How to Raise a Dumb Wolf - Chapter 92

“Looks like you may be the first person to give her a victory flower, Edward.”

The young man from Bisnis had taken a look at what was happening in the arena. When he returned to the backstage preparation room, there was already a touch of schadenfreude in his voice. He gave Prince Edward a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“When everyone sees you presenting her with the flowers, the entire audience will be studying you. I hope you can hold up under it.”

“…”

Edward did not answer at once. He merely felt somewhat irritated inside—the same irritation he felt every time he saw Elizabeth. He felt nothing for her, yet he had no choice but to marry her.

Once prejudice took root in a person’s heart, everything the other person did seemed like some troublesome mistake.

Edward tightened his grip on his sword. For one second, he even considered pretending to lose to his opponent. He was highly confident in his swordsmanship. He had not won every match, but he had advanced steadily. He had held a sword since he was seven or eight and had been taught by the finest instructors in the kingdom. A few days earlier, he had also seen his name on the list of championship favorites. Apart from professional soldiers, Edward believed he was capable of contending with anyone. Since his opponent this time was also a prince, he doubted the other man had devoted more time to combat training than he had. Even if Prince Brandon had also studied fighting techniques from childhood, their chances of victory ought to be evenly matched. If Edward yielded just a little, he could ensure his opponent won and took away that painfully awkward victory bouquet—and the spectators might not even notice. But…

Edward collected himself.

His opponent happened to be a darkfolk prince. For the dignity of the Federation and all the human kingdoms, he had to fight with everything he had. Deliberately losing would be indefensible, no matter how he looked at it.

“…Forget it. I’m going.”

Edward forced out the words.

His friend smiled. “Having a fiancée like that must be hard. Good luck… Let’s hope the flowers you give her aren’t the only ones she receives during the entire World Tournament. That would be far too awkward.”

“…Let’s hope so.”

After giving his friend a perfunctory answer, Edward straightened his back and said no more. He and his closest friend lightly clapped each other on the arm in farewell, then he left the room and strode into the arena.

He did not notice the complicated gleam that flickered through a pair of darkfolk eyes behind the door they had forgotten to close. Brandon had merely gone around to the front of the arena to buy a bottle of water for one copper coin. He had not expected to overhear such troubling words while passing his opponent’s waiting room.

Brandon frowned. His fist tightened, and only after a long moment did he stride toward his own entrance.

…

To Elizabeth, the half-hour interval between the afternoon’s two matches felt as long as a century. When she finally saw Edward standing in the arena, she let out a long breath. Yet for some reason, her anxious heart did not settle. The sight of Edward only made the hollow feeling inside her grow, as if she were falling from a great height but could never reach the ground.

Elizabeth paused, then turned her gaze toward Edward, but he kept staring straight ahead and never looked at her.

Brandon appeared soon afterward. He seemed to be in a bad mood. Rather than walking in, he flew straight out of the preparation area with obvious impatience and landed directly opposite Prince Edward. Then…

He turned his head and looked at her.

Elizabeth froze. In truth, the instant Brandon appeared, her back had tightened by reflex and she had instinctively leaned away until she was pressed firmly against the back of her chair. She was still afraid of him—terribly afraid. When she met Brandon’s visibly displeased expression, her entire body went rigid. She could not stop herself from trembling slightly. For some reason, he looked angry. She did not know whom he was angry with, but it might very well be her… Almost unconsciously, Elizabeth edged closer to Tina.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Tina noticed Elizabeth’s panic and remembered how the darkfolk had once abducted her. She promptly took Elizabeth’s cold hand.

“He’s only here to compete. He can’t hurt you… Watch carefully.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and managed a nod before turning back to the arena.

…

The match erupted the instant it began.

As the magical firework signaling the start soared into the sky and exploded with a boom, both princes charged at each other. This was a formal tournament match, and both moved with extraordinary speed. Prince Brandon of the darkfolk could also fly, making him as swift as a whirlwind. Both princes wielded swords. Their styles differed, but both were clearly highly accomplished.

Elizabeth was extremely nervous. She did not truly understand any of the matches—not as Tina did, at least. Tina could roughly judge the competitors’ abilities and strategies within five minutes and predict the result within seven or eight. Elizabeth could never do that. Still, she watched with all her concentration. Her hands were clasped tightly before her chest, and her blue eyes followed the two men’s every movement as she tried desperately to understand the situation—and Edward’s condition. For some reason, every one of Brandon’s attacks was exceptionally fierce and violent, each carrying frightening destructive force. Several times Edward barely evaded them, making Elizabeth’s heart clench. She was terrified that one of those brutal attacks would seriously injure him.

The darkfolk’s ability to fly gave them a considerable advantage. During a match, if a flying competitor lifted a non-flying opponent more than six meters (about 20 feet) off the ground, the latter would immediately be declared defeated. In a war or genuine battle, there would be little chance of reversing the situation once that happened.

Still, the darkfolk’s flight was not without weaknesses. Their enormous wings needed to support an adult’s weight at great altitude, which consumed considerable stamina. If they remained in the air continuously, a darkfolk competitor would exhaust themselves faster than a human or beastfolk opponent; the longer the match dragged on, the greater the disadvantage. The World Tournament also restricted how long darkfolk competitors could remain aloft. If they spent more than ten minutes circling without attacking merely to delay the match, they would likewise be judged the loser.

Brandon, of course, showed no intention of circling and observing. He seemed unwilling to waste so much as a single second. From the instant the firework burst, he attacked without pause. The sharp, ringing clash of cold steel filled the arena. Even here, assaults this dense and rapid were rare.

Edward was profoundly shocked. He struggled to maintain the appearance of an even match, but in truth, Brandon’s very first strike had shaken him. Though his face revealed nothing, inwardly he was reeling.

His opponent’s strength was simply too great. Not strength in the broad, abstract sense, but raw physical power. Edward had always known that darkfolk possessed an advantage over humans in musculature and stamina, but he had never encountered anything like this. He had fought darkfolk before and could confidently declare that ordinary members of their race could not naturally possess such overwhelming power. Yet from Brandon’s appearance… there was absolutely no sign of it!

Edward hurriedly blocked another blow. The impact numbed his wrist, and he felt as though he were arm-wrestling a bear. Yet Prince Brandon before him… had only the ordinary build of a typical darkfolk man!

Edward was stunned, but he had no chance to think more deeply. Brandon darted nimbly up and down through the air. With such exceptional strength and stamina, he clearly had no need to worry about the exertion of using his wings in battle. Edward realized he had encountered an extraordinarily difficult opponent. Remembering that he had actually considered yielding and deliberately losing in the waiting room, he could not help feeling ashamed of his arrogance and presumptuousness. Fortunately, no one could read his thoughts. Now, merely keeping the match from ending in a humiliating defeat would be accomplishment enough.

Come to think of it… if the darkfolk prince was such a formidable warrior, why had no one ever heard his name on the battlefield? Could the postwar tribunal have been telling the truth—that he was a peace advocate through and through?!

Prince Edward’s attention wandered for a second, but his thoughts were swiftly cut off. Brandon dove from the air again, and terrifying force swept through Edward’s entire arm. He clenched his teeth with effort, his features twisting under the strain as the taste of blood spread through his mouth—

Crack!

The sword shattered in an instant. At the same moment, Edward’s wrist, already numb and aching beyond sensation, could no longer withstand the surging force, and his weapon flew from his hand. Metal fragments scattered far across the ground, while the gleaming golden hilt fell in full sunlight. Suddenly the world before Edward darkened as the darkfolk’s broad wings blotted out the sun. A vast shadow enveloped him in mere seconds. The next instant, he was slammed ruthlessly and swiftly to the ground, and his opponent’s sword hissed down beside his head.

One second. Two. Three.

The firework signaling the end of the match burst overhead. Without saying a single word, Prince Brandon rose. The anger vanished from his face, leaving behind an unreadable mask of silence.

Edward lay on the ground gasping. For one moment, he had truly thought he might die. Fortunately, he had not. He slowly pushed himself up, just in time to see the darkfolk prince frowning as he gripped one wrist. Edward could not hear what he muttered, but a faint magical glow flashed. When the magic on that side faded, Brandon switched hands and repeated the exact same procedure on his other wrist.

Edward stared.

…What was that? Was he not only a swordsman, but a mage as well? A high proportion of darkfolk could use magic, and because they possessed excellent physiques, it was not unusual for some to abandon magic and train solely as warriors… No, wait. Could that spell enhance his strength?

Before Prince Edward could follow that thought any further, a World Tournament staff member had already handed the victory flowers to Prince Brandon. Every victory bouquet was different, but most contained at least three kinds of flowers. Smaller blossoms of various colors adorned the main flowers, making each bouquet bright and beautiful. The particular flowers mattered little to the victor, however. What mattered was the honor and meaning they represented.

Brandon paused after receiving the flowers. Then he turned with the bouquet in his arms and walked toward the judges’ seats.

Edward was genuinely surprised to see him preparing to give the flowers to one of the guests.

As the prince of the South Duke and the only son of the former Duke-Queen Shali Grey, Brandon surely harbored some resentment toward the Helman Federation. Yet this tournament’s two invited guests were General Tina Killott, the woman directly responsible for the darkfolk’s defeat, and Elizabeth, princess of Ryan, the foremost kingdom in the Helman Federation. Neither appeared a likely recipient of Brandon’s flowers.

It was customary for unmarried competitors to give their victory flowers to an invited guest, but the choice was ultimately voluntary. Warriors and mages who wished to keep the bouquet as a memento were free to take it away. No one was compelled to give it merely because the guests were of the opposite sex. But Brandon…

If he had to choose between Tina and Elizabeth, he would probably choose Elizabeth.

So Edward thought.

At least Elizabeth had not participated in the war directly, so the darkfolk would be less hostile toward her.

As the thought passed through Edward’s mind, Brandon did indeed stop before Elizabeth. She looked terrified and kept shrinking away from him—which was only natural. The darkfolk had once abducted her, and she had a troubled history with Brandon himself. Timid as she was, of course the sight of him frightened her.

But a guest had to stand to accept victory flowers. Elizabeth hesitated for a long while before shakily rising to her feet. She looked as though Brandon might frighten her to tears. He held out the bouquet, and she accepted it with trembling apprehension…

There. He should leave now. He had merely observed tradition, and that was where it ought to end. By a strange stroke of luck, Elizabeth had managed to receive her first victory bouquet. That was good…

Edward watched from where he stood. At that moment, he was even relieved that he had not needed to present Elizabeth with flowers himself. Now, even if he won his next match and had to go up and offer her a bouquet, at least he would not have the awkward distinction of being the first to do so… Hm?

Just as Elizabeth took the victory flowers from Brandon with trembling hands, he did not release them naturally. Instead, he seized her wrist and gave a sudden pull!

Even a man like Edward had found it difficult to resist Brandon’s strength, let alone the frail and sickly Elizabeth. Unable to resist, she was yanked straight into his arms, and Brandon embraced her. When darkfolk hugged someone, even their wings folded around them. What Edward saw was Elizabeth—the girl he had always believed no one could ever sincerely love or pursue—clutching the flowers with a terrified, astonished expression as she was drawn into the embrace formed by Brandon’s arms and wings.

—?!

Edward’s eyes widened.

Competitors had hugged the invited guests after presenting flowers before, but the gesture usually expressed genuine admiration or respect. A merely ceremonial bouquet did not call for it. When the recipient was a young woman like Elizabeth, the embrace inevitably carried an ambiguous hint of intimacy that invited speculation. Some spectators had already begun whistling, eager to fan the commotion.

Brandon did not hold Elizabeth for long. The embrace lasted only a few seconds before he released her and never crossed the bounds of propriety. Elizabeth stared blankly, clutching the flowers in bewilderment as though she had not understood what had happened. When she turned to look at Brandon, her expression became extraordinarily complicated, mingling countless strange emotions. At the same time…

Edward saw the darkfolk prince turn back and cast him a warning glance.

The judges’ platform stood slightly above the arena floor, and Brandon’s gaze was calm and cold, devoid of visible emotion or meaning, yet somehow condescending. He looked at Edward in silence for one second, then turned and left.

It took Edward a long moment to recover from that brief look.

A strange possibility rose unbidden in his mind.

Could Brandon’s unmistakable hostility during the match have had nothing to do with relations between their countries, and everything to do with… Elizabeth…?

Edward’s brow furrowed deeply, and his fist tightened involuntarily.