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The night before Group B’s match, Anis and Taragon, having already competed, wanted to offer Keter some advice. But he was sprawled upside-down on a couch, lazily kicking his feet.
“No need to tell me.”
Keter’s disinterested attitude prompted Myle to try persuading him more seriously.
“Keter, we know you're strong. But as you saw, this tournament is designed to be disadvantageous to archers like us. Anis and Taragon only made it through thanks to Sir Rajis. If it weren’t for him…”
“You know, now that I think about it, it’s kind of funny.”
Interrupting Myle, Keter stretched his legs all the way to the table. Then, with an absurd display of flexibility, he pinched a cherry from the tabletop with his toes and flicked it into his mouth.
“If you know I’m strong, then why worry?”
Crunch. Crunch.
Keter bit through the cherry—pit and all.
“Because even strong people have limits. Stamina and aura aren’t infinite.”
Keter didn’t disagree. Having once gone up against an entire...
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