For Our Cherished One

The third day passed in a blur.

Every fight, every face, every clash of swords felt like a distant memory. I moved as if in a dream, instinct guiding my every move. There was no conscious thought, no strategy—just a single focus: find Magoth Harlund.

But he was gone.

After our match, he vanished without a trace, leaving behind more questions than I could stomach. I fought my way through the brackets, defeating contenders who, in any other circumstance, would have left me shaking in my boots. Even Fulgur, one of the most promising candidates, fell before me.

Somehow, even Willhelm, though he lost his match, secured a spot in the recruits' bracket for consideration. His determination hadn't been wasted.

And me? I was barely present. My body moved and fought, but my mind was elsewhere.

Now, on the fourth and final day, the haze lifted.

I stood on the stage, sunlight glaring off the polished stone beneath my boots, and finally took in my surroundings. The crowd roared with excitement, their cheers a thunderous wave that rattled in my chest.

Across from me stood my opponent.

Eren Lacquier.

He wasn't what I expected.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and composed, Eren carried himself with a knight's poise. His armor gleamed in the sunlight, and the way he held his sword spoke of experience. But there was something else—an air of humility that set him apart from the other knights I had encountered.

I blinked, confusion breaking through the fog in my mind. "Huh? Am I supposed to fight a knight?"

Eren's lips quirked into a small smile as he shrugged. "I'm fairly new," he said, his tone casual but not dismissive.

The crowd erupted into laughter at his response, but I wasn't amused. My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword as I processed his words. A new knight? He still had years of training over me.

The official stepped forward, raising a hand to quiet the noise. "Final round. Ellen, the Unfathomable, versus Eren Lacquier. Let the match begin!"

The crowd's cheers surged again as the official stepped back, signaling the start.

Eren wasted no time.

The moment the words left the official's mouth, he charged. His movements were fluid, controlled, and precise—exactly what I expected from someone with his training. His sword sang through the air, a blur of silver aimed directly at me.

I barely had time to react.

Our blades clashed, the impact vibrating up my arms. He didn't relent, pressing forward with a series of sharp, calculated strikes that left me scrambling to keep up.

"Not bad," he commented, his voice calm even as his blade arced toward me again.

I gritted my teeth, deflecting the blow with more force than necessary. "Thanks, I guess," I muttered, my focus narrowing on his movements.

Eren fought like a seasoned knight, his technique honed and deliberate. Every strike tested my defenses, every feint prodding at my weaknesses. But as the match wore on, I realized something.

He wasn't fighting to win.

Eren's strikes, while precise, lacked the ferocity of someone fighting for victory. He was testing me, gauging my skills with each clash of our blades.

"You're holding back," I said, narrowing my eyes as I blocked another strike.

Eren tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. "Am I? Or are you holding back?"

The question threw me off for a split second—a moment Eren exploited.

His blade darted forward, the flat of it catching my shoulder and sending me stumbling back. The crowd gasped at the sudden shift, but Eren didn't press the advantage.

Instead, he lowered his sword slightly, watching me with a curious expression. "You've got skill, but you're distracted. Something on your mind?"

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?" I snapped, raising my blade again.

Eren smiled faintly but said nothing, his stance shifting as he prepared for my next move.

I lunged, my blade slicing through the air with renewed determination. If he wanted to test me, fine. I'd show him exactly what I was capable of.

Our swords clashed again and again, the sound ringing out across the arena. The crowd's cheers faded into the background as I focused entirely on the fight.

And for the first time in days, my mind was clear.

I didn't need to think about Magoth or the questions he left behind. Right now, all that mattered was the battle in front of me.

Eren met my strikes with ease, his movements smooth and calculated. But as the match wore on, I began to see cracks in his composure.

His strikes, while precise, began to slow. His breathing grew heavier, his movements less fluid.

He was holding back—but not as much as he thought.

I saw my opening.

Pivoting sharply, I feinted left before driving my blade toward his exposed flank. Eren's eyes widened slightly, the first sign of surprise breaking through his calm demeanor.

My blade stopped just short of his side, the tip hovering a breath away from the gap in his armor.

Silence fell over the arena.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices a deafening roar that echoed across the castle grounds.

Eren stepped back slowly, lowering his sword with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well fought," he said, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

"Thanks," I said, lowering my blade as well.

The official stepped forward, raising his hand to announce my victory. But even as the cheers washed over me, I couldn't shake the feeling that this fight wasn't about winning or losing.

Eren's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he turned and walked away, leaving me with another unanswered question.

Who was Eren Lacquier, and why did it feel like he already knew the answer to something I didn't?