Before I could lose my nerve, I whipped around to address her. Our gazes locked instantly, her padparadscha sapphire eyes forcing my words to momentarily catch in my throat. But I spurred myself to push past my fear, opened my mouth to speak...
And that was as far as I got.
It might have been a trick of the mind. That was how quick it was. But for a fleeting moment, Flora’s face contorted into an expression of pure loathing. Her fierce glare cut through me, her message resounding through the air between us, shouting without words: Do not dare to speak. My speech lodged against my tongue unspoken as I faced the raw animosity etched on her face.
I was at a loss. Why was she so opposed to withdrawing? What was driving her to such extremes? Were the trials so crucial to her that she would risk her very life to see them through? Or was her stubborn resistance a reaction to me personally, a refusal to concede at a suggestion from my lips?
My thoughts were a tangled mess, yet I knew this was no time for deference. What was more important: respecting Flora’s wishes or preventing her from treading a path from which there was no return? I parted my lips once more, desperate to voice my concerns, to say anything that might sway her decision. But my initial hesitation proved too costly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please! Stand by for the results of the second trial.”
The host’s voice thundered through the hall, snatching away my last opportunity. The timing couldn’t have been worse. A part of me wished for the courage to interrupt the proceedings, to make my plea heard regardless of the spectacle it would cause. But with a heavy heart and a frown etched into my face, I turned back to join the silent crowd, the moment irrevocably lost.
“The results shall be announced in ascending order once more. Starting in twenty-third place...”
Names, colors, and counts of bracelets echoed through the hall in a systematic reveal. Blue and white bracelets were plenteous, as expected, and red ones were not, making for a very close distribution of scores. The audience murmured and speculated, their voices blending into a dull roar that barely registered above the clamor of my own racing thoughts.
Flora... I missed my moment, but is there still a chance to reach her? Would it be completely inappropriate to approach her now, amidst the formal proceedings? Is the risk of breaking decorum worth the possibility of her listening to me? Even if she does listen, can I persuade her to step back from this precipice, or will a plea coming from the “girl who killed her mother” only strengthen her resolve to continue on?
Paralyzed by indecision, I felt utterly helpless. I couldn’t act, not when there was a chance I’d exacerbate the situation. The frustration was suffocating, gnawing at me from the inside as I clenched my fists tightly, the creak of my joints mirroring the tension wracking my body.
What should I do? What should I do? What should I do? What should I do? As the relentless query reverberated through my mind, the announcement of the results continued, drawing ever closer to the climax.
“In third place,” the host proclaimed, “Lady Cindy Soleil of the Kingdom of San! Amassing a total of two white bracelets, thirteen blues, and one red, she has distinguished herself with a remarkable fifty-one points! Well done indeed.” The applause that erupted was noticeably louder than before; the scoring had leaped abruptly from the thirties to fifty-one, igniting a wave of excitement among the audience. Well, that and the fact that the only two names that hadn’t yet been announced were mine and Flora’s.
“And now, the moment we have all eagerly awaited—the announcement of our top two candidates.” He paused for effect, amplifying the suspense. The applause crescendoed; the fierce competition had everyone on edge. Eyes darted between Flora and myself, speculative and expectant, as if our very auras were being weighed and measured.
“The moment has come to reveal our champion,” the host proclaimed, his voice sweeping across the captivated crowd. “Claiming second place, with an impressive tally of one blue and twelve red bracelets...Lady Flora Sanchez of the Kingdom of Celestia! And thus, our victor is none other than Princess Carolina Ruby Martinez of the Empire of Malcosias!”
The hall burst into vigorous applause, the atmosphere electrified by my back-to-back victories. As accolades and congratulations filled the air, I managed only a weak smile. My heart felt heavy; the spectacle brought me no joy or excitement, consumed as I was by the image of Flora coughing up blood.
“Princess Carolina has healed an incredible thirty knights, earning all of the remaining red bracelets! Her Imperial Highness is indeed formidable, and expectations are undoubtedly high as we move into the third and final trial.”
Thirty red bracelets, three hundred points earned in a single trial—an unprecedented display of healing ability that ensured all eyes swiveled to me and no doubt would remain fixed there for the rest of the trials. With a running total of 678 points, I stood far ahead of the competition. Most of the other candidates hovered around one hundred points, and even Flora, a distant second, had only 202 points. Unless the third trial held a significantly larger fraction of a potential score, the nearly five-hundred-point difference between us appeared unassailable, setting the stage for what many might already deem a foregone conclusion.
“That concludes the announcement of results of the second trial. We will now proceed to the third and final trial,” the host went on. “Please stand by as we make the necessary preparations.”
With that, he stepped aside, clearing the stage for the arrival of the same group of nuns who had assisted in the first trial. They carried tanks filled with brown, murky water, setting one before each candidate. Well, this is a familiar sight. Squinting at the tanks, I wondered if this muddied concoction was the same purification-resistant sludge that had been used in the preliminary trials.
Water purification, then, was the last trial. Though the volume of water this time seemed a little...underwhelming? Previously, the tanks were so heavy that they had required two knights to carry each; now, it looked as though one person might manage alone.
Once the nuns completed their setup, they withdrew, and the host reclaimed center stage. “The third trial is now set to commence. Your challenge, candidates, is...to uncover the hidden treasure.”
Surprise rippled through the candidates. Observing this, the host smiled wryly. “Allow me to elucidate. Hidden within each tank, you will find a rose pendant. The task before you is to locate and retrieve this hidden item. However, be advised that the water in these tanks is mixed with a special type of mud that is resistant to purification. I urge you all to think twice before attempting to purify the entire tank with a single spell.”
“A couple of critical rules to heed.” He paused here and raised two fingers for emphasis. “First, any mud that is transferred to your person or attire will result in points deducted, proportional to the size of the stain incurred. Secondly, the use of purification magic is strictly limited to the contents of the tank only. Should any of you attempt to purify your garments to avoid penalties, you will immediately be asked to stop, and you will earn zero points for the trial. You have been warned.”
So that’s why the tanks are so small. In other words, this is a competition of steady, careful effort rather than of sheer throughput. In that case, it seemed wise for me to purify everything quickly at the outset and secure the pendant without risking any deductions.
I appreciate the warning, but with a power like mine, overexertion seems rather unlikely.
As I shifted my focus from my own tank, I studied the other candidates, their expressions furrowed in concentration as if trying to devise the most efficient strategy to go about their task. My gaze swept from right to left and then behind me, finally coming to a rest on Flora. Her eyes were fixed on her tank, her focus so intense that the bland smile she’d sported all day was conspicuously absent.
I had failed to stop her. I had failed to even broach the subject of my worry. Yet this time, as I watched her poised, frail figure, it wasn’t concern about her well-being that consumed me, but thoughts of a much darker and more morbid variety.
Did I even want to stop her? If Flora were to keel over at this very tournament, what would my reaction be?
Would I mock and laugh at her lifeless corpse, claiming she had brought it upon herself?
Would I, as any sister should, weep and mourn her passing?
Or would I be overwhelmed by guilt and regret for not intervening when I had the chance?
These thoughts were dark yet inescapable as I watched Flora stand there. So weak, so feeble, as if she shouldn’t even be capable of remaining upright, let alone preparing to use magic. Flora, as intelligent as she was, no doubt understood this better than anyone, and yet there she was, obstinate and determined, ready to face the trial.
I supposed that in a way, Flora’s unwavering presence was her response to my unspoken question—the definitive answer of “the perfect lady,” Lady Flora Sanchez. She was determined to be here, resolved to see this through to the end.
“Why are you doing this, Flora?” The question escaped me as a weary exhale, a whisper lost in the tension of the moment and the rumble of the crowd. I turned my attention back to the task ahead.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but in response, I thought I detected the faintest click of a tongue.
“You have twenty minutes. Let the third trial...begin!”