“…”


  Lance Peterson, who came out of the center of the ring, looked at his two mates who were now starting their duel. His face seemed fine, but his expression was filled with frustration and regret.

  It wasn’t like he thought that he would win.

  Who was his opponent?

  It was a swordsman who had reached the level of Master in his early 20s. This meant that he wasn’t in a position to even compare himself to the opponent.

  However, despite knowing that, Lance still couldn’t calm down. It was because he knew that there was definitely a time when he was stronger than Airn.

  ‘I thought I could fight him longer…’


  He knew that Airn didn’t even do his best. He didn’t pull out his Aura Sword, nor did he use his full strength.

  Still, Lance had no choice but to feel helpless as if he had been facing an iron wall. No matter how hard he tried, the wall didn’t break. Conversely, he felt scared that the opponent could take him down with any strike.

  Which was why he gave up mid-way.

  “Call me Miss Kirill, Mr. Bratt.”1

  “Let’s do that.”


  Bratt Lloyd, who agreed, looked at his mates.

  “Then, should we start again?”


  And the talks resumed.

  Hello darkness, my old friend…?