Lancer was never a man of many words. On the battlefield, his silent efficiency had only fueled the terror surrounding his name. A loud killer was dismissed as a brute. But a quiet one—precise, relentless—that was something far more chilling.
It was the same now.
With Lancer's arrival, the blue-haired girl's earlier excitement gradually settled. Yet in its place surged an overwhelming fighting spirit. The sheer intensity of it startled even Lancer. In response, he lowered his center of gravity, angling his body deeper behind his shield.
"Whoa—what's this?! We have a challenger!! A rare sight in the arena indeed!! Allow me to introduce today's challenger! Yes, I'm sure many of you already recognize him—the man in the silver armor and flowing cloak! A Colonel of the Imperial Guard and one of His Majesty's personal protectors—LANCER!! A year ago, on his first deployment to the border army, he earned the title 'The Bloodstained Executioner'! Among the western foreign tribes, he's known in their tongue as the 'Devil' himself!!"
Esdeath's provocation had clearly caught the announcer off guard—just as Lancer's sudden entrance had. Fortunately, the man was quick on his feet. Almost the instant Lancer stepped in, he seized the microphone and began an impromptu introduction.
The crowd didn't care about the irregularities. On the contrary, the appearance of an Imperial Colonel sent excitement roaring through the stands. Cheers surged in wave after wave until the entire arena seemed submerged in sound.
At that moment, the Emperor stepped forward and took the microphone from the announcer's hand.
"Today's tournament has stirred my blood. It reminds me of my youth, when I would attend matches alongside Great General Budo. As a token of appreciation, I have accepted this young lady's challenge. Her opponent shall be my personal guard. However, given that she has just completed a match, this bout will be limited to ten minutes. I trust that both Sir Lancer and this young warrior will provide us with a splendid fight."
The Emperor's public address sent the crowd into yet another frenzy. The noise swelled to fever pitch until he pressed his hand downward repeatedly, urging calm. Only then did the arena gradually settle.
The announcer, receiving the microphone back, stared blankly for two full seconds before snapping out of it.
"Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen—now… the battle begins!!"
With his shout, the match officially commenced.
The two figures in the arena faced off, mirroring the earlier standoff. To the audience, it seemed a repeat of what they'd already seen.
But Lancer did not think so.
It was obvious the Emperor had been displeased by the earlier taunt. Sending Lancer down was meant to reassert Imperial dignity. Yet the Emperor had also prepared a safety net—he couldn't be entirely certain Lancer would win.
After all, a shield-bearing lancer was clearly defensively oriented. If Lancer simply held firm for ten minutes, public opinion could easily be steered afterward. "The Imperial Colonel refrained from attacking a young girl." Or, "Even without striking, he exhausted his opponent."
It was a clever plan.
But Lancer felt faintly insulted.
He hadn't caught her name earlier—the introduction had ended before he arrived, and the announcer had only referred to her as a "foreign tribes girl." But now, seeing her youthful face up close, he was almost certain.
Esdeath.
She looked about Najenda's age—perhaps even younger. The future "Queen" of the Empire.
In the original timeline, she would command prestige rivaling Great General Budo himself. Yet her twisted disposition was something Lancer could never accept.
He could not comprehend why strength should be used to torment the weak.
Regardless, whatever she might become, she had not yet reached her peak.
And Lancer?
He wielded a Teigu. He had survived a year of true warfare. He had returned to the Capital precisely because he now possessed confidence.
If Esdeath was still climbing toward her summit—
Then Lancer was already standing at the peak.
BANG—!
To everyone's shock, Lancer slammed his shield into the ground. Then, in one smooth motion, he unclasped his cloak and draped it over the embedded shield.
The sudden gesture sent cheers skyrocketing.
Across from him, Esdeath's stern expression shifted into a faint smile.
It was flawless—and utterly devoid of warmth. Her eyes were as cold as the snowfields of her homeland.
The moment Lancer reset his stance, Esdeath launched forward.
It wasn't blind anger driving her. She understood perfectly: against a weapon of that size, closing the distance meant victory.
But would Lancer allow it?
BOOM!!
The impact thundered across the arena, drowning even the crowd's roar. The specially reinforced arena floor fractured under Lancer's strike, forming a crater over three meters wide that rippled outward.
Esdeath was forced to halt, her footing disrupted by the upheaved ground.
Lancer pressed the advantage.
Whoosh—!
Twisting his body, both hands on the shaft, he thrust with explosive force. The lance tore forward like a storm given form.
Esdeath swung her sword to intercept.
The instant their weapons met, her expression changed.
Crack—!
BANG—!!
Her longsword shattered.
She was sent flying.
The arena erupted.
"OOOOOOH!!"
Yet, strangely, Lancer did not pursue.
The crowd assumed it was gallantry. That he was showing mercy.
In truth?
That thrust had not truly landed.
The absence of resistance at the tip told him everything. Esdeath had redirected at the last moment—the dramatic fall was her own maneuver.
She looked battered, but she wasn't injured.
And now, in her hand, coiling like a serpent—
A whip.
She hadn't conceded.