Chapter 58
Edith couldn’t move freely.
So many eyes were watching her—spectators and nobles alike frequently turned their heads toward the competitor seating area.
In this atmosphere, engaging with other participants was difficult. Instead, she idly chatted with the palace attendants who had accompanied her, or exchanged a few words with the guards stationed around her.
After witnessing a series of chaotic matches, Nixon finally stepped up to the firing line.
‘Please, just go along with what I said.’
She silently prayed, hoping Nixon would defy Peyton’s orders and follow her suggestion.
Nixon, with his bear-like bulk and vacant eyes, alternated glances between Peyton and Edith. After a moment of decision, he raised his firearm.
In line with the competition for lowest score, he managed to secure a closely contested victory, narrowly defeating his opponent at the last moment.
‘Thank goodness.’
As the quarterfinals began, Edith’s tension intensified.
The surroundings blurred out of her sight—Clyde in the Royal Box, the nobles casting hostile glances from their seats—everything faded into the background.
Her focus was solely on the target board.
As she concentrated, even the tiny target appeared larger, enough for her to begin deciphering its marks and concentric circles. Though the full layout was still beyond her grasp, it felt like she had overcome great distance.
In her mind, Edith seemed to be in an entirely different dimension, fully immersed in the match.
Unaware of the reasons behind the strange atmosphere, the audience watched the game with a cold, distant gaze. Suddenly, the booming voice of the announcer cut through the eerie silence.
“Match 1 of the Quarterfinals features Edith Keszmoris!”
Though shooting well was the only requirement, the announcer kept emphasizing her title to elevate the event’s grandeur.
Edith raised her hand, not to seek attention, but to steel herself mentally. She grasped her firearm with her lifted hand, wiped away a faint layer of sweat on her pants, and carefully aimed at the target.
Bang—bang—
The two shots pierced the target. The announcer’s voice rose with excitement.
“10 points! Another 10 points!”
For the first time in the tournament, a 10-point score was achieved. From that moment, the atmosphere in the arena shifted dramatically.
Edith clenched her teeth and continued to pull the trigger. Her opponent, shooting alongside her, was equally desperate. Even when hitting only 8 points, both fired breathlessly toward their targets.
How the audience would react to the unexpectedly high performance of the Imperial firearm was uncertain. They might assume Edith and her neighboring shooter had merely received well-crafted firearms. However, both competitors focused solely on their shots without room for such thoughts.
As the final scores were tallied, Edith clenched her fists and raised them high. Thanks to the announcer’s continuous announcements of her points, she already knew who the winner would be before the final result was even declared.
“Winner of Quarterfinal Match 1 is Edith Keszmoris!”
The announcer’s voice, as it declared the only thrilling result, trembled with emotion.
Meanwhile, the other matches proceeded as usual. The competitors mechanically fiddled with the mechanisms of their firearms, apathetically settling the outcomes. None of them showed even the slightest enthusiasm for victory, merely blaming the equipment. After a short break, the semifinals began.
Edith’s focus sharpened further. In a tense and nail-biting match, she once again secured victory by a narrow margin.
The crowd erupted in excitement. The small lady, who appeared barely capable of handling a firearm, had outperformed renowned marksmen to reach the finals. The other competitors were so inept that Edith drew even more attention.
Whispers and murmurs quickly spread through the audience section, reaching the player seating area.
“What’s going on? Why are the others so bad? Only the Lady Ketzmoris is doing well.”
“I got a strange feeling. The competitor who just fought Lady Ketzmoris seemed suspicious.”
“Suspicious how?”
“He barely hit anything earlier, yet now he’s shooting much better. Even though he lost to her, it’s a huge improvement.”
“Hmm, you’re right. Earlier, he seemed panicked, like his fingers were trembling.”
Someone scoffed, prompting others to agree.
“Maybe he had to rush to the bathroom?”
The atmosphere gradually shifted toward accusations of poor player skill.
Nixon’s following match also resulted in disappointing scores. Yet somehow, he managed to win.
To Edith’s keen eye, Nixon’s slightly better performance didn’t seem coincidental. He had likely caught on to her earlier hints and secured his spot in the finals.
A longer break was taken just before the final match. The situation inside the arena felt tense, drawing attention even from the nobility in the Royal Box. Peyton, Count Victor, and Count Ditrian huddled together, their heads close as they whispered among themselves.
It seemed unimaginable to them that Edith could defeat a string of renowned sharpshooters.
In the tournament venue, entry for outsiders was prohibited. Only the attendants assisting players could move in and out. Unlike before, Nixon had no attendant, but now a figure arrived with access and approached him.
The attendant leaned in and whispered something into Nixon’s ear.
What was said?
With so many eyes watching, there wasn’t much room for a lengthy conversation. Edith had to rely on intuition to piece together the situation.
Edith put herself in their shoes, pondering how they might disrupt the upcoming final match.
Then, she received a message through an attendant. It was from Clyde in the Royal Box.
“The King sent word,” the attendant conveyed.
“What did he say?”
“He said he has gathered evidence of their wrongdoing, so not to worry too much.”
“Really? That’s a relief.”
“The King instructed not to push yourself too hard,” the attendant whispered discreetly.
“Above all, His Majesty places the highest priority on your safety. He emphasized several times that there’s no need to win by force.”
“I’ll ensure I stay safe and avoid overexerting myself,” Edith responded calmly. “But I’ll give my best effort.”
The attendant leaned further in, his voice lowering even more. “There was one last thing His Majesty said.”
“…?”
“He told me to entrust you with his seal.”
Edith scanned the Royal Box from a distance, spotting Clyde. He was watching her intently, offering the decision to her. The weight of his trust settled over her, and a faint smile tugged at her lips—though she wasn’t sure if he saw it.
“I understand. I’ll pass on the message.”
The attendant quickly left, his footsteps hurried as he carried Clyde’s message to the prince. Upon his return, he resumed assisting Edith with her equipment.
Soon, the final match was ready to begin. The event staff approached both players to guide them to the center of the arena.
Edith observed Nixon carefully. They had been kept apart during the break, making it difficult to gauge his intentions. However, as they were ushered to the court side by side, she had little time for extended dialogue.
Edith leaned slightly toward Nixon.
“Nixon.”
His expression stiffened, and he flinched slightly.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Show me your skills.”
His hesitation spoke volumes. It was clear that Peyton’s earlier instructions hadn’t been easily forgotten. Most likely, the orders were to deliberately miss, crafting an image of incompetence.
Edith decided she would handle her part alone, with Nixon delivering a lackluster performance that would create a flawed illusion of competition.
The noble faction likely expected her to lose at some point, especially after her unlikely victories against formidable opponents. By now, their disappointment must have been immense.
The tournament official guided both competitors toward the center of the arena.
“This is your final opportunity,” Edith said firmly, addressing Nixon directly.
His face paled, his gaze fixed ahead.
“This is an imperial decree. Nixon, perform your best and accept the outcome with grace.”
For a moment, Nixon seemed paralyzed. His eyes darted erratically, unsure of how to proceed.
“Do you understand what an imperial decree means?” Edith pressed further.
“Y-Yes,” he stammered.
“Then follow it.”
Edith led the way toward the center, leaving Nixon to his fate. She couldn’t discern his true intentions, whether his participation was out of genuine choice or forced compliance under Peyton’s influence.
Edith hoped fervently that Nixon would truly grasp the weight of the imperial decree. Being unaware of the conflicts both within and outside the royal court, she wished that he would take the Emperor’s command seriously. It was crucial that Nixon not underestimate the power of the imperial will, even as Peyton and the noble factions perceived the palace as weak and exploitable.
Nixon needed to fear the enormity of the imperial decree, believing that it must be followed absolutely, without question. Using the authority of the imperial decree, Edith hoped to pressure Nixon into compliance.
Fortunately, Clyde had sent a message entrusting her with the royal seal. As the regent, the crown prince held the power to act on behalf of the Emperor. Even if Nixon reported this to Peyton or publicized it, Edith would not face accusations of overstepping her authority.
The stadium erupted in deafening cheers as Edith took her place in the shooting lane. Unlike previous matches where the audience was subdued, her appearance sparked excitement. Spectators clapped, stomped, and yelled in support.
Nixon and Edith both held the same imperial firearm, their eyes locked on the distant target.
The tension was palpable.
‘I just have to do my best.’
There was little else for her to think about now. The starting signal sounded, and Edith quickly raised her weapon. Her gaze was fixed solely on the target in the distance.
Just moments ago, the stadium had been a cacophony of noise, but now, silence fell as the distant cheers faded away. The once tiny target expanded into something the size of a hand, then further into something resembling an A4 sheet.
She controlled her breathing, her finger pressing against the trigger delicately. The target seemed larger than life as her vision adjusted.
A loud crack echoed through the air, piercing the clear blue sky.
“10 points!”
The score announcer was more excited than Edith herself, celebrating with exuberance. Unlike other matches, Edith’s performance was distinct. Both the officials and the audience were captivated by the high stakes of her shot.
Moments later, Nixon fired his first shot.
“9 points!”
The slight, off-center impact left Nixon trailing behind Edith. Watching his shot veer wide, Edith felt an overwhelming sense of triumph. It wasn’t just the fact that she had won the initial round, but that Nixon’s hesitancy and shift in approach made her victory even sweeter.
