward Brasto.
And, to Fortore's immense irritation, Leore's former greatest adventurer was still standing there.
Still smiling.
"What's wrong, Mr. Strongest Knight?" Brasto called out provocatively. "I noticed you stopped attacking me a few seconds ago! Do you seriously think a little scratch like this is enough to defeat me?!"
Then the enormous man burst into thunderous laughter.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
A moment later, his expression became much more serious.
"Don't underestimate me, Mr. Knight. If a little heat and wounds like these were enough to defeat me, I never would've survived as an adventurer for all these years!"
Then Brasto moved.
In a single instant, he vanished completely from Fortore's sight.
He had most likely achieved it by enhancing one leg at a time to one hundred percent with every step, allowing himself to move at the greatest speed his body could possibly produce.
Fortore immediately looked around, searching for the enormous figure of his opponent.
But Brasto was nowhere to be seen.
Even so, Fortore wasn't worried. He was certain Brasto had no idea where he was either.
Fortore could see through his own Hellish Steam without difficulty, and the only reason he couldn't see Brasto now was because the old adventurer had clearly moved outside his field of vision.
Brasto, meanwhile, should have been practically blind inside the vapor.
Fortore had also done everything possible to move without making any sound after retreating into the mist. Unless someone possessed the enhanced sense of smell of a Beastkin or exceptional mana perception—and Brasto had neither, as far as Fortore knew—there should have been no way to locate him.
But Fortore was wrong.
Suddenly, right beside the snow-haired elf, the enormous elderly adventurer appeared with his gigantic bandaged weapon already in hand.
The reason Fortore hadn't noticed Brasto approaching wasn't simply the speed of his movements. Fortore's eyes were already accustomed to following things far faster than Brasto's brief dash. Had speed alone been the problem, his vision would have adapted immediately.
That initial burst of speed had served only to surprise and distract him. The real reason Brasto had escaped Fortore's notice was his ability to conceal his presence and remain outside his opponent's field of vision—skills sharpened over decades spent hunting countless kinds of beasts as an adventurer.
Fortore had made two major mistakes.
The first was assuming Brasto had no way to find him. He had ignored the possibility that, thanks to his extraordinary precision with Physical Enhancement, Brasto could enhance his sense of smell enough to temporarily rival that of a Beastkin.
The second mistake was focusing too much on searching for Brasto's body. Had Fortore looked at the ground for even a moment, he probably would have noticed the tiny drops of blood Brasto had left behind as he moved.
Using those advantages, Brasto had managed to get right beside the Strongest Knight without being noticed.
Now that he had been completely taken by surprise, Fortore no longer had enough time to avoid the blow entirely.
So he chose the next best option.
He raised his ordinary sword and prepared to clash directly against Brasto's weapon, hoping that would be enough to parry the attack.
Even though he was now at risk of taking his first actual damage of the match, an elegant, victorious smile remained on Fortore's face. The knight stayed perfectly calm and completely confident.
He had seen Brasto's condition clearly. The old adventurer's face was bright red and drenched with sweat. His eyelids were swollen, and several burns had already begun forming across his skin. Soon, the spells protecting Brasto from Hellish Steam would fail. And once they did, Fortore would win without needing to exert himself much further.
The two weapons collided.
Several cracks immediately appeared along Fortore's sword.
Fortore himself was pushed several meters backward, his armored boots carving two long trails through the arena floor.
Yet the knight was almost completely unharmed.
The only thing he felt was a faint ache in his arms from having blocked Brasto's enormous blow. It reminded him slightly of fighting Aislyra whenever she started getting serious.
Of course, Fortore would never admit that aloud to this boring old man.
But the clash had accomplished something else.
The remaining bandages wrapped around Brasto's weapon were finally torn away.
A huge, satisfied smile spread across Brasto's face.
"Finally," he said, excitement obvious in his voice. "It's ready."
For the first time since the tournament began, the mysterious weapon Brasto had never once fully uncovered could finally be seen.
At first glance, it resembled an enormous sword.
However, what would normally have been a single massive blade was divided into two separate sections by a gap roughly three centimeters wide. The result was a pair of symmetrical metallic-blue blades running alongside each other.
For a moment, Fortore stared strangely at the weapon. He had never seen anything quite like it.
But before he could dismiss the strange design and finish off the old adventurer, who was clearly suffering badly from the heat, something even stranger happened.
Every torn fragment of bandage scattered across the arena suddenly began to glow.
A pure, intense blue light filled each piece.
The glow was so bright that even the spectators, who had been unable to see anything inside the steam for some time, could now make out countless points of blue light scattered across the battlefield.
For most of them, the sight was only confusing.
But a handful of people who knew Brasto well immediately understood.
'The moment has come!!'
Every piece of bandage, regardless of how large or small, suddenly shot into the air.
Each fragment left behind a brilliant trail of light, resembling a shooting star crossing the night sky.
One after another, they converged toward the base of the gap separating the two blades of Brasto's weapon.
At the same time, the two identical, opposing blades began moving farther apart on their own.
Then something formed between them.
A third blade.
It shone with the same pure blue light as the scattered pieces of bandage.
The new blade was about twice as wide as an ordinary longsword blade, but roughly three times longer than the two metallic blades flanking it.
More than metal, it looked like a blade made entirely from concentrated energy.
"That blade is…!!!" Fortore exclaimed, his eyes widening.
For the first time in the entire match, Fortore was truly looking at his opponent. Or, more accurately, he was finally looking at something connected to his opponent with genuine interest.
But before the knight could finish his sentence, the pure-blue blade suddenly extended forward. At the same time, it grew thinner and narrower.
Fortore was forced to dodge.
For someone as fast as him, however, the movement wasn't particularly difficult. He merely shifted slightly to the left as the blade stretched toward him at roughly the same speed as Brasto's ordinary attacks.
The blue blade continued extending until it struck the indestructible wall of the arena, even though Brasto hadn't moved a single millimeter from where he stood.
By then, the blade had become so long, thin, and narrow that it resembled an enormous flat rapier.
That seemingly useless attack reassured Fortore slightly. Still, surprisingly, he remained on guard.
It was obvious Brasto wasn't finished.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Knight, but I think it's time to put an end to this sauna!" Brasto shouted with confidence and amusement. "I understand that, in your mind, saunas, hot springs, and old people probably go perfectly together, but personally I've always preferred a nice cold bath!"
His grin widened.
"It helps wake up my creaky old bones!!!"
Then Brasto swung his sword to the left with lightning speed.
Fortore barely avoided the blade with a quick leap.
But this time, Fortore hadn't been Brasto's target. That was precisely why the old adventurer didn't stop the weapon. He continued slashing in every direction.
At first, Fortore was slightly confused. The attacks clearly weren't aimed at him. Then he looked around. And immediately understood.
"Tch."
Mana was being cut.
Beams of sunlight began breaking through the steam and illuminating Fortore's snow-white hair once again, making it shine like the snow after several days of storms had finally given way to the first rays of sunrise and they hit it.
Large gaps had appeared throughout the vapor. And those gaps weren't being filled with new steam. Slowly, the infernal mist that had dominated the battlefield for so long dispersed.
And as the steam disappeared, the audience could finally see the arena again.
But more importantly, they could finally see, in all its splendor, the legendary weapon held by the old adventurer.
The special mana sword known as—
Shooting Stars!!!