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After the third round of fights, the tournament was suspended until the next day, and everyone returned home. Sitting at the desk in Valon’s room, Noah was busy replicating the headband he got from Saimallah. He had already used alchemy to create an exact replica, including the engraved runes, and was now applying a suitable ink. As he worked, he scrutinized the formula repeatedly, making sure it did what it was supposed to. For all he knew, putting it on could brand him with a curse. In his long years across the multiverse, he had learned to always look a gift horse in the mouth. Reading the formula was like reading a contract, and he had to be wary of fine print.

“I’m just a lowly mercenary. That’s all they see me as. They hire me to do their spying, to fulfill the tasks they can’t, but they don’t have to respect me as long as they throw money at me. No matter what I do or how many times I risk my life, I’m an expendable asset. They’d never let someone like me into the knighthood on my own merits, not a filthy beastman, but I’m going to change that. Once I win this tournament and become a silver-rank knight, I’ll command authority and respect. They’ll have to acknowledge me and all beastmen.”“How noble,” Roc scoffed.

“I need to stay in shape,” she replied, not turning around and continuing to punch and kick her swinging target. “Most of the customers know not to cause trouble now, and those that do, well, they do it for the attention.”