Chapter 117: The Laurel Crown (2)

Laurent’s chest split open, and blood poured out.

However, it wasn’t only a problem for Laurent. Hasan also staggered back with blood flowing from his arm.

“That’s Laurent for you.”

Yuri made a brief remark. Laurent’s sword strike had been the correct move.

He never acted recklessly and always executed what needed to be done in every situation with wisdom.

This time was no exception. Deciding he couldn’t avoid Hasan’s attack, Laurent didn’t hesitate to forgo defense and counterattacked instead.

He targeted Hasan’s arm—the only reachable area. In an instant, as brief as a blink, he judged the situation and moved his body accordingly.

“Will his wound be alright?”

“It’s not deep. The one in trouble is Hasan. It’ll be hard for him to use his sword.”

Laurent and Hasan eyed each other in a tense pause. Laurent took a step back and, as if the blood-soaked shirt bothered him, tore it off with one hand and threw it off the stage.

Then, his torso—sculpted like a statue—was revealed. A sigh ran through the stands.

Laurent had immense popularity among women, and that reaction shook the entire stadium.

Jared murmured.

“A gentle face with muscles that aren’t…”

He wasn’t bulky, but every muscle was sharply defined. When Laurent raised his sword, the muscles in his back rippled like waves.

As he watched, Yuri spoke.

“Hasan has already lost.”

“Huh?”

“Even if Laurent loses the fight, Hasan has already lost.”

“I see…”

Hasan, clutching his wounded arm, crouched low.

It was a stark contrast to Laurent’s upright and confident stance, shirtless and stretching his back.

For some reason, he looked pitiful.

Then suddenly, Yuri started clapping. The unexpected gesture drew attention.

Yuri said,

“I’m cheering for Laurent, but right now, I just want to applaud Hasan.”

“That’s…”

Jared, without a word, joined in. Then, applause spread throughout the entire stadium.

After all, everyone had been in Hasan’s shoes at some point. It was a kind of professional solidarity.

The match resumed.

With his injured arm, Hasan could no longer move well and could only retreat. Laurent pressed forward relentlessly.

Little by little, Hasan’s body was covered in wounds.

Yuri asked Jose,

“Does he still have that trick up his sleeve?”

“Yes.”

Jose nodded.

“Hasan is waiting for his moment. Soon, everything will be decided.”

***

Hasan hunched over to minimize energy usage. His opponent looked larger.

As the fight went on, Laurent appeared increasingly imposing to him.

“He’s strong…” Hasan muttered.

Laurent wasn’t incredibly strong nor especially fast. He didn’t wield mana in a flashy way.

He simply swung his sword with precision. But the more they clashed, the more apparent it became that he was falling behind. That small gap in skill accumulated and became a massive difference.

Hasan smiled to himself. Against such an opponent, there was no hope for a comeback.

He didn’t make mistakes, didn’t rush. He was like a snake that slowly tightened, never missing, until it crushed you.

“What an annoying guy.”

Hasan raised his gaze. Laurent was advancing with his sword pointed straight at him.

It looked like a death sentence. Of course, Hasan still had his secret technique.

But that wasn’t comforting.

Before Laurent’s sword, he felt like a mediocre swordsman trying to make up for a lack of skill with gimmicks.

“Annoying…”

Everything coming from that Briol place was like this. He glanced sideways at the stands.

He thought only the third prince was like that for not participating in the tournament, but Laurent was too—in a different style.

Then, Laurent suddenly spoke.

“Before the match began, you said that.”

“What?”

“That you could defeat the third prince.”

Hasan had said that to provoke him at the start of the match. Most of his comments were directed at Laurent, and he had only mentioned the third prince once.

But apparently, that was the part that bothered Laurent the most.

“Can you still say that?”

Laurent smiled. He had the look of someone completely confident in his victory.

Without saying it outright, he made it clear: ‘Even I can’t beat him—so how dare you even mention it?’

“Damn it…”

Absolutely unbearable. Hasan charged and swung his sword.

His arm hurt, and the sword didn’t move as he wanted, but he could still trade blows. If things continued like this, he would lose.

He had one shot left. He started laying the groundwork for that final move.

As if refusing to accept defeat, he exaggerated his movements and wasted energy, swinging his sword with unnecessary force.

“What’s wrong? Think you’ve already won?”

Hasan gritted his teeth and slashed Laurent’s thigh. It left only a scratch.

“Your master is a coward who didn’t enter the tournament out of fear of revealing his true strength.”

He noticed Laurent was more affected by insults toward the third prince, so he kept going.

“I bet all the achievements in the allied army were actually your doing, right? That brat of a prince couldn’t have done anything.”

Laurent’s eyes turned icy cold. Some people don’t fall for taunts—they use them as fuel to crush their opponents even harder.

Laurent seemed to be one of those. Hasan spat blood with a bitter grin.

“Laurent. Rookie. Come at me.”

He moved a finger to provoke him. Laurent approached, not because of the provocation, but because he had already been closing in. Hasan activated his mana sword.

A pale blue glow flared along the blade.

When Laurent crossed an invisible line Hasan had marked in his mind, he unleashed a slash like lightning. A wave of mana shot out from the blade and struck Laurent.

Laurent raised his sword and managed to block it.

Then Hasan charged forward immediately. The mana in his body surged through his channels and concentrated in his right shoulder. His arm began to heat up.

“Fuu…”

Though covered by clothing and not visible, Hasan’s right arm bore a long tattoo from shoulder to wrist—an enchantment laced with magic.

There were no rules in the tournament prohibiting the use of magic. And since it was engraved on his body, it was considered a personal ability.

“Die!”

Hasan shouted dramatically as he swung his sword. It clashed against Laurent’s. Sparks flew.

Without closing his eyes, he pushed against Laurent and twisted his sword. Hasan’s blade slid along Laurent’s.

Without hesitation, Laurent withdrew his sword and stepped to the side. Hasan immediately pursued, brandishing his weapon.

Laurent tried to block from an unstable posture. Just as both swords were about to clash—

Now.

Hasan used his magic. His shoulder burned like it was on fire. In an instant, his sword turned blurry, semi-transparent.

The blade passed through Laurent’s sword. For a brief moment, it could pass through objects.

Nothing could stop the thrust now. Since he hadn’t pulled back any strength, if it connected, Laurent might die.

But he didn’t care. In a tournament, accidental deaths were common. In the end, that too was part of combat.

“Die.”

At the moment the sword descended on Laurent’s body, Hasan looked into his eyes. They were calm.

That gaze hadn’t changed once since stepping into the arena. Laurent didn’t flinch or act recklessly.

And this time was no exception. Hasan felt something was off.

Just before his sword struck, Laurent’s body slid to the side—as if someone had pulled him back.

Through a gap almost imperceptible to the naked eye, Laurent dodged the thrust.

He couldn’t understand it. How had Laurent detected that fleeting moment and reacted? How could he move like a specter? It was as if he’d known the attack beforehand.

His best technique had been neutralized, and only one option remained. He felt a cold sensation on his neck.

Laurent’s sword had slipped against his skin and cut him. Blood started to flow. It seemed like a blow filled with emotion.

Hasan spoke with resignation.

“I lost.”

He hadn’t been defeated by the third prince of Briol, but by one of his subordinates. But he didn’t feel that bad. At this point, he understood.

That Laurent was several tiers above him.

As soon as the sword left his neck, Hasan let himself fall to the ground.
After using the magic, he couldn’t move for a while. Watching Laurent’s back walk away steadily, he shook his head.

“Damn Briol guys, all equally annoying…”

***

Laurent had won.

It was all decided in an instant, and most people didn’t even understand what had happened.

But those who did catch that moment were stunned by Hasan’s unusual technique, and even more impressed by Laurent’s calm reaction.

“He’s missing nothing to be the tournament champion.”

Jose murmured, and Yuri nodded.

“That’s right.”

Laurent had faced his opponent with grace, never losing his composure. He didn’t look like just another competitor—he looked like a champion accepting the challenges of others.

Hasan staggered out of the arena, and the judge stepped onto the stage to organize the situation. He brought Laurent to the center and had him turn toward the crowd to bow.

Using a magical device, he shouted with an amplified voice:

[The champion of the tournament has been decided! The knight of Briol, Laurent Flandre!]

Cheers erupted.

Laurent didn’t only have skill—he showed impeccable attitude, and even the citizens of the Empire who had supported Hasan accepted his victory.

“Laurent deserved it.”

“He was amazing since he was little, and he grew up just as well.”

“Couldn’t we make him a citizen of the Empire?”

“Not a chance. Don’t you see how loyal he is to the third prince?”

“Briol’s full of talent…”

Amid those conversations, the tournament prepared for its final event.

As the winner, Laurent climbed the stairs and stood before the emperor.
Ivar wore a radiant smile.

[All subjects present, show your respects to His Majesty the Emperor.]

Not just Laurent—the entire audience bowed to the emperor. After a few moments, the judge straightened and announced:

[His Majesty the Emperor will personally crown the champion with the laurel wreath. Please give a round of applause.]

Thunderous applause and cheers erupted. The laurel wreath was placed on Laurent’s head.

[And furthermore…]

Ivar turned and searched for something. Finally, he raised a golden, gleaming medal.

[As His Majesty has declared, the winner will be awarded this medal. It can be used in any manner. And this medal…]

The judge’s voice was full of anticipation. Ivar hung the medal around Laurent’s neck, patted him on the shoulder, and spoke a few words.

Laurent bowed his head.

[Now then…]

The stadium fell into silence. There was no specific protocol to follow.

Laurent could simply stay there and bask in his victory. But given what the emperor had promised before the tournament, everyone was on edge, watching to see what he would do next.

Would this be the moment the future husband of the princess—considered the Empire’s treasure—would be decided? Naturally, everyone’s eyes shifted from Laurent to the princess.

Dressed in ceremonial attire, Yekaterina shone with such dazzling beauty that the entire stadium fell silent.

Just imagining Laurent kneeling before her to present the medal was enough for everyone to visualize it.

Which is why, when hurried footsteps echoed, it took a moment for the crowd to locate the source of the sound.

“Huh?”

Every eye in the stadium focused, delayed, on one person. Laurent was descending the stairs.

All watched, dumbfounded. He crossed the arena and walked to the first seat in the front row.

Then, he dropped to one knee and presented the medal to someone. Laurent’s voice rang out clearly.

“I, Laurent Flandre, offer the victory of this tournament to His Highness the Prince.”

A dead silence followed.

Yuri let out a long sigh.

“Ah… I told you not to do that…”