Chapter 24: Won’t Waste Much of Your Time

As Rita stepped into the arena, the crowd backed away, as if proximity to her would taint them with something unclean.

Whispers followed, soft but deliberate, meant for her ears.

“She’s here again. Wonder who’s the unlucky one today.”

“Shh. If I were her, I’d be too ashamed to show my face. Dragging demons into this for a Holy Knight title—disgusting.”

Rita glanced at the well-dressed group murmuring, who flinched but returned defiant glares.

What’s with the chatter? Even playground bullies don’t play like this.

Those serious about the exam ignored Rita, focusing grimly on their final trials. Only those with no hope of passing gossiped.

Still, it pissed her off. Super pissed!

Don’t get mad, don’t get mad. Their anger’s not my problem. Getting sick from it won’t help.

Rita took deep breaths, sat at the edge of the candidate seats like yesterday, and waited for the final day’s exam to begin.

Candidates trickled in. Most were unfamiliar to Rita, but the standouts were impossible to ignore, even for those uninterested in the exam.

One figure caught her eye—a bandaged person who screamed “behind-the-scenes boss,” slipping in and sitting boldly among the candidates.

Their silhouette seemed familiar. She’d keep an eye on them.

Valphis, of course, didn’t miss the show, bouncing over to Rita’s side.

The exam proceeded as usual. Valphis went up early, as always, shouting surrender the moment her opponent drew their sword.

Surprisingly, the bandaged figure competed that morning.

They struck a pose, then twisted oddly. Rita expected a swift, powerful move, but the candidate wailed and surrendered.

The referee paused, then announced, “Grom, surrenders! Jinna, wins!”

The arena erupted in laughter. Even Valphis doubled over.

So that’s how you got all bandaged up!

Rita hadn’t seen this person recently, but the name sounded familiar.

She didn’t dwell on Grom, focusing on the matches.

By morning’s end, Rita noticed a pattern: the more wins a candidate had, the later their match. Whether it tied to points, she wasn’t sure.

By afternoon, most had competed, each match fiercer than the last.

“Forty-eighth match! Promi versus Pike!”

“Oh, the gray-hair’s finally up. Good thing you didn’t draw her—that’s a bad lot!” Valphis rubbed her hands, eyes glued to the stage.

“Yeah.” Rita wasn’t brushing her off this time—she was genuinely relieved.

“Don’t relax yet. Two more bad lots to draw.”

As Valphis spoke, the gray-haired swordswoman drew her ornate, well-worn sword. Unlike the showy blades of rich kids, this was a battle-tested weapon.

A spiraling gust rose from Promi’s feet, engulfing the arena, forcing Rita to raise her voice.

“Who else?”

“Alber.” Valphis nodded toward a brown-haired youth on the other side of the seats.

Rita remembered him—dual-wielding, he’d cut down four in the first day’s melee without breaking a sweat, dominating the exam.

“And?”

“There.” Valphis gestured to a red-haired girl. “Blazing Spear Momoka. The only one who might challenge Promi, though she’d probably lose.”

The title wasn’t flashy, but a candidate with one was no small deal. Rita didn’t underestimate her.

“What about Johnson?” Rita asked about the fists-only fighter, also undefeated.

“Him? Easy. Too easy. Not even in their league!”

As they chatted, Promi’s sword was already at her opponent’s throat, who promptly surrendered.

“Forty-ninth match! Alber versus Johnson!”

“See? One less to worry about,” Valphis said.

As predicted, Johnson’s fists fell to Alber’s dual blades after a grueling fight.

Valphis smirked, unsurprised.

With them done, the candidate seats stirred.

“Where’s Rita?”

“Yeah! She’s not getting a free pass like yesterday, is she?”

“Arrogant!”

Amid the buzz, the announcer’s voice rang out.

“Fiftieth match! Rita.”

Rita took a deep breath, grabbed her sword, and stood.

“She actually showed?”

“Bet her opponent had another ‘accident.’”

Then, a red figure rose with the referee’s call.

“Versus Momoka!”

The arena fell silent.

Mockery? Piling on? Pointless now.

Momoka had proven her skill, worlds apart from dirty deals.

Everyone just wanted to see how long Rita could last against her.

And how miserably she’d lose.

The two faced off. Momoka took her spear, her orange-red eyes calm yet burning with fire.

“I don’t approve of your actions.”

Her spear’s butt struck the ground with a sharp clack.

“Did I do something wrong?” Rita countered.

“Sullying the Holy Knight name, winning through despicable means, yet daring to step into this sacred arena.” Momoka was like smoldering charcoal—no dazzling flames, but untouchably hot.

“Fine.” Her spear lifted, stirring dust. Momoka stepped back, gripping it with both hands, the weapon like a blazing serpent locking onto Rita. “Let’s end this quickly.”

“Funny, same here.” Rita narrowed her eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t waste much of your time.”