Collecting Overdue Debts (1)
The Knight Tournament finals.
They began with a grand ceremony.
All the kingdom's most prominent nobles had gathered, watching with eager anticipation for the match's outcome.
Commander Lander and Viscount Servio were no exceptions.
"Is it... certain that the bastard fell for it?"
"The twelve goats we prepared as sacrifices withered away to husks. You needn't worry."
"Hmph..."
Count Lander couldn't hide his lingering unease.
He too was a Sword Owner-level knight.
He had the eye to tell which was superior between Calix and his son.
Regrettably for him, Rublin was no match for Calix.
Tch! Of all the rotten luck, that punk shows up this year... and he's just a kid!
That was the problem.
If Calix were the same age as Rublin, even a loss wouldn't be a major stain.
There could be a chance for revenge later.
But the opponent was only fifteen.
A mere boy who had just undergone his coming-of-age rite.
If Rublin, six years his senior, lost, it would tarnish the family name—and he'd spend the rest of his life chasing that shadow.
Damn it! To think I'd resort to such crude tricks. When we get home, I'll have to rework that fool Rublin's training regimen. Grind my teeth!
The Knight Tournament Finals will now begin!
"Wooooaaah!"
Calix stood in the arena, scanning the surroundings.
He could feel countless eyes fixed on him.
Back on Earth, he'd never stood before so many people.
Idols on stage or Olympic athletes must feel like this.
Calix realized he was a bit excited.
He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart.
Now was the time to focus on the duel.
He didn't plan to lose, of course—but duels between equals demanded caution.
Though that guy's acting like victory's already his.
Rublin approached with a smug grin.
"Hahaha! You actually made it to the finals? But this is where it ends. Time to repay that humiliation from last time."
"I was thinking I went too easy on you back then. Let's trade a few more blows today."
"You little—!"
Whoosh!
Rublin charged like a wild boar, kite shield forward.
When Calix sidestepped, he twisted his path and pursued relentlessly.
To maintain distance from the tenacious foe, Calix began tapping the shield with his sword, checking him.
Clang!
If it were his usual thin blade, he might've avoided bluntly hammering the shield—but the tournament's blunt sword was thick and sturdy, perfect for it.
After a few exchanges, he gripped it two-handed and swung freely.
Bam! Boom! Boom!
Rublin felt the impacts through the shield far stronger than expected and faltered.
Huh? What's with this guy?
The seasoned knights of House Lander had dissected Calix's prior matches, analyzing strengths and weaknesses.
By their reckoning, he was a classic counterattacker—dodging then striking openings.
They'd never seen him unleash such relentless, powerful blows.
With their strategy useless, a panicked Rublin could only raise his shield desperately.
He retreated step by step, racking his brain.
What's going on? Why's he suddenly going all-out like this? Ah...!
A faint smile tugged at Rublin's lips.
The Curse of Debilitation sapped stamina.
Even slight movement brought shortness of breath and waning will.
At mid-tier, it wasn't just motivation—muscle pain worsened with every motion.
This guy's getting anxious! He knows he's cursed!
If his opponent were some average candidate, Rublin's guess would've held.
But alas, he faced a monster bearing the S-grade curse Perum Infinitus.
Anything below S-grade couldn't harm Calix.
"Hahaha! Idiot! Keep attacking! Come on!"
Blissfully ignorant, Rublin taunted gleefully.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
"Tired yet? Bet you're dying!"
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
"Not tired? You should be!"
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
"Wha... not tired? You should be...?"
A veteran shieldmaster would've angled to deflect or counterthrust.
But Rublin rarely used shields, so retaliation was a pipe dream.
Calix, silent till now, mocked him.
"Looks like you've barely handled a shield before. Thought it'd buy you a few extra seconds?"
"Urgh!"
Choosing the shield was Count Lander's call.
Curse the foe, then stall safely till he tired first.
Yet time passed, and Calix showed no fatigue.
Rublin gritted his teeth, pouring strength into his numbing left arm.
Just a bit longer... just a bit!
But his hopes soon shattered.
No matter how long, Calix betrayed no weariness.
"Why... why aren't you tiring?!"
Unable to endure, Rublin bellowed in fury.
"Guess my stamina's better than I look."
"What nonsense is that?!"
"Hm? Or is there some reason I should be weak?"
"N-no, but... argh!"
Boom! Crack!
The shield shattered under accumulated stress.
Sharp fragments flew at Rublin; he instinctively raised his hand to shield his face.
A split-second blind spot proved fatal.
Calix's fist slammed into his exposed gut.
Thud!
"Kuhk!"
Air whooshed from Rublin as his body lifted slightly.
Calix stabbed his sword into the ground, seized Rublin's head with both hands, and kneed upward.
Crack!
Blood sprayed with teeth scattering white in the air.
Then it happened.
Calix seemed to stumble, foot slipping.
"Wha... huh?"
The crowd paled, sensing the impending horror.
Snap!
"Aaaagh!"
A sickening crunch echoed as Rublin screamed and collapsed.
He writhed, unable to rise.
Calix had "accidentally" stomped his groin.
But the perpetrator smacked his lips in disappointment.
He'd endured the hassle to punish Rublin's harassment of Marie—yet the protector cup foiled it.
Still, this was an official duel before thousands.
The deliberate groin stomp was already risky; a finishing blow on the downed foe would derail future plans.
Lucky bastard.
Shield shards littered the ground; his bloodied left arm dangled at an unnatural angle.
Insult added, he foamed at the mouth, passed out face-down.
Count Lander shot to his feet.
Veins bulging, he whirled on Viscount Servio.
"What in blazes is this? You said it worked!"
"Hrm... The ritual succeeded, certainly. This is unforeseen..."
"I trusted your word implicitly, and this is the result? Better to have let Rublin fight at full strength than suffer this disgrace."
"Nngh... My apologies. Something clearly went wrong. I'll find a way to make amends."
"Spare me! Without witnesses, you'd be missing an arm by now. Don't show your face before me again."
Count Lander stormed off.
Other nobles, unable to overhear, murmured.
"No matter. Seems his son's injuries worried him."
Viscount Servio brushed it off and sat.
But the tournament's outcome no longer mattered.
To salvage this swiftly, he needed to scheme diligently.
During the Knight Tournament, Calix had racked up debts to collect.
Viscount Servio's gang ambushing his group en route to the capital.
First Prince Gail Krakuf, who turned a blind eye.
Commander Lander plotting in the tournament.
And Rublin harassing Marie.
Calix pulled out his notebook, slashing lines through "Rublin."
"Three left."
Krout shook his head at the sight.
That vindictiveness... he takes after the late count in that way, too...
"What? Why the look?"
"Nothing, my lord. Get ready—the award ceremony's soon."
"Already?"
Marie straightened his attire.
"Thanks. Felt good."
"Just an accident."
"Heehee! Yes, an accident. Still, I wanted to thank you."
"Enough. Time to go."
"Good luck."
As Calix emerged from the annex, the Blue Lion Knights stood arrayed in gleaming armor.
"Ow, my eyes. Did you polish 'em with diamonds? They shine like mirrors."
Calix jokingly shielded his face; Gordon chuckled.
"Haha, a historic day—we gave those sneering bastards a smackdown. Can't embarrass you looking sloppy, young master."
"Ready?"
"Yes, sir. We can depart now."
"Then let's move."
"Yes, my lord!"
Like the opening, the ceremony dragged elaborately.
Lesser nobles craved proximity to power; greater ones asserted untouchable authority.
Thus, brevity was impossible.
But their efforts rewarded the wrong victor: Calix.
"Wooooaaah!"
"The Blue Lion Knights!"
Calix and the Blue Lions paraded down the royal avenue on horseback.
Mirror-polished plate armor dazzled in the sun.
They seemed heavenly soldiers descended.
A rare spectacle for commoners starved for entertainment.
Cheers and applause rained down.
"Long live Lock Kingdom!"
"Long live His Majesty!"
Women tossed flowers they'd prepared.
"Wow... he's so handsome!"
"Oh my, he looks huggable—and he's the tournament champ?"
"Right? With wrists that slim..."
"But he's too noble—even fantasizing feels blasphemous."
"True. I prefer a sturdy knight behind him."
"Ah... hugged tight by those thick arms—bliss!"
"Dream on! What makes you think a knight'd pick you?"
"Hey? He just locked eyes with me?"
"Delusions, girl. He met mine."
"Pfft? That middle-aged guy's winking at you. Answer him quick."
"Wanna die?"
The women forgot knights' mana-enhanced hearing.
Gordon, abruptly "middle-aged," looked glum.
"I'm only twenty-seven..."