Chapter 54
After much back-and-forth, Edith finally decided to participate in the tournament, leaving Clyde behind at the palace.
She had managed to overturn Clyde’s insistence on at least observing the event. Throughout their arguments, it became clear that Clyde rarely knew how to win against her. Although they had bickered fiercely, the matter concluded as Edith wished.
From her perspective, she felt uneasy about Clyde’s injury. She worried about him sitting in the royal box, hiding the bandages wrapped around his arm.
To keep him occupied, she handed Clyde a pressing issue: the rampant illegal slave trade in the city. She had recently compiled a thick report and placed it on the bedside table next to him. Reviewing it and devising a plan would surely keep him busy at the palace for some time.
With that burden handed off, Edith felt much lighter as she stepped into the tournament finals.
A team of elite guards was assembled specifically to protect her, ensuring her safety.
The head of the guards, acting as the team leader, carefully directed her movements.
“You must keep us stationed both in front and behind you. Once you enter the tournament grounds, head straight to the waiting room and stay put.”
“All right, I’ll stay still.”
She hadn’t yet thought about how she would detect any suspicious activity from her corner in the waiting room. Just insisting on attending the event had already worried Clyde enough, so perhaps it was better not to overextend herself further.
Underneath her loose outerwear, Edith wore a double layer of silk-padded body armor.
As planned, she moved under tight security from the main gate to the waiting room, taking her place in the farthest corner. Surrounded by sturdy guards, every spot for her entourage was filled with loyal individuals.
As the competition time approached, the waiting room grew crowded with participants and staff.
Among them, Edith spotted a familiar face—a man she had met at the Peyton estate.
Was his name Nixon? She recalled Peyton boasting that he was their most promising contestant. He was the same man she had seen practicing near-misses.
She had intended to stay quiet, but upon seeing Nixon, she found it impossible to sit still. Gaining permission from the head guard, she changed her seat.
“Fancy meeting you here. Do you remember me?”
Approaching Nixon, she greeted him. Startled, the young man jumped to his feet.
“Huh? Oh, yes, of course… I remember, Duchess.”
“Relax. May I sit next to you?”
“It would be an honor.”
As they exchanged pleasantries up close, he struck her as unexpectedly unpretentious.
“I didn’t realize we were in the same group for this tournament. The roster was quite lengthy, and I only recognized your name, Nixon.”
“I was equally surprised to see you here, Duchess. I wasn’t aware you were participating.”
“I joined just for fun and was lucky enough to make it to the finals.”
“They say luck is a part of skill, after all.”
“I hope you achieve excellent results.”
As Edith continued the conversation, Nixon scratched his tousled brown hair, his face flushing red.
“I wish you success in reaching the finals as well, Duchess.”
Edith had assumed Nixon was a mercenary. It seemed likely that Peyton had hired him, though how he came to represent the Graves family as a competitor was unclear.
Still, based on his demeanor and actions, he didn’t seem like a killer. Though she had never met one, she imagined assassins to be devoid of humanity, exuding a menacing aura. By that standard, Nixon seemed far removed from the image of a murderer.
If anything, he resembled a dedicated athlete training hard in a sports village.
“Well then, since you’ve wished me luck, how about sharing some of your marksman’s spirit with me?”
“Pardon? I’m not sure what you mean…”
Suddenly, an idea struck her.
“What do you think about sticking together?”
“Sticking together?”
“Nixon, how about some small talk until they call our names? We can encourage each other as we walk up to the tournament grounds.”
Nixon nervously scratched his messy brown hair again. Despite his bulky build and rough appearance, he had a surprisingly endearing demeanor.
“I’m not very good at entertaining stories.”
“No need to be entertaining. It’s about loosening up.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Her playful response made him smile slightly.
“Well, best is enough.”
Fortunately, Nixon had arrived alone. His teammates were spread across different groups, unlike the nobility who often came with retainers to assist them. Graves didn’t seem to have provided him with any helpers either.
This gave Edith a unique opportunity to engage with him one-on-one.
The primary reason for approaching Nixon was to gather information about any potential conspiracies. However, a direct interrogation wasn’t an option. Instead, she started with casual questions, trying to get to know him better.
It turned out that Nixon was a professional hunter. His reputation was well-known in Peyton’s estate for his skills in the black thicket plains, where he spent most of his life tracking and capturing dangerous beasts.
When the tournament was announced, he had been quickly summoned. Adjusting from hunting moving prey to hitting stationary targets had been challenging at first, but soon he became adept. He was swept into the tournament, ultimately becoming a contestant.
“You left your livelihood behind to join this tournament. Did they offer you enough support?”
“More than what I made hunting bears. This place is comfortable and pleasant.”
“That’s good to hear.”
While she expressed encouragement, a part of her suspected that Clyde might have offered him a more generous reward. If Graves wasn’t particularly loyal to Peyton, the possibility was higher.
Whether Nixon was a secret pawn for Peyton’s schemes was unclear. However, Peyton certainly hadn’t anticipated that Edith would be paired with Nixon in the same group. Who would guess that the two would engage in idle chatter in the waiting room?
Just then, a staff member entered the waiting room through an open door and announced:
“Group 4, prepare.”
It was Edith’s turn to compete.
Together with Nixon, she walked onto the tournament grounds, exchanging encouraging words. Deep down, she hoped Peyton’s schemes would fall apart if Nixon faltered, though she didn’t voice her thoughts.
The match proceeded in a more composed atmosphere compared to the qualifiers. Fewer amateurs and more skilled shooters remained in the competition. Instances of stray bullets hitting unintended targets were rare. No one dared to disrupt Edith’s focused aim.
“Competitors, begin!”
The starting bell rang, and the competitors lined up in groups of eight. Edith positioned herself midway, aiming at her target.
Once her gun was aimed, all stray thoughts vanished. Her only focus was the center of her target. She took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
Bang—. Thwack—.
Her score steadily climbed.
To advance to the finals, she needed to secure a rank in the top 4 out of 8 participants. With ten shots to make, there was no room for error. Most competitors were seasoned marksmen.
Few expected Edith to advance to the finals.
Participants came not only from the Lagrand Empire but also from foreign lands. Renowned sharpshooters filled the tournament, including several star-level athletes. With a young noblewoman mixed into this elite competition, many presumed Edith’s journey would end in the qualifiers.
Only a few believed in her potential, most notably Clyde, who had faith in her since their early practice sessions at the royal shooting range.
‘Ambition for recognition? Ridiculous.’
With the last shot fired, Edith lowered her gun.
‘Stubbornness. Grit. Maybe that’s what it takes.’
Her breath, which had been steady during the shooting, now quickened. During the intense focus of her shots, her heart had slowed down, but now it began to race faster and faster.
Edith had kept her focus solely on the targets, not sparing a glance around the arena from the moment she stepped onto the competition grounds until she had spent all her allotted rounds. Only when the tournament was over did she realize the cheers of the spectators surrounding her.
“Match complete! Please wait at your spot. We’ll announce the winner after tallying the scores.”
She felt that she had done her best. There were no distractions, and she had managed to perform to the best of her abilities. Even if she didn’t place, she was prepared to accept the outcome gracefully.
However, the score tally took a considerable amount of time. In the qualifiers, delays were due to identity verifications, but this time, the meticulous scoring process consumed much more time.
Standing at the sideline, Edith couldn’t see the scores of other competitors’ targets. However, she could tell that Nixon’s target had numerous holes clustered in the center. It was clear he was likely to place first in Group 4.
Finally, a tournament official emerged with a score sheet in hand and stepped into the middle of the arena.
“We’ll announce the rankings. First place, with a score of 89 points, is Nixon Cole from Line 3!”
A thunderous applause erupted from the audience. A score of 89 meant nearly all ten shots were placed in the 9-point range. Second and third places were announced, with unfamiliar names.
The last to be announced was fourth place, and Edith nearly gave up hope.
“Fourth place goes to a score of 81 points. From Line 6, Edith Ketsumoris.”
She made it. She had surpassed formidable competitors to secure a spot in the finals. It was astonishing!
Her mouth hung open, and she slowly lifted her head. The fact that she had qualified last didn’t matter—she had truly surpassed expectations.
Making it to the finals was a monumental upset in the tournament’s main event.
“Woah—”
The sound from the crowd was different this time. Unlike before, where they cheered loudly for other competitors, the audience now erupted in astonishment.
No one had expected a petite noblewoman like Edith to be so skilled in shooting. As she adjusted her jacket and stood tall, her demeanor radiated confidence. Her chin was proudly lifted, her posture regal. To the spectators far away, she resembled the graceful and elegant daughter of House Ketsumoris.
Inside, however, she couldn’t contain her pride.
As she marched in line for the exit, the urge to leap in joy was overwhelming. She kept her feet high on her heels, and even her muscles beneath her coat twitched with excitement.
