Chapter 56
In the crystal-clear glass, Peyton’s reflection was radiant. He shone as brightly as the sun god, his golden hair tinged with red, accentuated by his tall stature and striking appearance.
With a smooth tone, he brought up his future bride.
“Lord Darvil, you didn’t interfere with Edith, did you?”
“Of course not. As we discussed beforehand, I ensured she was considered for the role of a potential bride.”
“I appreciate your understanding.”
“There’s no need to touch Count Ketzmoris. From what I’ve seen, she seems to have managed to advance based on sheer luck from practicing at the imperial shooting range. While her skills are decent, she doesn’t have the level to make it to the finals.”
Lord Darvil glanced nervously, wondering if his words had upset Peyton. However, Peyton maintained his bright, composed demeanor.
“You’re right. The fact that a noblewoman can even handle a firearm is impressive. Therefore, eliminating Edith in the early rounds will be a simple matter.”
Peyton found Darvil’s critique of Edith uncomfortable, though he refrained from showing any displeasure, maintaining a neutral expression.
The old aristocrats gathered at the table were seasoned and cunning—figuring out areas where the young crown prince overlooked, particularly the vulnerability that most players were commoners.
Few noble families would send high-ranking individuals to the tournament, as those with noble military training typically joined the imperial guard through rigorous examinations.
Thus, should a common player among the finalists meet an untimely demise right before the match, it would likely be quickly swept under the rug without much public scrutiny.
Peyton believed the power gathered here far surpassed that of the imperial court. Together, they could easily bring the young prince’s inflated ego down to earth.
“Is everything settled? The rest is just enjoying tomorrow’s tournament without worries,” Peyton said, a smug smile on his face.
“It will be quite a spectacle. A literal circus will unfold,” Darvil responded.
“The crown prince will hopefully come to his senses once his empire is publicly shamed.”
Eleven were representatives from noble families, and four were assassins dispatched to handle potential complications. Edith, the rookie, was of no concern.
All 16 finalists were firmly under their control.
* * *
The day of the finals arrived with perfect weather. Edith had always been amazed by the astronomical precision in this world. Sometimes it seemed better than real-world meteorology.
The date for the tournament was set so flawlessly that it left her in awe.
The sky, occasionally dotted with clouds, was crystal clear. With almost no wind, conditions for shooting were optimal.
Now, all that was left was to showcase their skills.
‘The problem is my skill level.’
Caught among seasoned competitors, Edith lowered her gaze, feeling defeated.
The most accomplished player in the tournament was a war hero known for his feats in naval battles. Another top contender had won the championship at a neighboring kingdom’s shooting contest.
Once again, Edith found herself facing Nixon, who was no less formidable. He was a sharpshooter who could take down bears with precision. With a simple yet deadly accuracy that could pierce through thick bear hides, Nixon’s skills were far from ordinary.
In the waiting room, surrounded by guards, Edith felt the tension mount as Nixon appeared.
“Nixon, here.”
“Hello, Your Grace.”
“You’re a bit late.”
“I had to talk with my teammates.”
Though Edith remained wary of Nixon, she gestured for him to sit nearby. She couldn’t help but keep a close watch—wondering what he was scheming.
Behind Nixon, another teammate joined, a familiar figure who bowed briefly before standing at a distance.
“Your teammates from House Graves, I assume?”
“Yes, ten people participated, and five made it to the finals.”
“Did you come up with any strategies?”
The light-hearted question caused a subtle look of surprise to flicker across Nixon’s face.
“W-We were just talking about creating a winner among us… a casual discussion, really. Cheering each other on, you know.”
Flustered, Nixon struggled to form his words, but Edith quickly scrutinized him and his companions for any weaknesses.
On the surface, Nixon appeared like a naive hunter. However, his true character was hard to discern. If Nixon had no ill intentions, perhaps it was because he feared the consequences of his actions.
Edith exaggerated a bit, trying to bait Nixon.
“I’m part of this too, so we should be rooting together, don’t you think?”
“…What?”
“You can’t seriously not know? That I’m betrothed to Peyton.”
“I… I didn’t know.”
“Very soon, I’ll become the lady of House Graves. The first time I came to their estate, we were discussing marriage. So, let’s include me in this cheering.”
Nixon’s pupils darted around erratically. He glanced at Cedric, another member of the group. Cedric seemed to be the leader, described as a distant relative of Peyton’s.
She discreetly signaled her guards, who, catching on quickly, subtly positioned themselves between Nixon and Cedric, blocking Nixon’s view.
“Hey, Nixon? If you win, you’ll become the imperial sharpshooter, won’t you?”
“Uh? Well, that’s…”
“Why bother looking for a new home in this city? There’s no need. I can clear a room at House Graves for you. Since we’ve participated together, we’re practically family now.”
As Nixon fidgeted anxiously, Edith pushed further.
“Ah, right. Last time, the maid who served me was really adorable. She’d make a perfect match for you.”
“That’s… uh…”
“Did you already get married? That’s unfortunate.”
“No, I’m not married, but…”
Almost on the verge of tears, Nixon was an open book. He was almost ready to fold.
“Sorry, but I haven’t heard that you’re on our side.”
“Our side?” Nixon’s response was clear—he saw it as a line between allies and enemies. There was no need to pick sides for a shooting contest.
Edith, quick-witted, covered up the comment.
“Peyton cares deeply for me, Nixon. Surely you’ve seen some of that when we met at the shooting range.”
“I noticed a little.”
“It’s his way of letting me enjoy shooting without giving me difficult tasks. More like letting me have fun.”
“I understand now.”
“What kind of grand scheme could you be whispering about? If I had known, I would’ve asked Peyton directly.”
A faint annoyance crossed her face, as if she had been left out of something. Nixon, visibly distressed, opened his mouth to speak.
“Actually…”
“Actually what.”
“Actually, I can’t win. I can’t become the imperial sharpshooter.”
“Why not?”
“The lowest score must be given starting from the finals. I was simply instructed to do so.”
“A lowest score?”
“Once the bracket is revealed, we’ll face whoever we’re matched against. But if it’s Duke Ketsmorris, we’ll aim to win at all costs.”
The finals follow a one-on-one elimination format. The bracket will be revealed once the competition begins.
Edith and Nixon still didn’t know who they would face.
“Just beat me? And intentionally lose to the others?”
Nixon nodded sadly.
Despite the shocking revelation, Edith continued playing the role of her fiancé. She tried to hide her dismay and acted ambiguously.
“Hmm, it seems Peyton doesn’t even want me to win. I’ve been enjoying shooting so much lately that I postponed our dates, and maybe he’s a little upset.”
“I don’t know. I just do my job. Everyone except for competing against you must give the lowest score.”
“But you said before that we were trying to create a winner. Was that a lie?”
“…Sorry, Lady Edith.”
Edith struggled to find her words for a moment. Why would they bring a simple country hunter to the finals only to humiliate him?
Nixon shrank further into himself, his shoulders hunched like a beaten bear.
“But no matter what, someone among us will win.”
“How do you plan to win?”
“The final competitors are all on our side.”
“What?”
“They’ll all have low scores. We’ve been competing to achieve the lowest score possible. The most inaccurate person will likely win.”
“Lowest… score… competition?”
It felt like a hammer had hit her from behind.
It meant that Nixon wasn’t the only one practicing poor aim. If it’s a competition to achieve the lowest score, all competitors from House Graves would only aim outside the target.
Edith realized not only Nixon’s lack of accuracy but also that others had similarly been focusing on missing their shots. And now, they were shouting for unity in achieving the lowest scores.
“Bu—but…”
Her hands trembled slightly as she hid them in her sleeves. Her voice faltered, unable to maintain a calm demeanor.
“Surely, our team isn’t the only one, right? There are sixteen participants altogether.”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I heard that everyone is on our side.”
Edith glanced around the waiting room unconsciously. Several other competitors were scattered, waiting for the tournament to begin.
Something felt off. There weren’t enough competitors.
She counted mentally, excluding herself: one, two… eleven, twelve.
Four players were missing!
“Ladies and gentlemen, the finals are about to begin! Please head to the arena.”
A sudden, booming voice snapped her out of her thoughts. The announcer sounded unusually energized today.
One by one, competitors stood up and began moving toward the arena.
How could this be? The tournament would turn into a mess if it started now. The renowned sharpshooters of the LaGrand Empire would be revealed as nothing more than amateurs.
Clyde’s meticulously planned event would become a public embarrassment.
No way.
It must be stopped.
But how?
