Chapter 589: The Grand First-Year Combat Festival: The Sun vs The Gun

After the Craft-based Royal Academy staff finished repairing the platform, the last few workers stepped away from the battlefield.

The fight area had been restored.

The deep cracks had been repaired, the broken stone had been replaced, and the remains of the previous battle had been cleared away. A few faint traces of frost still remained where Diane’s Frost Alchemy had frozen the ground, but the platform was once again in a condition suitable for another fight.

Almost as if nothing had happened.

Almost.

Everyone who had watched the previous battle knew better.

The arena was still filled with the excitement left behind by Vera and Diane’s fight.

Patrick waited for a few minutes, allowing the crowd to settle before the final semifinal match began.

Some spectators had left their seats to buy food, drinks, and snacks, while others had simply stepped outside for a short break. Now that they had heard the signal that the final match of the semifinals was about to begin, they hurried back into the arena.

The stands gradually filled again.

People moved through the aisles with food in their hands, while others returned to their seats still discussing the previous match.

Some were still arguing about whether Vera or Diane had displayed the better close-combat ability.

Others were still talking about the firearms Vera had controlled throughout the battle.

The noise continued growing.

Then Patrick’s voice suddenly spread through the arena speakers.

"Are you ready, my Britannians, for the last match?!"

His voice traveled across the entire arena.

For a moment, the spectators answered almost as one.

"YESSSS!!!!"

The response shook through the stands.

Patrick waited only a second before raising his voice again.

"I said... are you ready for this last match, my fellow Britannians?!"

"YESSSS!!!"

The second response was even louder.

Several spectators stood from their seats.

Others raised their fists or waved their banners.

The excitement that had settled after Vera’s victory immediately returned.

Everyone knew this was the final match of the semifinals.

Once it ended, the two finalists would be decided.

Patrick smiled.

"Welcoming the fighters!"

He began calling out the names of the students who would face each other.

"Mr. Maxwell!!!!!"

He shouted Maxwell’s name loudly and brightly.

The crowd responded immediately.

Those who had supported Maxwell throughout the Combat Festival and had begun supporting him after his battle against the Young Lord of Burnwick raised their voices.

"Mr. Maxwell, show us your power!!"

"You’ve got this, Mr. Maxwell!!"

"I believed in you from the very beginning, and I still believe in you now!!"

"If Sir Ravenor Burnwick couldn’t beat Maxwell, isn’t Ezra Ashenlocke going to lose badly?"

"He did beat Lady Willow Derlis, though, and she isn’t exactly an easy opponent."

"Yeah, but those Golden Flames! How is a Gun Alchemist supposed to fight something that hot?"

"Well, that’s why I’m excited to see what happens."

"Yeah, Ezra is known for his gadgets."

"Maybe he’ll create something to reduce the heat of Maxwell’s attacks."

"There isn’t enough time for that. Inventing something isn’t a two-day process. You need a lot of studying and testing before you get anywhere. The only thing Mr. Ezra Ashenlocke can do now is find a way to use his firearms without letting the heat interfere with them."

The voices overlapped as the spectators gave their opinions.

Maxwell’s Golden Flames had quickly become one of the main topics surrounding the semifinal.

Some believed the heat would overwhelm Ezra’s firearms.

Others believed Ezra would find some unexpected way around it.

A few were simply interested in seeing what would happen when the Gun Alchemist faced the Sun Alchemist.

At the arena entrance, Maxwell finally stepped out.

He waved toward the crowd as he walked forward.

There was still a faint nervousness in his expression, as usual, but his steps remained steady.

The cheers grew louder as he approached the platform.

Once he stepped onto it, Patrick’s voice echoed through the speakers again.

"Versus..."

He said it calmly before pausing.

The pause was brief, but the entire arena understood what it meant.

The Ezra fans, along with the members and allies of the Ashenlocke House, settled down.

Some raised their banners higher.

Others leaned forward in anticipation.

Then...

"Mr. Ezra Ashenlocke!!!"

Patrick shouted Ezra’s name brightly.

The response was immediate.

Ezra walked out from the opposite arena entrance.

Thousands of voices reached him at once.

There were hundreds of thousands of spectators in the arena, and the combined sound of their cheers struck him like a wave.

"Come on, Mr. Ezra Ashenlocke!!"

"Glory to Ashenlocke!!"

"You can do this!!!"

"Fight with everything you’ve got!!"

"Even if you lose, we still love you!!"

"Kyyaaaa!!! Mr. Ezra Ashenlocke is so cool!!"

"Win!!!"

"The Gun is the best!!!"

"Don’t be afraid of him!!"

Ezra raised one hand and waved toward the crowd as he walked toward the platform.

His expression remained as plain as ever, while his movements were calm.

Yet something about the cheering today felt familiar.

Maybe it was because of the way all those voices surrounded him.

Or maybe it was because, somewhere inside him, he already felt that this was a fight he couldn’t win.

His footsteps slowed for only a moment.

Then his mind drifted somewhere else.

***

"You’ve got this, Young Master!!!"

"Young Master Ezra!!!!"

"Do your best, Young Master Ezra!!!"

The voices of maids and butlers echoed brightly from the sides of the training ground.

A much younger Ezra stood in the middle of it.

This was a long time ago.

Back when he was still part of the House of Sterling.

Back when Ezra was still a Sterling.

"So cold..."

Ezra held his chest tightly while looking down at the floor.

His fingers pressed against his clothes.

His legs were shaking slightly.

Even though he was wearing winter clothes and had already taken his medicine for the day, the cold still reached him.

He should have been at least okay.

At least, that was what he told himself.

But his body did not seem to agree.

His breathing was uneven.

His chest felt tight.

His legs felt weak.

Across from him stood another child.

"Humph."

Young Zara smirked.

He took the wooden sword from his personal servant, Dan.

"You did exactly what I told you to do, Dan."

He spoke in a low voice.

"Yes, yes, Young Master."

Dan bowed hurriedly.

"I placed the ice cubes inside his training clothes and paid the maids who dressed him to make sure he wore them. No one will notice because of the winter clothes he’s wearing."

Dan kept his voice low enough that only Zara could hear him.

Zara’s smirk widened.

He looked toward his twin brother.

Ezra was still standing there.

Still shaking.

Still holding his chest.

Zara watched him for a moment before raising the wooden sword.

"Let’s have a good match, Ezra."

He skillfully rotated the wooden sword in his hand before stepping forward.

Ezra didn’t reply.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because he couldn’t.

His training clothes were completely soaked with ice water, and it was a snowy day.

The cold air passed through the wet fabric and clung to his skin.

The medicine he had taken that morning was the only reason he had not already fainted or collapsed.

Ezra slowly raised his eyes.

Across the training ground sat his mother.

His father.

And the other members of the Sterling family.

They were all watching.

His eyes moved from one face to another.

None of them stood.

None of them stopped the match.

Ezra lowered his gaze again.

I can’t do this...

His chest tightened.

I’m going to die.

His fingers pressed harder against his clothes.

Please stop this fight.

He wanted someone to say something.

Anyone.

He wanted someone to notice.

But then his thoughts stopped.

Because he already knew why he was in this situation in the first place.

Of all the adults watching this match, only a few knew about his illness.

His grandparents knew.

His parents knew.

His father’s siblings and their lovers knew.

The others did not.

And those who knew had no intention of revealing the truth to the rest of the family.

They did not want everyone else to know that Ezra had been dropped as the successor of the family because of his illness.

If that information became public within the family, some people might begin questioning the decision.

They might argue that the family should continue using its resources to help Ezra live.

They might argue that he should still be trained.

They might argue that abandoning him because of his illness was wrong.

But that was not the path Zavier Sterling wanted anymore.

Instead...

He had arranged this match knowing Zara would win.

That was the point.

Zara would defeat Ezra.

Everyone would see the result.

Then their view of Ezra’s talent would change.

Afterward, they could mention Ezra’s sickness as though it were simply an unfortunate occurrence.

Something that explained why he had not continued along the path of succession.

It would be easier that way.

Cleaner.

So even though Zavier and the Alchemists of Sterling could easily see that something was wrong with Ezra, none of them cared enough to stop the match.

Ezra could feel his father’s gaze.

It was not the gaze of someone asking whether he was all right.

It was the gaze of someone telling him that he would kill him if he did not move his body and face his brother.

This was Ezra’s first sparring match.

His first real match.

And it was the first match where he already knew that he would lose no matter what he did.

There was no path to victory.

There was no miracle waiting for him.

There was only the wooden sword in Zara’s hand.

And the cold.

***

"BEGIN!!!!"

The spectators shouted the command word to start the fight.

The four holographic screens displayed the same word.

Ezra’s eyes focused on Maxwell.

The memory disappeared.

The snow-covered training ground disappeared.

The old Sterling training ground disappeared.

He was back in the Royal Academy.

Back in the present.

Back on the platform.

Why am I remembering unnecessary things right now?

Ezra looked plainly at Maxwell.

Maxwell was looking at him with an excited expression.

He had already said how much he wanted to face Ezra during the Club Tournament.

Now they were finally standing opposite each other.

Maxwell’s golden eyes held the excitement of someone who had finally reached the fight he wanted.

Ezra’s expression remained plain.

No grand declaration.

No dramatic stance.

Just his usual calm gaze.

The crowd continued roaring around them, but the noise seemed farther away now.

The two boys stood beneath the arena lights.

One was the new Sun Alchemist of the Kingdom.

The other was the Gun Alchemist of Ashenlocke.

The final semifinal match was about to begin.