I'm the Crazy One in the Family
Chapter 141: I’m Going to Kill You (1)

Chapter 141: I’m Going to Kill You (1)

Slap!

“You're calling that a report right now?!”

Galahind struck the young butler hard across the face. The butler, staggering, straightened up and reported again.

“It wasn't just a few soldiers saying it. Everyone gave the same testimony. Keter... He spread forty-four Aura Arrows like wings...”

“Say something that actually makes sense!”

Kicking the butler in the stomach, Galahind gestured to a nearby soldier to come closer.

“You. You tell me. You were there, weren't you?”

"Th-that is...”

The middle-aged soldier glanced at the young butler writhing on the ground, clutching his stomach, and swallowed hard.

The butler’s report had been completely accurate. It was exactly what he had witnessed: wings made of forty-four Aura Arrows. No one could move under Keter’s overwhelming presence, like rabbits frozen before a lion. It happened in broad daylight, on a busy avenue, with crowds watching. The soldiers had fled in shameful panic, screaming and scattering like dogs with their tails on fire.

To make matters worse, Keter had even declared to Galahind, “I will never stop, and you must not stop either.”

This was what the soldiers had seen; it was the undeniable truth witnessed by everyone.

But Galahind could not accept that Keter, a lowborn bastard from the Lawless City of Absinthe, had obtained a recommendation from Gyro, the former Sword of the South. He could not believe that he had secured sponsorship from Minerva, the Shield of the East, to enter the Sword of the South Tournament as an independent participant. And now, he had the audacity to subdue Galahind’s soldiers with sheer presence and humiliate him!

“K-K-Keter is...”

The middle-aged soldier thought of his wife and children. Their faces blurred together with Galahind's twisted, furious expression before him.

“...He ambushed us cowardly.”

“What?!”

“Keter took the centurion hostage while he was politely requesting a conversation... then recklessly swung his sword!”

“Ha! I knew it!”

"Keter, having taken the centurion hostage, beat us mercilessly. With him held hostage, we had no choice but to get beaten... and finally had to flee.”

“So in the end, you're saying Keter is a dishonorable scum, like a rotten fish head?”

“...Yes. Keter is just a thug from the back alleys.”

“Good. That's what I thought.”

The middle-aged soldier sighed in relief. Galahind hadn't wanted the objective truth; he only wanted to hear what pleased him.

Satisfied with what he heard, Galahind tapped the fallen butler with his foot.

“Get lost.”

“Ugh... Yes, my lord...”

The butler, supported by the middle-aged soldier, stumbled out of the office.

Once they left, Galahind pressed his fingers against his forehead.

“Phew... This is infuriating. As if it wasn’t enough that someone else snatched up the map to Magenta’s legacy...”

Galahind bit a premium cigar adorned with gold. He waited as the knight beside him lit it with a match.

“My lord, even if the soldiers exaggerated the number of Aura Arrows Keter produced, the fact that he could create them at all is likely true. It would mean Keter is at least a three-star knight."

“I know that much.”

“...!”

“You damn fools... Praising a bastard from another family right in front of me? Idiots! Worthless rats who spew lies with just a little intimidation! This is why you don’t keep commoners around.”

Even though the knight guarding Galahind was himself of commoner birth, Galahind couldn’t have cared less. Even if he had known, it wouldn’t have mattered to him.

“It doesn’t matter if he’s a four-star knight. In this world, money is everything. So what if a beggar from the Lawless City got strong by sheer luck?”

After one puff, Galahind arrogantly tossed the expensive cigar onto the ground and said, “Even a five-star Master is powerless before the might of money.”

He thought of Keter as nothing more than a strong fool. After all, Keter had stolen and sold off the map to Magenta’s legacy, a treasure of Sefira.

“You managed to enter the tournament as an independent participant, but that was your mistake, Keter. You’ll pay dearly for daring to provoke me.”

Galahind thought defeating Anis and Taragon in this tournament would be as easy as pie, so he originally had no intention of going all out. But now, he changed his mind.

“Distribute the Rage Potions to the knights.”

The knight frowned at Galahind’s orders. Most potions and elixirs on the market, often called miracle drugs, were made by a group of pharmacists known as Fenecia. The Rage Potion was a recipe stolen by a researcher from Fenecia; it granted incredible strength to those who drank it. However, it was still a prototype, and its side effects were horrifying.

Forcing knights to drink a potion that will age them by ten years and decrease their aura by five years' worth... He’s insane.

The knight understood Galahind’s mindset all too well. To him, even knights were nothing but expendable tools—mass-producible parts if one had enough money.

“Understood.”

Yet from the knight's perspective, he didn’t particularly pity the others. After all, they chose to stay under Galahind, knowing exactly what he was like, including himself.

* * *

The Sword of the South Tournament was just around the corner. Myle summoned Keter, Anis, and Taragon—who would all be participating in the tournament—to the meeting room in their guest quarters.

“You probably already know the general idea, but I’ll go over the schedule and rules of the Sword of the South Tournament one more time. If there’s anything unclear or you have questions, ask right away.”

While Anis and Taragon were preparing for the tournament, Myle had been gathering all the information about it. Katherine had helped him organize it, so there was nothing he didn’t know.

“The tournament consists of three events in total. The first round is a battle royale, the second round is a team tournament, and the third is the individual tournament. Each event assigns points based on placement, and the participant with the highest total score across all events becomes the Sword of the South.”

As no one raised a question, Myle continued.

“There were originally two hundred fifty-five participants, but with Keter joining late, the number is now two hundred fifty-six. Of course, all of them don’t compete at once. They are divided into three groups: Group A and Group B have ninety participants each, and Group C has seventy-six.”

Anis and Taragon were assigned to Group A, and Keter was in Group B.

“As a rule, killing is prohibited. Attacking an opponent who has surrendered is also banned. Group A will compete the first day, Group B the second day, and Group C the third day. After that, the second event, the team tournament, will take place a week later.”

Again, no one asked questions. These were all well-known details.

“If a participant doesn’t show up on the day of their match, they forfeit. Also, participants can be disqualified mid-tournament due to serious injuries or personal reasons.”

Arms crossed, Anis remarked, “That rule is just begging to be abused.”

“Exactly. The hostile nobles will try to make trouble for us... or at least, they were planning to.”

The three siblings looked toward Keter. Now that they were staying at Eslow’s palace, interference from hostile nobles was no longer a concern. Their gazes were filled with gratitude, to which Keter responded with a playful wink.

Myle cleared his throat and continued.

“The tournament roster has been made public, and I’ll go over some of the participants you should watch out for. In Group A, there are Sword Dragon Rajis and Spear Dragon Jordic. Rumor has it that Rajis has reached the rank of five-star Master, and Jordic is said to be a four-star.”

Hearing that they would be up against the Sword Dragon and the Spear Dragon, Anis gave a competitive smile, while Taragon let out a worried sigh.

“But they’re not the only ones to be wary of. Sir Regan, the commander of the Zepirus knights, and Sir Polka from the Garcia marquisate are also four-star knights, both seasoned and experienced.”

“Understood.”

“And in Keter’s group, Group B, there’s Sir Fashian, the Red Wolf. He’s a former Orichalcum-class mercenary, and he’s the oldest participant at twenty-nine, barely making the age cut. Being both a mercenary and older, he’s likely the most experienced fighter in the tournament.”

“More experienced than Keter? Haha.”

At Taragon’s comment, Myle shook his head.

“Don’t get cocky. Keter has a lot of knowledge, but he’s still only eighteen.”

“He’s right, Keter. Don’t let your guard down,” Anis added earnestly.

But Keter only half-listened, twirling a strand of Anis’ hair around his finger and playing with it. Anis batted his hand away, telling him to stop, while Myle pretended not to notice.

“The first event, the battle royale, is not held in this city, but on a remote uninhabited island. All participants are teleported there and given badges. Points are awarded based on how many badges you have when you escape through the central exit of the island.

“Two badges are one point, three badges are two points, five badges are three points, and ten badges are five points. The highest score, seven points, is awarded if you hand in twenty badges.”

Taragon raised his hand.

“Is there a time limit?”

“Hmm. It starts at ten in the morning. and ends at six in the afternoon, so eight hours total. Seems they planned it to end right around sunset.”

“Thank you.”

Since the second and third events were both tournaments, there weren’t many complicated rules. The only difference was that the team tournament was divided into two groups, while the individual tournament included all participants. In other words, the first and second events could have multiple first-place winners. But in the third event, there would be only one first-place and one second-place finisher, meaning the final outcome would be decided for sure.

“Lastly, equipment restrictions. Artifacts are prohibited, and magic tools are only allowed up to level two. Keter, you understand what that means, right? If you use Amaranth, you’ll be disqualified.”

Keter simply shrugged.

“Wasn’t going to use it anyway.”

“That’s a relief,” Myle replied. “Also, you can only use a total of two potions or elixirs, which is good for us.”

Sefira didn’t have enough elixirs; Besil only gave them ten for this tournament. The other high nobles most likely prepared at least thirty.

Putting the greenstone arrows that Volkanus gave him on the table, Anis asked, “Are there any restrictions about special arrows?”

“No, there isn’t. They only prohibit explosives and scrolls as secondary weapons, and they also allow daggers and axes. There shouldn’t be a problem,” Myle replied.

“Thank you.”

“Any more questions?” Myle asked Anis and Taragon, ignoring Keter.

The two shook their heads.

“It was a short period of time, but we prepared well. All we have to do now is show them what we’ve got.”

“I won’t regret it, even if I die.”

This was the first Sword of the South Tournament Sefira was participating in. Being the first ever representatives of Sefira placed immense pressure on Anis and Taragon. Of course, they were still nervous now, but it was a good kind of nervous—the kind that sharpened focus and allowed them to give their very best.

Of course...

“If you’re done talking, let’s eat.”

...it didn’t apply to Keter.

* * *

The day of the Sword of the South Tournament, tens of thousands of citizens from across the kingdom and hundreds of noble families and dignitaries had filled the spectator stands.

Yet strangely, the crowd was silent. Even their movements were cautious, as if they didn’t dare blink. The reason stood at the podium—Eslow, the Lord of the South. It was highly unusual for Eslow to appear in person at the tournament. Everyone was tense and filled with anticipation about what he would say.

“My daughter, Henya, is participating in this year’s tournament.”

“...?!”

It was huge news. People were left speechless, eyes wide. The nobles who hadn’t known were just as stunned. No one had seen this coming.

“Do not show her any favor. I will not forgive it.”

That was all. That was Eslow’s entire speech. It was short, but powerful.

“W-wowww!!”

“His Grace’s daughter is in the tournament?!”

“What an incredible stroke of luck!”

Only after Eslow had fully departed did the crowd erupt in cheers and excitement.

A female knight in the tournament—and not just any knight, but the daughter of the famed Eslow, the Weaponmaster. Everyone was filled with anticipation, wondering what kind of performance she would deliver.

Just then, a massive screen lit up at the center of the spectator area. Because the first event, the battle royale, was taking place on a remote, uninhabited island, the matches were broadcast via magic screens. For commoners, there was one enormous communal screen, but nobles were provided with individual ones. The high nobles, seated in their luxurious box seats, could even monitor multiple participants at once through several personal screens.

Though the Lillian Kingdom basically banned magic, they ironically took advantage of its convenience.

Through the giant screen, the faces of all the knights participating in the tournament began to flash by one by one. Below each face, short captions appeared with basic information: their rank, affiliated family, and any titles they held.

While commoners watched all two hundred fifty-six participants roll by, the nobles focused only on a few. They were especially interested in Sword Dragon Rajis Garcia, a rumored five-star Master; a knight from the Galahind marquisate; Fashian, the Red Wolf; and Henya, the Sword Witch whose participation was revealed on the day of the tournament.

Next in line for noble interest were the four-star knights with varying levels of fame. And lastly, without question, was Keter.

Keter drew attention for many reasons: as the seller of the map leading to the ruins of Sword Saint Magenta, as the troublemaker who caused an uproar in Red Siren, and as the successor carrying the recommendation of Gyro, the former Sword of the South who had mysteriously vanished.

“That one’s Keter, huh.”

“Doesn’t look like much.”

“One shouldn’t judge someone with aura by appearances, hehe.”

“I can’t wait to hear him scream.”

The attention that should have gone to Sefira’s two brothers, Anis and Taragon, was relatively muted.

It was now eight in the morning. Only two hours remained before the first event began. All participants had already been teleported to the island and were waiting in their personal preparation rooms.

Anis calmly checked over his gear—his quiver, gloves, arrows, spare daggers, even his belt—meticulously.

“Phew.”

He let out a short breath and allowed his pounding heart to race.

Get as excited as you need to now, body.

He was letting his body adjust, when someone knocked on his waiting room door.

“Sir Anis. I’m with the tournament staff. I am stepping in for a moment.”

They didn’t ask for permission—they simply said they would enter. Anis frowned.

The door opened immediately after, and the staff member stepped in. Anis tensed, wondering if this was a ploy by hostile nobles. But the man entered empty-handed.

“Sir Anis, is this all the equipment you brought?”

The man pointed to his bow and arrows, to which Anis nodded.

“That’s right.”

“I will be taking them.”

“...What?”

“You must not have heard. The rules were changed this year. Participants no longer begin with their weapons or belongings. All equipment will be scattered across the island. You and the other contestants must find and retrieve your gear during the match.”

At his explanation, a vein bulged in Anis’ neck, and the corners of his eyes twitched.

To a knight, losing their sword was one thing, but to an archer, being without bow and arrows was a whole different level of problematic. Few archers trained seriously in close combat. While Anis was capable of fighting up close, he wasn’t as proficient as a swordsman.

Even if he were to use aura to generate weapons, a swordsman only needed to form a sword, while an archer had to form both the bow and the arrows; this required nearly three times the aura. In chaotic or prolonged fights, this difference became even more severe. This was clearly a targeted rule change meant to hinder Sefira.

A string of curses came to his mind, but he stopped himself from expressing them.

The match was about to begin, and he knew the rules would not be changed just for Sefira.

No one will take our side. Even if it’s unfair, they will just tell us to forfeit if we don’t like it. That’s exactly what the hostile nobles want.

“Fine. But surely you’ll at least leave the bow and arrows in the same place?”

The staff member gave him a regretful look.

“I’m sorry, but under the new rules, arrows have been designated as secondary weapons, so they will not be located with the bows.”

Anis had never cursed in his life, not even in anger, in order to keep his noble dignity. But this time...

“...Fuck.”

...he could not hold it in.