Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Holy Knights' Outrage
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“What did you say!?”
“Forgive me, Master! This worthless fool has sullied the honor of the Holy Knight… defiled your noble faith! Ugh!”
Yorente bowed his head, tears streaming down his face.
“You…!”
Holy Knight Daimos trembled, his fist clenched tight.
For a knight, nothing was more shameful than having his sword taken by an enemy.
Especially for a Holy Knight, whose blade represented not just personal honor, but the prestige of the Church and the faith itself.
And to take it knowing that…
“Argh! That heretic truly scorns the Church. The letter from Maren’s royalists was spot on. I won’t let this slide!”
Daimos slammed the table and shot to his feet, rage boiling over.
“Sir Daimos, I’m coming with you.”
Another Holy Knight, Iod, stepped forward in fury. He had long lost his reason upon seeing his favored squire Lloyd carried in with a hole in his head.
“Wait a moment, sirs. We must stay calm, especially now.”
“What kind of talk is that, Dirhit!”
“Our squires end up like this, and you want us to sit idle!?”
Dirhit spoke to his enraged comrades in a low, icy voice.
“What do you plan to do if you go there? Challenge him to a duel? And if you cut him down? Think the free knights in the tent village will praise you for it?”
“……!”
As his comrades flinched, Dirhit softened his tone slightly.
“I understand your anger. Truth be told, I’d love nothing more than to send that unbeliever straight to the gods’ embrace right now. But we must hold back.”
“Ugh!”
“Don’t we have the perfect opportunity with the knights’ tournament? We can judge that heretic there, fairly and squarely. Meeting him now does us no good.”
“But what of our honor—and the Church’s?”
“Do you think simple brutes no better than alley thugs understand honor?”
“…….”
“Sirs, honor belongs to the noble blue bloods. The blue bloods here in the main keep will judge it. The knights lodging in the annex or village inns? Or the paupers in the tent village who can’t even get in there? Do their ramblings matter?”
“Hmm…….”
The two Holy Knights finally nodded gravely.
They were all direct heirs of high noble houses—chosen ones born with noble blue blood, worlds apart from nameless knights of insignificant families.
And honor was made for such as them.
“Sirs, let’s not fall for the base provocations of those beneath us. Our honor isn’t that cheap, is it?”
“Whew! Without you, Sir Dirhit, we’d have made a grave mistake today.”
“Indeed! I realize now my training is still lacking. I’ve shamed the gods.”
True to their deep faith, the two knights quickly regained their composure and expressed their gratitude to Dirhit.
“Yorente.”
“Yes, Master.”
Daimos spoke solemnly to his tear-streaked squire.
“You’ll get your sword back after the jousting in three days.”
“M-Master.”
Shing!
Daimos drew the longsword granted only to formal Holy Knights—Evil Destroyer—and held the blade straight up before his chest.
“Wait until then. I swear it on my honor and faith. That day, the blood of that wicked heretic will spill beneath this blade.”
* * *
Two days passed.
In that time, even more people flooded into Winslon.
Lords, nobles, merchants, knights, mercenaries. Troupe performers, bards, jesters.
Winslon brimmed with the vibrant chaos of a festival on the horizon, teeming with every sort of person.
Fights broke out constantly, and over ten knights had already died in duels before the tournament even began—yet Winslon burned with a mad fervor.
Meanwhile, Eugene stayed in the tent village, focusing on winning over the free knights.
He treated every knight with equal respect and courtesy, lavishing silver coins on them as if they were guests in his own domain, earning their goodwill.
His spending was so lavish that some knights lodging in the village inns were hearing tales of nightly feasts in the tent village and considering moving there.
‘Damn. Already burned through over two hundred silver coins.’
Money still flowed freely, but it was a bit wasteful, leaving Eugene with a bitter taste.
‘Still, it’ll come back tenfold.’
Winning the tournament would make it a sure profit.
The prize money was one thing, but the magic weapon bestowed on the victor—even if it was just Wolf Slaughter grade—would more than satisfy him.
‘And if I smash the enemy team in the mock battle, they’ll let me handle the demon realms, right?’
No way none of the three demon realms had a monster with a red mana stone. With luck, maybe two or more.
“Sir Eugene! Time to head out!”
Just then, the free knights came swarming over.
“Let’s go.”
They had agreed to go to the tournament grounds together, so Eugene mounted Silion’s saddle and set off with the knights.
“Are you entering the jousting too, Sir Eugene?”
“Of course. You sirs?”
“I’m sitting it out. Only got one suit of armor, and if I lose, no coin to pay the ransom.”
“Same here.”
“Tch! We’re all in the same boat.”
The jousting was the tournament’s most popular event, drawing the biggest crowds.
The thrill of heavily armored knights charging at full gallop on horseback and clashing was unmatched.
In the old days, they’d used not just wooden lances but maces or longswords too, but it was so dangerous they now stuck almost exclusively to wooden lances.
Even so, injuries poured in with every match, and deaths were common.
But that wasn’t the only issue.
By long custom, in every knightly event, the loser paid ransom to the victor.
Swordsmanship matches only cost about fifty silver for the armor, but jousting included the knight himself and his horse—making the sum enormous.
Thus, impoverished free knights rarely staked everything on jousting.
“There are plenty of nobles who’ll hire you if you shine in the swordsmanship.”
“Mock battles are the same, no? Lords watch those closer than jousting sometimes.”
“True. You pay ransom if captured either way, but in mock battles, allies might bail you out.”
Free knights—born to humble houses, wandering penniless—lived or died by the swordsmanship and mock battles.
“So I’m the only one from us entering the jousting?”
At Eugene’s words, the knights grinned with fervor.
“Don’t lose to those rich kids with big backings! Sir Eugene!”
“No need to bow to barons or viscounts. You’ve got land in the Carlsbagen Peninsula too, right?”
“Show ‘em the tent village spirit! Sir Eugene!”
Over the past few days, the free knights had come to see Eugene as one of their own—yet also an object of admiration.
The ideal they dreamed of: a knight who rose with just his sword!
Yet he hadn’t forgotten his wandering days, showing care to free knights like them.
Thus, they hoped he’d triumph in the jousting, dominated by knights from wealthy, high-status houses.
They couldn’t compete anyway—so vicarious victory through him.
“Hmm. With cheers this hot, I’ve got to deliver. And if…….”
Eugene glanced at the dozens of free knights around and behind him, raising his voice slightly.
“If I make it to the mock battle unscathed, I’d love to fight an honorable battle alongside you sirs. We who’ve roamed the wilds living true knighthood—we’re comrades worthy of sharing brotherhood, aren’t we?”
Ooooh……!
The free knights erupted in cheers without exception.
Eugene’s leadership was still unproven, but the goodwill he’d built swept away any doubts, igniting fervent support.
“Whew~ Our young master’s talkin’ like a real pro now! Where’d he learn lines that slick?”
Where else? From Galpredic.
As Eugene thought that, an oval-shaped grand arena came into view.
“Oooh!”
“The knights are here!”
Spotting Eugene and the free knights, the early morning crowds who’d claimed seats roared.
The knights and VIPs from the village and castle hadn’t arrived yet, but the sight of the somewhat ragged free knights still thrilled the people.
“Whoa! Check out that black knight!”
“Plate mail! A free knight?”
“Ah! He’s taking off his helm.”
“Oooooh!”
A gentle breeze carried Eugene’s black hair fluttering softly.
His features—perfectly formed on pale, white skin—captivated every eye.
And then.
“Kehet! My turn to shine!”
As Mirian flew near Eugene’s face and shook herself, his skin glistened moistly, brimming with hydration.
“Kehehe! That’s the glow-up effect!”
Mirian’s smug voice drowned in the crowd’s shouts.
“He’s too handsome!”
“Elf blood maybe!?”
“Kyaa! Sir! Over here! Look this way!”
“All the other knight sirs are so bold and manly too!”
Most cheers were for Eugene, but the free knights—well-fed on his generosity these past days—drew some attention too.
“Ahem!”
“Make way! Knights coming through!”
As the knights and squires strode with puffed chests, someone approached from afar—heading for Eugene.
“Sir Eugene!”
Flashing a smile bright as morning sun, it was Lanslo Durak.
“You’re early.”
“Haha! You too, Sir Eugene.”
“Just you? The others?”
“They’re escorting the count and will arrive soon. By the way…….”
Lanslo glanced around and whispered as Eugene dismounted.
“I heard. You gave those Holy Knight squires a harsh lesson?”
“Not me—my slave did.”
“Oho.”
Lanslo eyed Luke anew.
Clad in a premium black plate coat reinforced with thin iron plates inside monster hide, and fully armed, Luke bowed to Lanslo.
“Sir Durak. Good day.”
“Indeed. You’re the one who put a hole in Sir Daimos’s squire’s head?”
“Yes. He insulted my master, so I fulfilled my duty as slave.”
“Hahaha! Of course. A slave can’t stand by while his master’s insulted.”
It was sound in principle.
Slaves were their master’s property, one body and soul.
When masters lost unexpected duels, slaves sometimes bore their honor and died in their stead.
But cases like Luke—openly challenging another knight’s squire—were rare.
Few slaves were skilled enough in swordplay to begin with.
“Trained as a knight, I take it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve only learned our tongue recently? Accent says… Brantia?”
“Y-Yes.”
Not just Luke, but Eugene too was impressed by Lanslo’s sharp eye.
Young, in his mid-twenties, yet brimming with experience.
“Then it makes sense how you wrecked that Holy Knight squire. Fought in the Prayer Book War?”
“Prayer Book War?”
As Luke tilted his head, Lanslo smiled faintly.
“Well, you probably just answered the lord’s call without knowing the details. Anyway, Sir Eugene.”
“……?”
“Sir Daimos is entering the jousting—the master of the squire your slave holed. He’s out for blood, so watch yourself.”
“All the better for me.”
“…Pardon?”
“They’re forming units with Holy Knights for the mock battle, right? Thinning them out beforehand can only help.”
“……!”
Lanslo’s jaw dropped at the casual talk of toppling a Holy Knight—the Church’s sword and shield, the Blood Crusader.
(To be continued in the next installment)