The fencing tournament—being the most popular form of entertainment—lasted seven full days. Throughout this period, the stands remained packed with spectators.
"The winner is Romeo Baskal!"
The victor of the final bout on the fifth day was Roy.
However, he didn't leave the arena after his defeated opponent departed.
Instead, he retrieved his opponent's fallen sword from the ground and strode toward the front row of seats overlooking the arena—where Juliet sat.
The moment he reached her, his lips stretched into a smug grin.
"You don't have anything to say to me?"
Juliet had been gazing thoughtfully at the crowds departing the arena, so she didn't notice Roy's approach until he spoke.
"Hm? What do you mean?"
Roy's eyebrows rose. He regarded her as though deeply wounded by her response.
"I expected you to praise me—since I won!"
Looking at him, Juliet suddenly imagined a tail materializing behind Roy's back, wagging excitedly.
"Pff—aha!"
A laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Roy's defeated opponent—who had just surrendered his sword—was Fabian, the boy who had won the tournament in her past life.
"Well, I must admit—you did an excellent job. Well done," Juliet said with a smile, patting his head. There seemed no harm in offering praise.
Neither Jude nor Roy had been scheduled to participate in the sword competition originally. Perhaps that was why Fabian hadn't been able to claim victory this time.
She found herself mildly curious whether this alteration would somehow influence subsequent events.
In any case, she was grateful she hadn't placed a wager on him after all.
*Hm?*
The smile gradually faded from her face as she felt the weight of someone's stare.
Lately, she'd experienced this sensation with increasing frequency—the uncomfortable awareness of being watched.
Juliet scanned her surroundings but noticed no one suspicious...
Thanks to her vigilance, however, she managed to spot a familiar figure departing the stands.
"Wait just a moment."
She asked Roy to wait, then hurried after the man who was leaving.
"Jude!"
Though she called out to him, he continued walking forward without looking back.
"Wait—Jude! Let's talk!"
But Juliet refused to give up, despite his rude dismissal.
Fortunately, the crowd blocked Jude's path at that moment, allowing her to catch up.
"Jude!" she called again, seizing his arm to prevent his escape.
Only then did he halt and turn to face her.
"Miss Juliet, I don't know why you're doing this, but you'd better stop."
Jude didn't appear remotely surprised when he turned and saw her.
His expression was also far from what anyone would call friendly.
Since Juliet wasn't one to take roundabout approaches, she immediately voiced the question foremost in her mind.
"Jude, are you angry with me?"
"Angry...?"
His face twisted momentarily.
For a beat, he glanced away as though considering his words. Then he drew a deep breath and met Juliet's gaze directly.
"You abandoned all of us! You even got the commander drunk! How could you—!"
"...I'm truly sorry, Jude."
"I thought you and I were as close as siblings!"
At that moment, Juliet finally understood that her departure had wounded Jude far more deeply than she'd realized.
She laughed sadly and affectionately ruffled his hair—though he stood a full head taller than her.
"Is Sir Kane alright?"
She still regretted what she'd done to Sir Kane.
In order to escape the Duke's residence, she'd needed to incapacitate her assigned guard. Even though she'd had valid reasons, she had deceived someone who trusted her completely—secretly slipping sedatives into his tea...
"Yes. He's fine."
Then Jude glanced sideways and continued, lowering his voice slightly:
"...He was extremely worried about you, Miss Juliet. I think he'll be incredibly relieved when I tell him you're well."
The instant Jude finished speaking, he gave a sharp shudder—as though snapping out of a trance—and hastily began his farewell.
"Well, we've seen each other now. I really must go."
"You're leaving like this?"
"Yes. Stay healthy."
Jude hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned abruptly and strode away.
Juliet looked in the direction he'd gone and spotted Milan waiting in the distance. He was a knight and friend of Jude's. He'd been watching their exchange with a bemused expression the entire time, but when Juliet's eyes met his, he offered a polite greeting.
Milan waited for his companion to draw closer, then poked him in the ribs with one finger and asked with a grin:
"Ha—are you crying?"
"...Hey! Who's crying?! Are you completely blind?!"
---
## — Evening Banquet —
Juliet had anticipated something grander from a festival held in the goddess's sacred city. In reality, it differed little from celebrations held throughout the rest of the continent.
She felt both disappointed and oddly relieved—at least everything was familiar. The nightly banquets hosted by the church were indistinguishable from those thrown by capital society.
The same could be said of the Duke of Carlisle's behavior.
He still refused to acknowledge her in public settings, which left Juliet feeling strangely hollow.
*Nothing has truly changed. You're exactly the same as before.*
By the time the evening banquet was winding toward a peaceful conclusion, an unexpected confrontation erupted in the hall.
*Roy?*
Juliet suddenly noticed Roy—gripping two swords in his hands—striding purposefully toward someone.
"I've heard rumors that you, Duke of Carlisle, are quite skilled with a blade."
*Clang!*
With those words, he hurled one sword so it landed at Lennox's feet.
Roy's unexpected action seemed to instantly freeze the festive atmosphere. Tension descended over the banquet hall like a shroud.
There was nothing particularly unusual about proposing a duel during a celebration. However—
"And what if that's true?" Lennox asked with casual indifference, not even glancing at the weapon lying near his boots.
The problem was that Roy had issued his challenge to the Duke of Carlisle—ruler of the North, who had become legendary throughout the empire for becoming the youngest swordmaster in recorded history.
Roy grinned with audacious confidence and pressed:
"Do you believe your skill is sufficient to teach me a few lessons?"
"......"
"You won't refuse, will you, Duke?"
An excited murmur rippled through the assembled guests witnessing this confrontation.
"Oh my goodness! What are they planning to do?"
"This is a challenge to a duel!"
"A duel??"
"Oh! How thrilling!"
Juliet stared at Roy in utter disbelief, unable to comprehend he would take such a reckless step.
*This cannot be happening!*
Since the participants weren't professional fighters but members of the aristocracy, the blades provided were slightly duller than tournament swords.
That didn't mean they couldn't inflict mortal wounds.
"Roy!"
Juliet called out, desperate to ask why he'd taken this insane action.
But Roy—standing beside the Duke—paid her no attention. Perhaps he couldn't hear her over the rising clamor.
No matter how superior Lycan physical abilities were compared to humans, Roy stood no chance of victory against Lennox—a recognized master of swordsmanship.
Even with wooden practice blades, the outcome would be identical.
"It looks like we're in for an entertaining show!"
Unaware of the potentially dire consequences, the frivolous spectators began enthusiastically cheering on the duelists.
"Yes, absolutely! I believe it will be a magnificent match!"
"How amusing!"
"Oh, this is my first time witnessing a duel! It's so exciting!"
*No. This is not exciting at all,* Juliet groaned internally, biting her lip hard enough to taste copper.
Before she even realized it, her gaze had unconsciously sought Lennox. He was already looking at her—over Roy's shoulder.
Lennox believed swords should only be drawn on battlefields. The polished marble floor of a ballroom was decidedly not one. Knowing his firm stance on this matter, Juliet desperately hoped he wouldn't indulge such obvious provocation for the sake of entertaining guests.
She looked at him beseechingly, silently begging him to refuse.
*Lennox would never fall for such childish manipulation...*
But the next instant, he gave her a devastatingly charming smile—and utterly shattered her expectations by bending to retrieve the sword from the floor.
"I won't need to teach you how to hold a blade, will I, Prince?"
---
## — The Duel —
"Very well. I will judge your duel according to standard rules," declared the nobleman who had assumed the role of impromptu arbiter, simultaneously addressing everyone present in the hall.
"Standard rules" meant the duel would continue until one party conceded defeat or became physically unable to fight.
But as though sensing something ominous, he reiterated his warning to the two men gripping swords.
"No mortal wounds are permitted! You both understand this, yes?"
Neither seemed remotely concerned with that restriction.
*Ding! Ding!*
Their blades met lightly several times and disengaged.
Oddly enough, they were exchanging glancing blows—as though neither was taking the confrontation seriously. Juliet began to think she'd perhaps overreacted.
The guests in the hall also appeared unconcerned, watching the two renowned men duel with avid curiosity. It wasn't every day one witnessed such famous figures crossing swords. Everyone seemed delighted by their unexpected fortune.
But then—
*Clang!*
*!*
Few guests saw precisely what transpired. But Juliet noticed.
Just as Roy's blade arced toward the Duke's left side, Lennox's sword—aimed directly at the young werewolf's throat—suddenly shifted trajectory.
Blood erupted like a geyser, flooding the marble floor.
Roy abandoned the fight entirely, both hands flying to his face.
"Argh!"
Following his agonized cry, chaos consumed the banquet hall.
Guests screamed in unified shock.
Most were pious, wealthy aristocrats utterly removed from the realities of swordplay.
"Roy!"
Juliet was the first to recover. She sprinted toward him immediately.
When she saw his face drenched in blood, her own complexion turned ashen.
"The wound is bleeding heavily!"
"I'm fine."
*No. You are decidedly not fine!*
The area surrounding Roy's right eye bled profusely.
As Juliet withdrew her handkerchief and pressed it against the gash near his eye, terrible commotion erupted among the crowd.
"A priest!"
"Priest! Someone fetch a priest!"
Seeing droplets of blood staining the pristine floor, several people began shouting desperately for clerical assistance.
The same spectators who moments ago had been thrilled by unexpected entertainment now seemed to have regained their senses upon witnessing actual bloodshed.
Or perhaps they were simply terrified because the wounded party happened to be royalty.
The latter seemed more probable.
The longstanding unwritten rule held that participants bore no responsibility for injuries sustained during duels. But if a high-ranking opponent lost his sight, it could precipitate serious diplomatic consequences.
Confused guests whispered frantically. Some even hurried from the banquet hall to avoid potential entanglements.
Juliet's white handkerchief was nearly saturated with crimson, yet the bleeding showed no signs of abating.
As Roy's complexion turned alarmingly pale, panic clawed at her composure.
However, at that moment, Roy carelessly covered her hand with his palm, pressing the handkerchief more firmly against his eye.
"There's an advantage to being wounded," he murmured quietly.
"You're saying this *now*?!"
Roy smiled gently as Juliet's temper flared.
"I truly am alright. It doesn't hurt much."
Juliet bit her lip hard.
How could he claim to be fine when the bleeding simply wouldn't stop?
At that moment, she bitterly regretted possessing magical rather than divine powers.
*If only Dahlia were here... She could probably heal a wound like this instantaneously.*
A priest rushed into the hall and immediately hurried toward Roy.
"Please allow me to examine your injury," he said politely, approaching the wounded prince.
When the blood-soaked handkerchief was lifted, the wound became visible.
It was merely a long, shallow cut across his upper eyelid. Roy couldn't open his eye properly because of the excessive blood flow.
Fortunately, the blade hadn't damaged his actual eye.
Juliet exhaled with profound relief. If Lennox had erred by even a hair's breadth, Roy could have lost his vision. Still—he was extraordinarily fortunate it had ended this way.
Realizing there was nothing more to fear, Juliet decided to leave Roy in the priest's capable hands.
*...?*
But Roy—whose eyes remained squeezed shut—caught Juliet's wrist and refused to release her.
"Roy, please let me go..."
"Please stay with me," he whispered urgently, voice dropping low.
*Why should I stay?*
As Juliet stared at him in bewilderment, she felt that insistent, watchful gaze she'd experienced so frequently of late. Instinctively, she raised her head.
Her eyes met Lennox's.
"......"
*Damn. I didn't even realize you were watching.*
He stood motionless in the hall's center—as though utterly disconnected from the chaos reigning around him.
As if he were the sole individual who hadn't succumbed to panic and confusion.
Droplets of blood still fell from the tip of the sword gripped in his hand.
*Lennox...*
Without a word, the man who had been regarding her with those cold crimson eyes turned and departed the banquet hall.