Bermuda

Leonardo Blaine’s gaze shifted to the number engraved on the shot put.

Twenty percent of the value?

The moment he blankly tried to estimate the weight, the guide abruptly grabbed his hand and dropped the shot put he had been holding onto it.

“Whoa!”

Technically it had not been dropped, but that was exactly what it felt like. The sudden heaviness pressing down before he had even prepared himself was almost threatening. Leonardo Blaine’s eyes widened for a moment, and he hurriedly caught the underside of the shot put with both hands.

“Hey, at least give a warning—”

“The first throw of the shot put must leave the participant’s hand before entering the desert. Once you are fully prepared, you may begin whenever you wish. There is no time limit for each part, but please manage your time appropriately considering that a third part exists.”

Interrupting Leonardo Blaine mid-sentence, the guide placed a hand over his chest and bowed politely.

“Then I wish you a safe passage.”

Soon after, he walked away. Leonardo Blaine stared after him with an incredulous look, while Ero grabbed him as if to say something—“Wait a moment!”—but the guide did not turn back. He merely approached the newly summoned passers and began repeating the explanation for the second part with a smile.

Left behind, Leonardo Blaine and Ero stared at each other blankly.

Meanwhile, Ero stood awkwardly with his legs spread shoulder-width apart, crouched slightly in a rather pitiful posture—but Leonardo Blaine only realized he was in the exact same stance when he looked down at his own legs.

Straightening the back he had bent in embarrassment, Leonardo Blaine muttered while watching the guide’s retreating figure.

“They should’ve said something like this earlier. I could’ve adjusted how many tokens I gathered. More importantly, how the hell was that guy holding this?”

“Boss... don’t tell me that thing weighs over a hundred kilograms?”

When Ero asked in disbelief, Leonardo Blaine shifted the shot put he had been holding with both hands into one hand. Then he tossed it lightly upward and caught it three or four times in a row. Each time the sphere settled back into his palm, the veins along the back of his hand and wrist stood out sharply.

“Yeah, about that much.”

“You’re lifting that like it’s nothing?”

“It’s not nothing. Want to try?”

Leonardo Blaine offered the shot put casually, but Ero immediately stepped backward as if afraid it might touch him.

“Th-they said other participants aren’t allowed to make physical contact with the shot put! I might be disqualified!”

“Ah, right. Anyway, it’s not so heavy that it can’t be lifted.”

Back in the day, during training, they had once carried a six-hundred-kilogram wooden pole in pairs without any equipment. Compared to the time when his arm and shoulder muscles had nearly torn apart, a hundred kilograms was practically cute.

To be honest, Agrizendro himself probably weighed more than this. The force he slammed down during combat had felt—if exaggerated a bit—close to a full ton.

Ah, even when I carried Signe not long ago, she was seriously heavy.

Leonardo Blaine withdrew his hand again and condensed magic in his palm, lifting the shot put slightly into the air. Perhaps because of its considerable weight, the drain on his magic was clearly noticeable.

Unless one could actually use telekinesis, objects were usually moved by exploiting acceleration and inertia. Leonardo Blaine himself belonged to the latter category. And since the second part of the match was literally shot put throwing, walking while carrying the shot put would likely violate the rules. That meant if he wanted to advance while conserving throws, he would need to generate extremely high acceleration...

The problem was how much this shot put could endure.

When Leonardo Blaine raised the temperature in his palm to around eight hundred degrees, the shot put instantly glowed red. However, it did not melt or drip. Even when he tightened his grip in that state, the surface neither softened nor crumbled. That meant it could at least withstand the melting point of steel or titanium.

But is conserving throws really the right move? Since there are plenty of chances to throw anyway, would it be better to drop it a few times and reduce the weight first?

Whether that was even possible—questions continued to spiral in his mind.

Just then, a murmur rose from near the starting point. Leonardo Blaine and Ero naturally turned their gaze toward the crowd.

“Oh, boss—”

Ero started to look pleased, then suddenly hesitated as if realizing something. At the end of their line of sight were Leonardo Blaine’s associates whom they had met once before the match began.

Leonardo Blaine kept his expression blank, though his eyebrows lifted slightly. They were not the sort to fail at the test, but they were hardly the type meticulous enough to memorize routes or search for shortcuts, so he had been worried. Yet somehow they had passed even earlier than he and Ero.

At the center of attention stood Gillian, his clothing already heavily disheveled—apparently he had revealed that form once already.

It seemed he had chosen the simplest method regardless of people watching. Holding the shot put with only three fingers, he rotated his shoulder muscles into position and then hurled it straight toward the desert.

“Whoa—”

“Did you hear that?”

A deep whistling sound tore through the air, and exclamations erupted everywhere. Nearby, shot puts that had barely traveled rolled around the ground like children’s toys. Among them, Gillian’s shot put had already vanished far into the desert, propelled with terrifying force.

Not far from him, Beatrice was holding a doll by both legs and spinning her body as if dancing.

“Morboin, throw!”

Morboin—suddenly transformed into a human gyroscope—released the shot put he had been gripping with both hands at the exact moment. The sphere, empowered by the rotational force, did not fly quite as far as Gillian’s but still crossed a considerable distance thanks to the centrifugal force. Compared to the countless shot puts rolling uselessly near the starting point, it was overwhelmingly impressive.

Afterward, Beatrice pulled out an opera glass from somewhere and checked where the shot put had landed. Then she hopped onto Morboin, who had finished his mission, and was lifted up in that familiar princess carry. Stretching her arm forward with charismatic authority, she declared:

“Charge!”

Encouraged by her command, Morboin swung his long legs and dashed straight into the desert beyond the mirror.

Ero burst out in admiration and began preparing to move as well.

“Wow, boss, your partners are incredible too! They’re already way ahead!”

He briefly set his shot put down and loaded a mysterious round into his pistol.

Other participants had their own methods: some placed the shot put inside cannons as large as a person and fired them, while others attached small gliders—originally meant for flight—to their shot puts and launched them forward.

Some hurled the shot put high into the air with all their strength, then swung the greatsword in their hands like a baseball bat to strike it midair. It was quite a common method. Each participant advanced in their own way, but aside from Leonardo Blaine’s associates, none stood out particularly.

After observing the atmosphere, Leonardo Blaine decided it would be best to keep things quiet and control his strength.

“Let’s go too.”

“Yes, boss! Oh, but... one thing.”

Grunting as he lifted the shot put, Ero sidled closer in a crab-like step and whispered near Leonardo Blaine’s face.

“Do you happen to know someone from the Council over there? Someone’s been staring this way the whole time.”

“What?”

Leonardo Blaine turned his gaze where Ero had indicated. When he looked back, the first thing he saw was the League operations staff bustling around the arena. None of them were familiar faces. Yet his eyes instinctively moved farther away, drawn by an inexplicable pull.

Slowly lifting his chin, Leonardo Blaine looked toward the spectator stands that should have been empty.

His golden eyes narrowed. That direction was exactly where he had felt a «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» strange gaze earlier before descending into the maze entrance.

Two people were standing there.

Even from such distance that they looked like dots, one of them—unusually tall and broad—pulled his attention immediately.

Though it was impossible for an ordinary human to distinguish any facial features from this far away, Leonardo Blaine recognized him instantly.

“...Hugo.”

Hugo, standing with his hands clasped behind his back in the distance, raised one hand toward Leonardo Blaine. When he gave a light wave, Leonardo Blaine’s own hand rose awkwardly and gave a small wave in return.

Perhaps it was faint for Leonardo Blaine, but for Hugo the gesture was perfectly clear. He had gathered moisture across his retina to artificially form an image, enlarging Leonardo Blaine’s face like the lens of a telescope as he watched.

Thanks to that, he could see everything: Leonardo Blaine’s uncharacteristically startled expression, the tiny muscle movements trying to compose his face, the corners of his mouth that wanted to lift despite himself, even the faint red tint creeping over his ears.

A smile slowly appeared on Hugo’s rigid lips as well. After waving for quite some time, he finally stopped, worried that he might interfere with Leonardo Blaine’s match.

When Hugo returned his hands behind his back, Leonardo Blaine lowered his own as well. He stared for a while before finally coming back to his senses when Ero asked who it was.

But by then Leonardo Blaine’s mind was already captured by a single thought.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Change of plans.”

Ero tilted his head in confusion.

“There... was a plan? I don’t remember hearing—”

“No matter what happens, I’m taking first place in this match.”

When Leonardo Blaine turned to face him, the golden eyes blazing beyond mere determination looked almost like sparks of fire. Faced with the sudden shift in atmosphere, Ero swallowed nervously.

“Y-yeah! If it’s you, boss, first place is guaranteed! But... this round isn’t even a first-come race, so you don’t necessarily have to—”

“No.”

Leonardo Blaine struck the back of Ero’s hand, sending his shot put floating into the air. In the blink of an eye, he also grabbed the pistol Ero had been holding, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Bang—!

“Boss!”

Before Ero could stop him, flames and a gale burst from the fired round. The shot put, pushed by the blast, lifted briefly into the air. Immediately afterward, Leonardo Blaine tossed his own shot put above his head. Then he extended his palm and waited for the instant when the two floating spheres aligned perfectly with his arm.

Soon, his pupils—contracted under the sunlight—precisely locked onto the targets within range.

From Leonardo Blaine’s grasp, violent energy condensed, scattering hot steam with a raging gust.

In today’s match, he had to look more spectacular than anyone else.

Because that person is watching.

Blazing sparks burst outward in every direction.