But the Royal Knights' lieutenant could no longer defend herself. Cuts covered her body, crimson streaks staining her armor. Anita spun before her with a mighty flourish, like a raging whirlwind.
On the first turn, her short sword knocked aside Apollonia's longsword.
On the second, her dagger slashed across her opponent's body from left to right.
On the third, her short sword struck back from right to left, carving another wound that crossed the lieutenant's chest.
The crowd saw only Anita spinning three times like a storm wind, and then Apollonia collapsed. Blood sprayed outward, painting the sand in crimson lines. The Royal Knight lay motionless, unconscious.
The referee's flag dropped, and the horns blared across the arena:
The victor of the second duel—Anita the Whirlwind!
On the eastern stands, the children erupted in wild howls, waving their flags to celebrate their hero. In the royal box, Andras Wolfwood nodded with satisfaction, while Noelle and Christina clapped with smiles, and Floralys Greenwood's eyes shone with excitement.
Anita raised her weapons high, her eyes burning with feral light. The Whirlwind had proven: the strength of House Wolfwood was not merely legend, but reality.
The spectators followed the scene with mouths agape. This had been the most thrilling duel of the Knightly Tournament so far: Anita, raging with the force of a storm, against the Royal Lieutenant, Apollonia. When the referee's flag fell, the crowd was silent for a heartbeat in shock—then the arena erupted like thunder in cheers and applause. Only those who had supported Apollonia remained quiet, their faces marked with worry and disappointment.
The healers rushed at once to the fallen Royal Lieutenant. With swift movements they began their work, tracing glowing sigils into the air that slowly enveloped Apollonia's body. Though she had lost much blood, her condition was not life‑threatening.
The healers assured the audience: she would recover. In the royal box, Captain John Scarlett let out a deep sigh. He accepted that his lieutenant had been defeated, but he was grateful the duel had not cost her life.
Meanwhile, on the eastern stands, the Wolf Knights' cheering squad was in ecstasy. Thirty children jumped and shouted for Anita, knowing that her victory meant extra sweets for them that evening. Their flags whipped wildly, their voices filling the entire arena:
"She‑Wolf! She‑Wolf!"
Anita waved back to them with both hands, her face lit by a wild yet joyous smile. The children's cheers accompanied her as she quickly made her way toward the right exit, leaving the battlefield behind.
In the royal box, the Young Wolf, Andras Wolfwood, gave a quiet signal.
"Noelle."
The maid understood at once.
"Got it!" she replied briefly, then hurried out of the box, heading toward the Wolf Knights' locker room. There, Andrea was already waiting, arms crossed, her eyes gleaming with seriousness. She knew Anita would soon arrive, and that after the Whirlwind's triumph, a new chapter in the Wolfwoods' story was about to begin.
In the box, after the victorious duel, a quieter murmur settled. The crowd still celebrated Anita, but here, among the noble seats, it was words that clashed rather than swords.
Christina Silverwood turned curiously to Andras.
"Where did Noelle run off to?"
Andras answered calmly.
"To heal Anita, if necessary."
Christina raised her brows slightly.
"She seemed to have only minor cuts."
"No matter," Andras shook his head. "Those must be healed too. Her next opponent is the Hero. Let her fight at full strength."
Christina nodded in approval.
"You're right. And what was that technique? It felt as though I was watching Ironclaw fight."
"Because Anita copied Ironclaw," Andras replied gravely.
Christina's eyes widened.
"I didn't expect that. A knight imitating a beast‑woman."
"The Royal Knights' lieutenant didn't expect it either," Andras said with cold composure. "That's why she lies now in her own pool of blood. At least Anita didn't kill her. In a true life‑and‑death battle, she would have cut her throat across."
Christina sighed softly.
"I can imagine. It was decent of her not to aim for the neck."
At that moment, Floralys Greenwood leaned closer with a playful smile.
"Since little Noelle has gone, let me take her place—so I can sit nearer to you, Young Wolf."
Christina laughed mockingly.
"Little Noelle? Hers are larger than yours."
Floralys's eyes flashed, her tone sharpened.
"And where are you looking? That's hardly knightly behavior."
Christina did not relent, her words stabbing like daggers.
"But if you want something well‑shaped, Young Wolf, you know where to look, hm?"
Floralys leaned closer to Andras, her voice soft yet firm.
"Don't listen to her, Young Wolf. Her maiden years are nearly over anyway. Better choose the eternally youthful pointed ears."
In the royal box, the words of the two noble ladies clashed like a duel, while Andras watched in silence. The banter seemed playful, yet beneath the lines vibrated a rivalry—not of swords, but of words.
Anita entered the Wolf Knights' locker room with weary yet triumphant steps. The scent of sand and blood still clung to her, her body covered in minor cuts, but her eyes burned with a wild light: the Whirlwind had won. Not long after, Noelle hurried in, quickly shutting the door behind her so no one would disturb them.
"Hurry, Noelle, or I'll burst apart," Anita sighed as she sat down on the bench, laying her weapons beside her.
"I'm here, relax," Noelle replied, raising her hands. "Beginning healing. Water magic—Heal!"
Bluish light slowly enveloped Anita's body, soothing waves caressing her wounds.
"That's it!" Anita groaned in satisfaction. "Feels so good… like you're licking me."
Noelle's eyes sparkled playfully.
"Looks like it's not just your magic power that's overflowing, but your imagination too."
Andrea stepped forward from the corner, arms crossed, her eyes gleaming with serious respect.
"You dealt with the Royal Knight Lieutenant beautifully."
Anita laughed.
"Yeah, she went down like Master Florian after a bottle of plum brandy."
Noelle continued her healing, her tone turning more serious.
"I heal Master Florian afterward. But that Apollonia will need at least a month to recover from that cross‑slash."
Anita shrugged.
"Not my fault the Royal Mages have lousy healers."
Andrea nodded.
"They should be glad you didn't cut her throat across."
Anita's eyes flashed, her voice sharp.
"I'm not that vile!"
Noelle smiled softly.
"Ironclaw would never have held back like that in the arena."
Andrea answered grimly.
"That's exactly why the Young Wolf didn't let her compete."
"Compete?" Anita snorted. "You mean slaughter."
Noelle whispered almost conspiratorially.
"Ironclaw would have torn Apollonia's head off in an instant."
Andrea stepped closer, her voice heavy.
"Your next opponent will be the Hero herself."
Anita's eyes gleamed with feral light.
"Yeah—and against her, I won't hold back at all."
Andrea smiled faintly, as though to ease the tension.
"Shall we watch Christina's match together?"