Lucas's only goal during the tournament's break wasn't just to satisfy his hunger—it was also to ease his curiosity and, if possible, soothe some of his growing worries.
To do that, he wanted to meet several participants he knew, though above all, he wished to speak again with Scuro. Even though they had met only a short while ago, he couldn't help but worry that Scuro might become too obsessed with Buio and push himself too far in training.
Lucas trusted Scuro's intelligence and discipline, but given how personal this conflict was—and considering Scuro's serious and intense nature, which Lucas had come to understand well in recent weeks—he couldn't completely shake off his concern.
"Big sister, are you all right? You look a little down," Aislyra asked, her blue eyes studying his face carefully.
"I was thinking about Scuro…" Lucas replied softly.
Hearing that, Aislyra gave him a powerful pat on the back. "Don't worry! There's a reason Scuro is our military strategist. He knows his body's limits and understands when training stops being productive and starts being dangerous," she said with her usual mix of energy and reassurance. But then her expression darkened slightly. "Still, I think there's a good chance that, until either he or someone else defeats Buio, Scuro will be completely fixated on him. For the next few days, he'll probably care only about things that affect his odds in the tournament. That's why I'm not worried about his physical condition—I'm worried about his mind."
Her words lifted some of the weight pressing on Lucas's chest, though not all of it. After all, it wasn't only a person's body that could fail them—their mind could, too.
Just as those thoughts began to spiral, something distracted Lucas.
Down the corridor, he noticed an elf who, like them, seemed to be wandering the arena halls in search of someone—but with far greater urgency.
"Hi, Uncle Lucrio. Everything okay?" Lucas called out as he approached the elf.
Lucrio turned sharply toward the familiar voice. For an instant, his face betrayed clear anxiety before he quickly forced it into a calm mask.
"Ah, Alberia… Yes, everything's fine. Are you enjoying the tournament?" asked the Minister of Finance, his tone carrying a practiced calm that didn't quite hide his unease.
"Yes, Uncle Lucrio—if we ignore the sudden appearance of Buio earlier…" Lucas replied. The moment he mentioned the dark knight's name, Lucrio's eyes twitched ever so slightly. "But are you sure everything's all right? It looked to me like you were searching for someone a moment ago—and you seemed pretty agitated," Lucas added, concern coloring his voice.
"No, Alberia, you must be mistaken," Lucrio replied quickly, his tone edged with false sarcasm. "I wasn't looking for anyone, and I'm not agitated in the slightest. Maybe you should ask Heve to check your eyes." He forced a chuckle before adding, "By the way, have you seen that mutt Scuro?"
"Yes," Lucas answered immediately. "He stopped by the royal cabin right after Buio's match ended. Then he said he was going to train—to prepare for a possible fight against Buio."
"I knew it. Damn stubborn dog," Lucrio muttered under his breath, his expression hardening. "At least I have an idea where he went." Without another word, he turned and started walking briskly down the corridor.
A mischievous grin spread across Aislyra's face. "Oh, I see, Uncle Lucrio—you're worried about Scuro too, aren't you?" she said teasingly, her tone sing-song and amused.
Lucrio froze mid-step, spun around, and shouted, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, AISLYRA?! Why would I be worried about him?!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying more emotion than he intended. "I admit I was going to see him, but only to tell that mutt he doesn't stand a chance against a Dark Knight—so there's no point in him wasting his time training!"
And with that, Lucrio turned again and stormed off in the direction of Scuro's training grounds.
Lucas couldn't help but smile at the scene. 'He really doesn't know how to be honest,' he thought. 'Are we absolutely sure Lucrio and Emeralda aren't related? Because that reaction looked awfully familiar.'
Meanwhile, Aislyra was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Unfortunately, before Lucas could ask Lucrio where exactly Scuro was training—since he clearly seemed to know—the minister had already disappeared down the corridor.
Even so, seeing Lucrio so flustered left Lucas oddly comforted. No matter how much the two men argued, Lucrio understood Scuro better than anyone else—and it was clear that, beneath all his grumbling, he truly cared for his friend.
Lucas, Aislyra, and Katerina spent the next half hour wandering through the many corridors of the arena, searching in vain for any familiar participants. Unfortunately, their efforts yielded nothing. Since the break was nearly over, it was likely that most competitors had already returned to their changing rooms or taken their seats in the stands.
"Okay, I give up. Let's head back to the cabin," Lucas said, his voice tinged with mild disappointment.
"Excuse me, Your Majesty," Katerina said quietly, her tone calm but carrying a faint trace of regret. "I should return to the changing room and prepare for my match."
"Don't worry, Katerina. Go on ahead. I can't wait to see your match," Lucas replied warmly, offering her a kind smile.
"Thank you. I promise I won't disappoint you. As soon as my match is over, I'll come straight back to you," Katerina said in her usual composed, almost mechanical tone. She bowed deeply before parting ways with the two elves and disappearing down the corridor toward the changing rooms.
Lucas and Aislyra quickly made their way back to the royal cabin. Yet, upon entering, they were surprised to find not only Sequoria inside but also someone entirely unexpected.
"This food is magnificent, Lady Sequoria. I thought so the last time you invited me to the palace, but I must say again—your cooks are extraordinary. I would have loved to have them in my own palace back when I ruled Rome," said Caesar, savoring a generous bite of steak.
"I'm delighted you enjoy it, Hero Caesar," Sequoria replied in her serene, regal tone. "Even though my daughters are not here to share this meal, the royal cooks will be honored to know that their dishes were served to the new hero of Leore—and that you found them so pleasing."
At that moment, Caesar noticed the two elves standing at the cabin entrance. "Ah, Queen Alberia, Lady Aislyra," he said with a genial smile. "I imagine you're wondering what I'm doing here."
Both elves nodded, their curiosity apparent.
"Well," Caesar began, leaning back slightly, "after making the rounds to formally introduce Ativ as the newest member of my party to Enea and the others, I escorted him to his room so he could rest. I then thought I'd stop by to pay my respects to you Queen Alberia. But when I entered the cabin, I found only Lady Sequoria enjoying what looked like enough food for three people." His lips curved into a faint smirk. "Lady Sequoria kindly explained that you had gone to eat in the cafeteria and that she had decided to handle your share of the meal herself. Then, being generous, she offered me some of the dishes that had been prepared for you three—since even she found it a little too much to finish alone."
Sequoria gave a soft, elegant nod, confirming Caesar's story.
"So, you came here just to say hello?" Lucas asked, genuinely surprised.
"To tell you the truth," Caesar replied with a relaxed smile, "I also hoped to ask if you'd allow me to watch the second half of the tournament's first day with you. I think it would make the rest of the afternoon far more interesting—for both me and you." His voice carried a noble warmth, perfectly balanced between formality and ease.
Having Caesar in their booth would undoubtedly mean Lucas would have to be careful about what he could ask about, and what he couldn't. Still, watching the matches beside one of the most legendary generals in history was an opportunity far too valuable to pass up. And when the mysterious Enea's turn came, Caesar's insight might prove especially enlightening.
Lucas glanced at Aislyra and Sequoria, silently gauging their thoughts before answering.
"Of course, Caesar," he said finally, his tone gracious and steady. "It would be an honor to have you with us for the rest of the day. But before that, I must say—your earlier match with Ativ was truly spectacular. It was, without question, the finest performance we've seen in the tournament so far."
His regal composure softened near the end, his words carrying an unmistakable note of excitement.
"I completely agree, my daughter. I have never seen anyone capable of wielding so many soldier-type spells simultaneously—and controlling them all with such precision. It was truly a remarkable sight. Also, forgive me if I'm mistaken, but did you actually defeat Ativ without using either your derivative magic or, more importantly, your exclusive historiy magic?" said Sequoria, her voice bright with admiration.
A faint smile curved Caesar's lips. "I'm embarrassed to admit it, but having arrived in this world only a little over three months ago, I haven't yet learned how to use my derivative magic," he said with a light, almost self-deprecating tone. Then, glancing toward Aislyra, his expression shifted subtly. "As for my history magic… considering that someone in this very room could end up being my opponent in the coming rounds, I'd prefer not to reveal its effects just yet." He paused for a moment, then added with quiet confidence, "But I can give you a hint—I was in the process of activating it during my match with Ativ. In the end, though, there was simply no need."
His calm yet challenging tone hung in the air. Lucas and Sequoria exchanged thoughtful looks, their minds instantly replaying moments from Caesar's duel with Ativ, trying to recall when he might have attempted to use such magic.
Aislyra, however, met Caesar's eyes head-on, her icy gaze filled with defiance. "Don't worry, Hero Caesar," she said, her voice firm and fearless. "If we meet in this tournament, I promise—you'll need it."
"One-on-one combat has never truly been my style," Caesar replied with composed grace, his tone both regal and amused. "But crossing blades with a woman like you would be an honor—and an experience I sincerely hope this tournament grants me."
The tension between them was palpable—an unspoken challenge alive in the air. Yet, before it could deepen further, a familiar voice boomed across the arena.
Chiacchera had returned to the center of the stage, accompanied by Pinusal. Her usual exuberance filled the stadium as she shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back! I hope you all enjoyed the break and are now brimming with excitement for the next part of today's tournament!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, their energy vibrating through the entire arena.
"Well! It seems you're all fired up!" Chiacchera continued with a grin. "Then let's skip the formalities and introduce the two warriors who will face each other in our next match!"
She gestured toward one of the arena's left gates. "Entering from the left side, we have the leader of the renowned adventurer party from the city-state of Metallikípóli—the Iron Cutters! Unfortunately, her two teammates have already been eliminated from the tournament…"
As the gate creaked open, a woman stepped into the sunlight. Lucas recognized her immediately—the red-haired adventurer in bikini armor whom he had seen earlier in the cafeteria. Her long scarlet hair shimmered as she moved, her steely gray eyes fixed ahead with sharp determination. In both hands, she held gleaming twin swords, already drawn and ready.
"Zoe Sideros!" Chiacchera announced enthusiastically.
However, it quickly became clear that Zoe and her party weren't particularly well-known in this country. The crowd offered little applause, focusing instead on murmurs about her appearance and revealing attire.
Unfazed, Chiacchera turned toward one of the right-hand gates. "And her opponent will be the third—and penultimate—member of the hero's party! One of the most talented blacksmiths in all the dwarf kingdom of Felsmassiv, known far and wide by the nickname 'The Moving Armory!'"
Even before the gate opened, Lucas already knew who was about to appear.
From the shadows emerged Roterberg, clad in the same heavy armor he had worn when Lucas first met him at the palace. But what truly drew the eye was the vast collection of weapons, all taller than him, strapped to his back—an arsenal so enormous it seemed impossible for one man to carry. Towering spears tipped with silver, a massive war hammer, a two-bladed battle axe, an exceptionally long katana, and countless others gleamed under the light. Yet Roterberg walked with effortless poise, as though their combined weight meant nothing to him.
"Roterberg Waffen!" Chiacchera cried.
This time, the entire stadium roared in approval. Applause thundered across the stands, the crowd's excitement palpable for the duel that was about to begin.