Chapter 104
Chapter 104
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: Chapter 3. Flag Tournament
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Running around Aslan nonstop until the Flag Tournament began had left me utterly exhausted come morning.
"Ugh..."
Judah groaned and cracked his eyes open at the sound of running water from the shower in the room. He wanted to sleep more, but the relentless splashing chased away any hope of it. He tried smothering the noise by flipping his pillow over his ears, but it was no use. With a grimace, Judah had no choice but to drag himself upright. Letting out a small sigh, he scratched at his messy hair and glanced to the side.
Jeanne seemed to be the one washing up—the middle bed was already neatly made, and Arhil lay snoring softly on the one next to it, her belly exposed. Judah got up and leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. But his foggy mind sharpened with each passing second until he finally stretched with a yawn.
"Ugh!"
He rolled his head side to side to loosen up, then padded over to Arhil's bed. He tapped her shoulder, calling her name as she scratched lazily at her stomach in her carefree sleep.
"Arhil."
"Mmm."
She twitched her eyelids like she was sleep-talking, showing no signs of waking. He had no idea how long Jeanne had been in there, but she would be out soon.
"Get up, Arhil."
After a few more persistent nudges, she finally cracked her eyes open. She grabbed the blanket draped over her thighs and yanked it up high—a silent plea not to wake her.
"You wanna sleep more?"
"Yeees... Just... a bit longer...!"
"Then I'll wash up first?"
No answer. Judah sighed softly and turned to go. But a hand shot out from under the covers, grabbing him and pulling her upright in one motion.
"No... Ack...! Y-Yeah... Nngh!"
The moment she sat up, pain shot through her body. She winced and groaned. Her grip on Judah's wrist went slack. She'd clearly worn herself out rushing around Aslan too. She summoned holy power into her palm and pressed it to her thighs and soles, like applying a cooling salve. Her expression eased right away.
"I'll wash first..."
"..."
"But... could I sleep a little more and wash later? Hehe."
"Sure, go ahead."
"Really?"
Judah nodded. He could head down and eat first—no big deal. She trailed off with a grateful "Thank yooou..." before flipping the blanket back over and flopping down. She clearly planned to snooze until Jeanne finished up. Judah just opened the door and headed downstairs.
Count Genuear was already at a table on the first floor, casually enjoying bread and milk. He waved cheerfully when he spotted Judah.
"Oh, you're up?"
"You're up early, Count."
Judah slid into the seat across from him and asked a server for a salad. The greasy meal from last night sat heavy in his stomach. He scanned the room while watching the Count tear off a piece of soft bread and chew.
The nearby nobles, seemingly oblivious to his identity as Count Genuear, focused solely on their own meals with refined poise, ignoring everyone else. Soon Judah's salad and water arrived. The server stepped back with a "Enjoy," and Judah picked up his fork.
"Why eat alone without your companions? Why come down first?"
Judah chuckled lightly between bites of crisp, fresh lettuce.
"They'll take forever washing up, so I came ahead. Why aren't you eating with your daughter, Count?"
"Alas, she headed to the arena early. Said she needs to shake off the nerves there. Honestly. It wouldn't kill her to share one meal with her old man. I'm a bit miffed she's so obsessed with this flagpole tournament."
He sighed and tore into his bread. Then again, for a magic family to produce a knight hopeful, he probably couldn't train her properly—only drills for fighting mages.
"Well, doesn't that just mean she's passionate? That's a good thing, right?"
"Heh. True enough. That's why I'll cheer her on hard today. Already reserved prime seats for her event in the arena."
"Her daughter's in the green flagpole one, right? The one for total beginners? Might not be that exciting..."
"And they don't use wooden swords or anything?"
"Nope. You fight with the weapons they provide. Keeps it fair, judged purely on skill. Armor is optional, though."
"Hmm. Not bad."
"Eh, it's fine, I guess. Real blades mean blood flies easy. And if luck's not on your side, you could die."
"You're fine sending your daughter into something that dangerous?"
"What can I do? She insisted. If she'd been allowed her own gear... Heh. My girl's win would've been guaranteed."
He'd planned to load her equipment with enchantments. Judah could guess without being told outright. They finished their simple chat and meal just as Jeanne and Arhil came down from upstairs. Spotting them, Judah told the Count he'd wash up and bolted back to the second floor. He showered in record time compared to them and returned. The moment they polished off breakfast, the Count stood and headed out, beckoning the group to follow close.
"Wow, so many people."
One stray glance and they'd be swept away in the crowd. Arhil clung tight to Jeanne's hand as they trailed behind. Judah glanced back with a small smile, then resumed chatting with the Count as they walked.
Aslan's flag tournament grew famous, expanding from one arena to over ten. Some were massive and ornate, open only for special events. That didn't mean the green flagpole arena looked rundown.
A colossal coliseum-like dome loomed ahead, crowds already pouring through dozens of entrances. The Count's reserved spot was a private box like in a round theater—complete with table for relaxing with snacks and drinks.
"What do you think? Pretty nice, huh?"
He spread his arms wide with a proud grin. Arhil cheered at avoiding the crowds, and Jeanne marveled at being so close to the action. Judah hadn't expected seats this good.
'As expected of a great noble from Uruun.'
Even for the green flagpole, renting this wouldn't be cheap. He was grateful for the comfort. They settled in, and servers brought drinks and light snacks. Right on cue, the audience filled up, and a knight who seemed to be the announcer took center stage in sturdy black armor.
-Thank you all for joining us for Aslan's green flagpole. I'm Gino, referee for the Roa Arena.
His booming voice echoed through the arena without any magic, startling the excited crowd into focus.
-You don't need to remember my name. It's common, and unimportant here. Remember the young fighters stepping onto this stage to prove themselves. They've poured blood and sweat into this one-shot green flagpole chance—or if not, they'll spill it here and fall.
No long speech. Short and to the point. He immediately called the first batch of fighters. The stage was huge, so eight pairs dueled at once. Seven more knights joined him, including the one who'd introduced himself as from Roa, to oversee.
"They're moving fast."
"Dragging these out gains nothing. Still skeptical, though. Black or gold flagpoles deliver thrilling duels. Wonder if watching kids scrap will be fun. Might enjoy critiquing, at least."
The Count muttered, stroking his chin. Judah agreed. And the real surprise: live steel. Not just injuries—death was possible, yet they handed out edged blades.
Judah swirled his glass idly as the duels began. Greetings exchanged, weapons raised. Well-forged swords glinted in the sun, and they clashed right away.
In a game, you'd see skill activations and combos, but here, talent like that was rare. Just sword on sword. Still, blood spraying mid-fight drew gasps from the crowd.
'Is this supposed to be fun?'
Judah couldn't hide his disappointment at the green flagpole entrants' skill. Player-friendly difficulty, sure, but this was excessive. Rule barred anyone twenty or older, so all teens—and some cowered in full armor, scared of cuts. He got why they ran eight pairs at once.
The Count looked bored too, chin in hand. Judah sighed softly. Only Arhil and Jeanne seemed engaged, peering over the safety railing, swapping observations.
After five rounds, the Count perked up, tapped Judah's shoulder, and stood.
"Look! There—my girl's up. Haha!"
He beamed down, but didn't wave or shout her name—just watched, arms crossed.
'Hm?'
Judah had never seen the Count's daughter. Schedules never aligned; she was never at the inn mornings or evenings. He'd half-wondered if the Count was lying.
Down there stood a girl in chest armor only, wielding a two-handed sword. Too mature for a child, too youthful for an adult.
'...Well, max nineteen. Of course she looks young.'
The referee started the duel. She bowed, hefted her massive blade without hesitation, and charged. Scrawny-looking, but high strength stat—she swung it effortlessly. Her opponent backed off, waited for the slash to hit dirt, then closed in. She didn't flinch. Instead of recovering, she lunged with the hilt, slamming his unguarded gut. He crumpled, clutching his belly. The referee declared her victory on the spot.
"Excellent, Sara!"
The Count bellowed like he'd held it in. The girl startled, glanced up flushed, then looked away shyly.
========== Author's Note ==========
Ugh.
Everyone, Happy Chuseok!