Chapter 120: Winner
Duke Draken rose slowly from his seat, the weight of authority settling over the arena like a suffocating fog. His cloak billowed slightly as he stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp and unreadable.
His presence alone was enough to silence even the loudest of hecklers.
"Julies Evans," he repeated, his voice clear and resonant. It echoed across the colosseum with quiet command.
My body stiffened. I could feel thousands of eyes on me—some filled with hope, others with disdain. Alice, beside me, was tense as well, though she didn’t speak. Not now.
Draken’s gaze didn’t waver as it locked onto mine.
"You have defeated my daughter, Alice Draken, in a formal duel. Before witnesses. In accordance with the rules of this tournament."
He paused.
The crowd leaned forward in anticipation. This was it. The moment they wanted—judgment, punishment, perhaps even public disgrace.
But Draken’s next words shattered that expectation.
"And for that, I commend you."
A stunned silence blanketed the arena.
My eyes widened slightly.
Even Alice blinked.
"You fought not as a servant," Draken continued, "but as a warrior. You used your abilities well, obeyed every rule, and defeated one of the North’s strongest without trickery or cowardice."
Gasps. Murmurs. A nobleman in the front row dropped his monocle.
Draken raised a hand before the mutters could become protests.
"I understand many of you are displeased," he said calmly. "You wanted a champion born of nobility. A warrior groomed for victory. Instead, you witnessed something greater—merit triumphing over blood."
His gaze hardened.
"And if that frightens you, then perhaps you should not have come to witness a battle of strength in the first place."
His words struck the crowd like thunder.
Some noble houses looked away in shame. Others, defiant, scowled but said nothing.
"Julies Evans," Draken said, turning back to me, "you are not of the North. You were not born into power. But today, you stood at the center of our colosseum and earned a victory no one can deny."
He raised one hand.
"As Duke of the North, I recognize your win and name you Champion of the Grand Northern Martial Tournament."
The arena exploded—not with cheers, but with stunned disbelief.
A few clapped, slowly at first. A couple of commoners up in the high seats. Then more. A smattering of applause from merchants, even a handful of nobles with less to lose.
And Alice, who simply nodded once, satisfied.
Duke Draken smiled warmly as he congratulated the victor, then turned his eyes toward his daughter.
"I am ashamed," she said quietly.
A single sentence, heavy with responsibility. She had failed to secure victory—not just as a warrior, but as a proud member of House Draken.
"You don’t look all that ashamed," her father replied with a faint chuckle.
There was no scolding in his voice, only affection and understanding.
But the moment held more than just a father’s comfort. The stiffened audience, watching closely, murmured in disbelief.
"Did the Cold Treasure of the North... smile?"
"Even after losing?"
"That must have been one hell of a duel."
Alice nodded, her expression calm but earnest.
"Yes. I lost, but I gave it everything I had—and I learned more from this fight than any before."
What truly determined victory?
Was it raw strength? The size of one’s muscles or the weight of one’s sword?
Or was it magical prowess—how many spells one could cast or how much mana one possessed?
Of course, those were important factors. But they weren’t everything.
Alice thought of someone she knew—someone who stood on that battlefield with neither impressive strength nor overwhelming magical power.
Her servant. Julies Evans.
Among all the fighters she had seen, he might’ve been the most physically lacking. His magic wasn’t flashy or overwhelming like Amelia’s. And yet...
He had turned his disadvantages into advantages. Used his strengths so cleverly that he overcame odds stacked against him.
And won.
"If we’re talking about creating unexpected variables on the battlefield... then Julies Evans far surpasses me," she said aloud.
An artifact that destroyed armor in a single strike. Magic that didn’t rely on sheer power but instead pierced through weaknesses. Those blood needles that threatened her throat. His eyes—sharp, calculating. His footwork—precise, ever-shifting, avoiding every blow.
It wasn’t stable. It wasn’t perfect. But when it worked—it turned the tide, even against stronger opponents.
That was what she had been missing. She’d always relied on direct clashes, brute strength, and clean technique.
But Julies?
He fought to win. And more than that—he had the courage to face her without flinching.
And that... may have been the most powerful weapon of all.
She still remembered that day...
The day she had stood at death’s door, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
And it was Julies who had pulled her back.
Not with a grand gesture or a desperate cry—but with quiet determination, pressing the return stone into her trembling hand.
She hadn’t even realized what he was doing until the spell had already activated. In those final seconds before the light swallowed her, she saw him.
Standing tall. Back turned.
Facing the demon alone without a moment’s hesitation.
That image stuck with her—etched into her mind like a painting:
Julies, resolute in the face of overwhelming power.
Not flinching. Not fleeing.
Like a knight from the stories she used to read as a child.
A ridiculous comparison—
And yet...
’Gasp! What am I even thinking...?’
Alice’s eyes widened. Her hand flying to her chest as if to steady her racing heart.
She must still be shaken.
Yes. That was it.
The trauma of defeat, the shock of nearly dying—it had clearly scrambled her thoughts.
Unaware that her ears had turned a subtle shade of pink, she exhaled sharply and clenched her fists.
She hated feeling weak.
Hated being saved.
And most of all—she hated how powerless she had been in that moment.
"I won’t let it happen again," she whispered to herself.
Her pride still smarted, but it wasn’t enough to break her.
If anything, it fueled her.
She would recover.
She would train harder.
She would master her sword—not because anyone expected it of her, but because she never wanted to feel that helpless again.
And maybe... just maybe...
One day, she would be the one to stand between someone else and death.
Without hesitation.
Like Julies did for her.