"Mrs. Florence, what exactly is the Royal 8 Challenge?"
"Oh, it’s an event that hasn’t happened in 100 years. From what I’ve heard, there’s eight trials, each testing different aspects of the ideology of a Royal Blade. Strength, intelligence, magical prowess, loyalty and all the qualities needed to protect the princess."
"It’s not just a ga. The Royal Blade is sworn to protect the princess with their life. It’s a lifelong commitnt."
Diana’s voice held a quiet but firm conviction as she spoke. And it made sense why the king would take such asures to protect his daughter, Francine.
I rembered hearing about a character who fulfilled this duty throughout the entirety of the novel, his na was Marcus Renfield.
He had been by her side since they were young, but with that ca pressure from Franz Evera, who looked down on Marcus for being seen as his replacent for protecting the princess.
From what I could tell, their relationship had a rocky beginning, and it never improved during their ti at the academy.
It was common knowledge that they despised each other, and in the unlikely event of a physical altercation, Franz would undoubtedly co out on top. He was known as one of the strongest individuals of our generation, a solitary figure who reigned supre.
That was a fact anyone could accept.
FWANG…
[An event quest log has been added…]
[To view details, please check the Quest | Choice Log nu.]
CLICK!
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Side Quests:
(Event) (Ti based: 1 Day) (NEW) Participate in the Royal 8 Challenge - 1st Reward for entry - 250 SP, 2nd Reward IF you beco the Princess’s Royal Blade - 1000 SP, 5 Base Stat Points, 1 Skill Upgrade,
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The system notifications rudely interrupted my train of thought, flashing right in my face.
The rewards for participating and winning the Royal 8 Challenge were nothing to scoff at. But becoming the Princess’s Royal Blade? That was a lifelong commitnt I wasn’t sure I wanted to sign up for.
Being a lapdog for the royal family isn’t exactly my style, so I might just have to pass on this one.
"So, what do you think, Julian? If you want to do it, I won’t mind signing you up,"
Lady Ophelia asked, her head tilted to the side like a curious pup.
"I don’t know… maybe I’ll think about it,"
Even so, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that a skilled regressor like Francine would easily uncover my true identity in this world.
In her countless regressions, I was probably never ant to exist. It was only a matter of ti before she uncovered as an anomaly. Even if I managed to sohow slip through undetected, there was no way she wouldn’t sense sothing was off about and beco suspicious.
"Well, you boys have so ti to think about it and if you do then just let know, but for now, let’s enjoy the festivities! I hear there’s to be a magnificent parade soon." Lady Ophelia said brightly.
We spent the next few hours imrsed in the celebrations.
The streets were filled with music, laughter, and the tantalizing aromas of festival foods.
As we road the city, we indulged in various exotic foods. In just two hours, I had already sampled five different cuisines, and I knew that my appetite would never be satisfied.
But today’s main event was about to comnce: the Annual Tournant of Duelvantré.
A tournant designed to entertain the wealthy elite of Aureus and capitalize on the desperation of lower-class nobles willing to risk their life savings for a chance of climbing the social ladder.
As we made our way to the Aurean Colosseum for the Annual Tournant of Duelvantré, the excitent in the air was obvious.
Many people had their food, coins, and fancy glasses ready for the final matches, as the massive structure lood before us, its golden arches glinting in the afternoon sun.
Crowds of people stread through the entrances, their voices a constant buzz of anticipation.
"I can’t believe we’re actually here!" Ezekiel exclaid, his eyes wide with wonder. "I’ve only ever heard stories about the Duelvantré tournant."
Diana nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.
"It’s quite the show. So of the strongest fighters from across the country compete here."
As we entered the VIP section, courtesy of Lady Florence’s status, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer scale of the arena. The stands were packed with spectators, their cheers echoing off the stone walls. Below, the fighting ring stood ready, its surface gleaming and unmarred.
"We’re just in ti for the finals," Lady Florence explained as we took our seats.
"The preliminary rounds have been going on for days, but this is where we’ll see the true champions erge."
I leaned forward, my eyes fixed on the arena. Despite my usual calm deanor, I could feel a thrill of excitent coursing through .
This was a chance to see so of the most skilled fighters in action, to observe techniques and strategies I’d only read about.
The announcer’s voice bood across the colosseum, introducing the finalists. Two figures stepped into the ring, their postures radiating confidence and power.
"On my left, we have Thorne the Unbreakable, champion of the Northern Provinces!" A muscular man with a thick beard raised his axe, eliciting cheers from the crowd.
"And on my right, Lyra Swiftshadow, the elven warrior from the Kingdom Of Elandria!"
The elf woman stepped forward, her lithe form belying the deadly grace with which she moved. Her silver hair glinted in the sunlight as she unsheathed twin daggers from her back.
"Ladies and gentlen," the announcer’s voice rang out, "prepare yourselves for a battle of titans!"
A gong sounded, signaling the start of the match, and just as quickly as it began, it ended within a re five minutes, with the elven warrior claiming victory in the grand finals of the Duelvantré.
**
With the colosseum event now over everyone within Ophelia’s box left the VIP room and headed out towards the exit.
Upon entering the halls, they were quickly stopped as Ophelia recognized the group before them.
An older man led the way, his age only hinted at by streaks of grey in his otherwise blonde hair. His posture was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence undeniably eye-catching. He wore a white and gold robe with a fur-lined collar. Julian recognized him from the opening ceremony.
Close behind him was a woman about Ophelia’s age. Her deanor contrasted with Ophelia’s kindness, reflecting the elegance and restraint of nobility. Her confidence was evident yet gentle, her composure unbroken.
A little girl followed at the woman’s side, appearing no older than six. She resembled her father more than her mother, her blonde hair tied up in a bun with a pin. She wore a beautiful white dress that matched her mother’s.
Imdiately Ophelia and Diana kneeled down on one bended knee and together they lowered their heads.
"Greetings your majesty,"
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