BSWRCPO Chapter 57

Chapter 57

“Your Grace, it’s time for you to go now.”

Nixon looked at her with concern.
There was no immediate solution in sight. However, at this moment, Nixon was the only card Edith could use.

She wasn’t sure what kind of help this man could provide, but in her desperation, she seized his arm tightly.

“Nixon.”

Her voice, spoken softly, was muffled by the wall of guards surrounding her, preventing it from reaching the outside. Nixon’s colleagues looked curiously but dared not approach.

“Nixon, isn’t it cooler to be eliminated in the finals rather than at the beginning?”

“But that would defy orders.”

“Peyton told me you’re a really good shot. So… what if you barely beat your opponent by a small margin?”

“Your Grace.”

“If you succeed, I’ll give you a huge reward. Double, no—triple the money Peyton gave you.”

“Why should I?”

Honestly, Edith didn’t have a backup plan either. Nixon was the only one who could be lured, so she was left with no other choice but to go along with it.
It seemed better to have someone she could manipulate slightly, rather than no one at all.

She needed a convincing reason to give money—something Nixon could easily accept.

“Seeing Peyton disrespecting my pride… it angers me. A small victory against him would help soothe my feelings.”

“Pride?”

“Peyton thinks I’ll be eliminated easily in the Round of 16. Of course, that’s likely, but it still irritates me that he doesn’t support me.”

“Even if I win, it’s still upholding your orders.”

“That’s right. So, even if you aim for lower scores all the way to the finals, it wouldn’t be directly going against Peyton’s orders.”

“That makes sense.”

Nixon scratched his head, completely trusting her. Over time, he had been duped by her lies multiple times, and now, he sincerely believed in her role as the future Duchess.

The enthusiastic voice of the announcer called again.
“Your Grace, you need to hurry.”

As Nixon escorted her toward the end of the line leading to the arena, Edith’s insides burned with tension.

* * *

The Imperial Tournament was held for the purpose of showcasing the Empire’s prosperity.
The grand final match began amidst a variety of spectacles.

Standing in the center of the arena, Edith could feel the overwhelming energy through every fiber of her being. Clyde’s painstaking preparations were vividly in her mind.

The venue was packed with spectators from commoners to nobles. The nobility seats were so crowded that it was astonishing how many aristocrats the empire hosted.

Across from the entrance where the athletes entered, the troupe of performers and band disappeared. It seemed they were there to hype up the crowd before the game began.

There were many other preparations for the audience as well: cheering tools were distributed, and small snacks were handed out. Announcers even provided a live update of the rules for those who weren’t familiar with the competition.

In the previous rounds, Edith had been so focused on the game that she didn’t have time to look around. But this time, with the deafening cheers and the grandeur of the arena, it was impossible not to notice.

Before stepping into the center of the arena, she spotted a display stand near the noble seats.
On it stood a grand display of Imperial firearms. Dozens of meticulously crafted guns glimmered, blackened steel shining in unison, forming a striking scene even from a distance. These firearms demonstrated the Empire’s ongoing advancements.

It could be dismissed as insignificant, but something struck Edith’s mind.

‘Come to think of it, the finals require all competitors to use Imperial firearms.’

Edith had to handle a heavy Imperial firearm this time, rather than a custom-made one. She tried to recall which firearm Nixon had used. Up until the quarterfinals, he had used his usual hunting rifle, but he had been practicing with an Imperial firearm at Peyton’s residence.

A chill ran down her spine.
“He’s trying to intentionally miss with the Imperial firearm!”

Not only to disappoint the crowd with his poor shooting skills, but to also tarnish the reputation of the Imperial firearm’s quality.

What should she do? Should she inform Clyde and try to halt the game?

Edith glanced toward the Royal Box. At that moment, Clyde was engaged in conversation with a visiting noble from a foreign country. They were discussing something important, as they momentarily left their seats and disappeared behind a door.

There was no time to wait for Clyde to return. The arena was now filled with the introduction of players. Overwhelmed by despair, her face paled. But she couldn’t stop the game from proceeding. Above all, there was no concrete evidence—only a hunch from her observations.

The previously concealed tournament bracket was finally unveiled.

The announcer, wrapping a rolled paper around a megaphone, spoke with great enthusiasm.

“Unfortunately, there are players who didn’t show up for the finals.”

It seemed they were speaking about the missing players. Edith perked up her ears.

“One player suffered a heart attack due to the pressure of the game. Another was hit by a carriage accident. Two more simply didn’t show up at all.”

Two players had died. What in the world?
Hearing this, Edith immediately suspected Peyton. She had spotted the signs of a conspiracy and predicted his reach extended to the other players as well.

“But don’t worry! The tournament bracket has been crafted to create a very exciting matchup!”

The enthusiastic voice of the announcer kept fueling the excitement as players were called one by one.
Eventually, Edith’s name was announced.

“Match 2 features the elegant green-horned Edith Ketzmoris, daughter of the 4th Earl of Pendleton!”

Her name was drawn out in full for the sake of prestige, creating a sense of authority.
There was no time for her to hesitate or feel defeated. As the crowd cheered, loud applause and screams filled the arena.

“The bracket was determined randomly, and Your Grace was fortunate. You advanced to the Round of 16 with a bye!”

Since four players had failed to attend due to unforeseen circumstances, four others advanced through byes. Edith had the luck of drawing a bye in the first round without having to exert any effort.

Nixon’s name was called for Match 5, placed far across the bracket from her.
There was no way to avoid it now.

Edith had to remain in the designated waiting area throughout her time between matches. It was an open section, with countless eyes of spectators constantly watching her.

The crowd seemed intrigued by her presence—wondering how a young noblewoman managed to advance to the finals, and curious about her shooting skills.

Throughout the waiting period, her guards followed closely. The heightened security was only for her, but the audience barely paid it much attention. The elaborate introduction of players had prepared them for a more formal, prestigious match.

The first match began amidst deafening cheers. Two competitors fired their first shots.

From a distance, small holes were seen in the target, but there was no clear result yet. However, the announcer’s face showed visible unease.

In the finals, scores were revealed after each shot to build suspense. The person recording the scores shared quiet conversations with the announcer, gesturing and mumbling for a decent amount of time.

“It seems the players are feeling the pressure. Both shots earned 0 points.”

The arena buzzed with anticipation. The next round yielded a 3-point shot, followed by a 2-point shot. Occasionally, players failed to even hit the target, missing entirely and getting no points at all.

The players acted as though their firearms were malfunctioning, adjusting them frantically and sweating profusely as they desperately attempted to shoot. Despite firing twenty rounds, their total scores barely reached the 30-point mark.

The murmurs in the crowd were replaced with a chilling silence. To ordinary eyes, a competitor wielding an Imperial firearm, especially someone with a renowned reputation in La Grand Empire, demonstrated absurdly poor shooting skills—making the entire situation incomprehensible.

Clyde watched the calamity unfold from the Royal Box.

“So it was true. They’re conspiring to shoot low scores.”

He observed the cold atmosphere of the arena while entertaining a visiting noble.

He had only vaguely guessed at the nobles’ scheme before, but never imagined it would escalate to this level. He had believed that not everyone among the sixteen participants could have been fully manipulated.

During the tight schedule of the tournament, Clyde hadn’t been able to thoroughly investigate the backgrounds of those who progressed from the preliminary rounds to the finals. The reports that came to his office included only their names, addresses, and notable achievements. There was no indication of which noble families had bribed them.

‘If Edith had helped me, could she have spotted the cracks?’

While her everyday life exuded a certain careless charm, when it came to matters of governance, she was as sharp as a finely honed blade. Perhaps she might have caught on to something.

‘No, it’s my fault. I should have been more careful.’

Clyde shook his head at his own thoughts, realizing how deeply he had come to rely on her.

The players who failed to attend the arena were also a concern. Before the announcer even made the announcement to the crowd, Clyde had already received a report. It seemed something sinister had happened to them.

‘Bribery or elimination.’

Thinking of the ruthless nobles, he let out a heavy sigh.

“Don’t be too troubled, Your Grace.”

The neighboring foreign noblewoman gently touched Clyde’s wrist.

“Hosting a tournament for the enjoyment of your subjects is more than enough grace, Your Grace.”

The noblewoman, a princess from a neighboring empire, subtly batted her lashes, clearly seeking to win his favor. Her intentions were so transparent that it was difficult to overlook them.

She even released faint pheromones in the packed Royal Box, a nauseating scent that intensified the discomfort Clyde already felt.

“I am your subject. Seeing everyone happy brings me joy as well,” Clyde replied with a strained smile.

“Oh my, how elegant your words are.”

Clyde prayed this encounter with the princess would be his last. The fake smiles and the way she meticulously swept her gaze over him with a fan in hand made him feel ill.

As Clyde struggled to concentrate, the princess by his side was only a distraction. He needed to pay attention to what was happening elsewhere in the noble section—who was conspiring with whom—and particularly, who had been bribed by the enemy.

The unfolding events showed that every competitor was aligned with the opposing faction.
The only exception was Edith, who still loyally followed the Imperial family.