Knight Tournament (Part 2)
Calix had selected only those of Class 4 or higher when assembling the expedition heading to the capital.
He anticipated a grueling journey where they'd have to fend off enemy ambushes and reach their destination within the allotted time.
Naturally, Celestina Yurin—who was far from reaching Class 4—couldn't join them.
She and her attendants, departing later on their own, only arrived in the capital after the Knight Tournament had already begun.
"Where's big brother?"
Gordon, serving as vice-adjutant to the expedition, answered her question.
"The young master headed to the arena early this morning."
"Hmmm, I see. But still..."
Celestina Yurin narrowed her eyes and scanned the surroundings.
"Why of all places did he book rooms at a salon? Are we here to play? Does he plan to fool around with women in enemy territory?"
"That's not..."
Gordon broke into a cold sweat, his face twisting in distress before her sharp interrogation.
Laila, watching this with a blank expression, cut in curtly.
"This isn't enemy territory—it's the capital of the Lock Kingdom. And by the time we arrived, every lodging inside the inner castle was full. It's unbecoming to criticize without knowing the full circumstances, especially when you arrived late."
"What? So you're saying it's fine to stay here?"
"Given the situation, we had no choice."
"You...! You're just too comfortable, aren't you?"
"What do you mean by that?"
Laila asked innocently, her face the picture of purity.
But Yurin didn't miss the faint upward twitch at the corner of her rival's mouth.
"Eek!"
Gordon rubbed his arms against the sudden chill that wrapped around him.
'Neither of them is a mage, but... what's with this feeling like lightning crackling between them?'
Meanwhile, oblivious to the drama unfolding back at the lodging, Calix stretched in the athletes' waiting room at the arena.
The Knight Tournament, divided into three parts, began with the first stage: a simple verification of whether participants had truly achieved Class 4.
Obstacles were set along a fixed course, and physical abilities were comprehensively measured by overcoming them.
It was also the bare minimum safeguard to weed out the rare cheats who faked their way into Class 4 just to enter the tournament.
Since there was no competition between participants—only an absolute cutoff to surpass—there wasn't much tension.
That was why it was slangily called a "sports day."
But Calix's expression wasn't particularly bright.
Krout approached, noticing this.
"Aren't you more tense than necessary, my lord?"
"No."
"To be frank, achievements like yours at your age are rare. And you wield that power with the finesse of someone far beyond a fresh Class 4. You won't lag behind any other entrant this year. It's thanks to all those 'incidents'—big and small—that you've gained such varied experience."
Only then did Calix let out a deflating breath, a faint smile crossing his lips.
"Heh, mocking me?"
"I'm glad you're reflecting on it."
"Haha."
"Ahem. Part 1 is just pass or fail anyway. Don't push yourself too hard."
"Hmm... you think so?"
"You don't agree?"
Sensing something off in the air, Krout pressed, but Calix turned his gaze toward the course where Part 1 was underway, saying nothing.
The obstacle course was simpler than expected.
Log pillars were driven vertically into the ground in a straight line, flanked by various hindrances.
Magic devices that sprayed water to make surfaces slippery, leaderless crossbows that auto-fired bolts, and the like.
Just then, a participant took off.
The first log was at least twice his height, but with a short run-up, he scaled it effortlessly.
"Maintaining a stable stance without much wobble. Looks like at least a year of training post-Class 4."
The participant Krout admired hopped the stepping stones calmly, navigating the obstacles.
There were a few close calls, but he completed the course without falling.
"That'd rank him in the top five overall."
"Probably."
Krout shot Calix a puzzled look, noting how half-heartedly he was listening.
"What has you so deep in thought?"
"The examiners' intent."
"The examiners'... intent?"
"The Knight Tournament is ultimately a party for knights' heirs and noble scions."
"Commoners rarely get proper swordsmanship or mana breathing methods in the first place, so that's natural."
"Heh, you think that's all there is to it?"
"Are you saying it's rigged?"
"They couldn't do it openly, of course. The founding king's original intent was to select talent regardless of background."
"His edict is still engraved on the stone pillar at the arena entrance."
"Heh, that worn-down thing that's barely legible? Time erodes everything—stone pillars or sacred founding edicts alike."
"That's mere speculation, my lord. Or the conspiracy theories of sore losers."
"Is it, though...?"
"And there's no need for you to worry about such things. You're no commoner—you're the rightful heir to the great House of Szczecin."
"That's only if you don't catch the eye of those in power. The subtle 'disadvantages' once aimed at screwing over commoners might now target me. The assassination failed, but they still have chances to ruin my goals."
"...So, making me score poorly to steal my shot at fame."
"That's my guess. If they haven't given up yet."
"Ugh... Do you know what those 'disadvantages' are?"
"No clue."
"Pardon?"
In the game, players always started as ordinary freefolk, so Calix had no idea what noble tricks were afoot.
But now, he had a hunch.
"Krout."
"Yes."
"Part 2 is group evaluation, right?"
"Correct. The second stage assesses teamwork, leadership..."
"Skip it. How are the groups formed?"
"Pardon...? Group formation?"
"Random draw?"
"Ah..."
Calix shook his head at Krout, who froze as realization dawned.
'Talented guys are all the same...'
"So it's not public knowledge."
"Now that I think about it, it's odd. Unlike Part 1, where you just pass, Part 2 scores—even small ones—matter greatly. They determine who advances to Part 3, the 'tournament.'"
"Bad group means bad score?"
"...Hard to deny it's a disadvantage."
Krout seemed reluctant to admit any foul play.
But Calix vaguely recalled a rumor: get grouped with commoners in Part 2, and you're out.
'Time to test it—dangle some bait.'
When his turn came, Calix stepped to the starting line, clenching and unclenching his fists to loosen up.
Confidence mingled with pleasant tension coursing through him.
Straight ahead, logs rose in varying heights.
"Entrant 0325! Go!"
At the signal, Calix stomped powerfully.
The ground cratered as his body shot forward like an arrow.
The first log was about 3 meters high.
Even world-class athletes would struggle without aids.
For a limit-breaking Class 4, it was child's play.
Landing lightly atop it, Calix eyed the next: a small 1-meter one nearby, then a towering 6-meter one farther out.
'Straight to the third is a 3-meter jump. Via the second, it's 5 meters.'
No rule required stepping on every log.
Stay off the ground and finish—that was it.
Most prior entrants had skipped the second for the third; it was easier.
But Calix hurled himself toward the second without hesitation.
He toed off powerfully, somersaulting through the air to land gracefully on the third.
"Ooh...!"
The onlookers gasped.
This youthful, not particularly tall entrant displayed far superior agility than the burly men before him.
Undeterred, Calix pressed on, deliberately choosing the hardest paths with overflowing ease.
Shwick—
Three leaderless arrows flew at him.
They wouldn't wound deeply if they hit, but Calix spun, kicking two aside with his feet.
He flattened midair to dodge the last, drifting from his target log.
At this rate, he'd fall.
As the crowd held its breath—this was no mere sports day—Calix kicked off a nearby pillar for another leap.
He zipped between two logs, reclaiming the top.
Cheers and applause erupted for the acrobatic feat.
"Wooo! Amazing!"
"So cool!"
Most candidates, even after decades of grueling training, couldn't amass half Calix's mana.
Comparing them to him—who'd synergized spirit herbs with perfect affinity partners—was unfair.
Plus, Calix had endured brutal real combat these past months.
Unlike other candidates starved of true battle in peacetime, his growth was explosive.
The spectators, enthralled by this new star, buzzed with curiosity.
"Who the hell is that guy?"
"Which house is he from?"
"Looks young..."
"That skill? Mid-twenties at least. Must be baby-faced."
Famous martial houses' heirs were usually known by face.
But few recognized Calix.
And one who did hid his discomfort poorly.
'Tch. This is bad. The more attention he gets, the harder it is for us to act. What to do...'
Servio Viscount, arms crossed in thought, turned at a sound beside him.
"Hmph!"
It was a middle-aged noble struggling to keep a neutral face.
'Who’s this?'
Racking his memory calmly, he snapped his fingers with a click!.
The middle-aged man turned, scowling.
"Enjoying the show?"
"Haha, hardly. I even owe that kid a minor debt. Just soothing my sour stomach by force."
The man softened slightly.
"Know who he is?"
"Szczecin's firstborn."
"Hmm... Now that you mention it, I recall your house had some spat with Szczecin."
"What say you, Commander Lander? Care to chat briefly...?"
Lander Count eyed Servio Viscount oddly for a moment.
'The marquis's dog... but they say he's useful in schemes. Let's hear him out.'