The Long Break (7)
The streets were packed. Swarming. People no matter where you looked. For the citizens of the Mars Duchy, the flood of tourists every two years during the martial tournament was practically routine, but this year’s crowd felt distinctly more intense.
“Did you hear? They say the number of participants this year has surpassed a thousand!”
“Good heavens, that’s nearly double the last tournament. Will they even manage to run it properly?”
“I heard they’re stretching the preliminaries—which normally finish in a single day—into two full days. For folks in our line of work, that’s hardly bad news.”
“Exactly. More people staying longer means more coins in our pockets, doesn’t it?”
Thanks to the duchy’s position as a hub of commerce and Duke Mars’s open-handed governance, many locals made their living through trade. They welcomed the surge with open arms. Whether someone came to compete or simply to watch, traveling freely between territories required a comfortable amount of disposable wealth. An increase in wealthy customers ready to have their purses thoroughly emptied was an opportunity no merchant would pass up.
It wasn’t just run-of-the-mill thugs, either. Warriors known for their strength had gathered from every corner of the land. The guards responsible for maintaining order and the street cleaners tasked with the duchy’s appearance under the duke’s direct orders were practically screaming at the overwhelming turnout, but that was hardly anyone else’s problem.
And of course, no tournament would be complete without the endless speculation about who would take the crown.
“Who do you think will win this time?”
“Has to be Sir Daniel. As Mars’s champion, he needs to protect his streak of consecutive victories.”
“I don’t know… He’s strong, sure, but isn’t he pushing fifty? It wouldn’t be strange for him to start handing the stage over to the younger generation.”
“What? Then who are you betting on?”
“I heard both the eldest and third sons of the Bane family entered. When you talk swordsmanship, the Banes come first. They’ve got a real shot at the title.”
“Ha! Either one is still wet behind the ears. Experience always wins in the end.”
“Look at this guy. The third son, maybe, but the eldest is already in his mid-twenties. He’s in his physical prime—what do you mean, wet behind the ears?”
As the saying went, nothing fueled lively conversation quite like arguing over who was the strongest. News that prestigious knights, renowned adventurers, esteemed mages, and even notorious figures from the underworld had all thrown their names into the ring spread quickly, providing excellent drinking fodder that kept the taverns loud and rowdy.
When the topic turned to the academy students participating—
“Now that you mention it, quite a few academy students entered this time. What do you make of them?”
“Hmm? Well, it’ll be good experience, I suppose.”
“You sound like you don’t expect them to win a single match.”
“Hahaha! Just a joke. Come on, they’re still kids, aren’t they?”
—that was the general consensus.
Of course, some academy students were active knights or had entered at an age close to the upper limit, making them fully adult by any measure. But such details weren’t widely known, and the prevailing image remained ‘a place where children go to learn various things.’ The story of their victory against the Southern Army in a mock battle hadn’t spread far among civilians—partly because the Crown Prince had intervened—and their activities as a special task force hadn’t yet produced enough beneficiaries to become a hot topic.
Those in the upper echelons of society had access to more information and knew better than to dismiss the students simply for their youth. Even so, none of them seriously believed the academy contingent would claim the championship.
And naturally—inevitably—
“Ligret. Five hundred gold coins on the win.”
There was no chance Chrome would let a situation like this pass him by.
If the merchants were the happiest about the larger-than-usual crowds, the gambling brokers came in a very close second. The operation wasn’t entirely underground; it was a semi-official enterprise managed by the duchy, which came with various restrictions. Still, the larger the event, the greater the benefits for those working the floor.
One such broker was Jack. As the lowest-ranked member of the crew, he had been assigned a quiet corner with almost no foot traffic. When the customer placed their bet, he thought he must have misheard and asked again.
“I’m sorry, sir. How many coins did you say?”
“Five hundred gold. I’d like to wager more, but that’s the limit, so I don’t have much choice.”
Knowing it was rude, Jack still couldn’t help running his eyes over the young man. Brilliant golden hair. An antique monocle paired with a sly expression made his exact age difficult to pin down, but he looked to be in his late teens to early twenties. The fabric of his clothes screamed luxury, and a rather large backpack rested on his shoulders.
He resembled a sheltered young noble who had never wanted for anything, yet the oversized pack looked strangely out of place. One thing was certain: this was not the appearance of someone familiar with poverty.
“Five hundred… five hundred gold coins. However, sir, we only accept payment in advance…”
“Here.”
“Hic!”
The heavy leather pouch landed in his hands with a solid thunk. Jack barely managed to swallow the undignified yelp that rose in his throat. His more experienced seniors would have scolded him for showing such disgrace in front of a customer, but Jack felt he had a valid excuse.
Depending on whether one lived in the empire, a kingdom, or a grand duchy, the cost of living varied, but a single gold coin was enough to cover an entire year of comfortable living for a well-off commoner. Five hundred of them? Simply put, the pouch Jack now held could feed two or three entire villages.
Suppressing the tremor in his hands, Jack quickly buried the flash of greed that had flickered through his mind. Consequences aside, he owed Duke Mars a great debt. Even as a lowly employee, betraying that trust was unthinkable. The best course was simple: stop overthinking and just do the job he’d been given.
Once he regained his composure, Jack finished issuing the claim token and completing the necessary paperwork. The young man examined the documents carefully, then turned on his heel and left with the token in hand.
After his shift, Jack joined one of his colleagues and began recounting the shocking encounter in great detail. His colleague’s reply, however, was entirely unexpected.
“Huh? You had one too?”
“What?”
“Yeah, I had a customer who casually dropped five hundred gold coins on a single bet.”
Jack was momentarily speechless. Then a thought struck him.
“Was it a blond man wearing a monocle? Carrying a large backpack?”
“No, it was a girl. Strikingly deep black hair. Hard to miss.”
“Who did she bet on?”
His colleague shrugged. “She put it all on herself. Kept going on about how easy it is to make money and how brilliant she was for coming up with the idea. Seemed a little… off.”
“…Won’t that cause trouble later? Smells like a runaway with her family’s money.”
“Maybe. But what’s it to us? I explained the rules properly and tried to talk her out of it. That’s enough, isn’t it?”
Whether it was courage or pure recklessness, Jack wasn’t sure. Thinking this year’s tournament had attracted an unusual number of oddballs, he asked one last question.
“What was her name?”
His colleague thought for a moment, then gave a small snort of laughter.
“Joy.”
The day of the tournament arrived.
“Yes! Thank you for waiting, everyone! The 82nd Mars Cup Martial Tournament is now officially open!”
—Wooooooooo!
“We’d like to thank you for the especially passionate cheers this year. Now, let’s go over the rules. Out of 1,204 preliminary participants, only 32 will advance to the main bracket! Today and tomorrow, we will hold sixteen survival-style matches each day. The last person standing in each block will advance! Every finalist receives ten gold coins and the right to join the Mars Duchy Knight Order. Additional prizes will be awarded for each victory, culminating in a truly staggering reward for the eventual champion—”
Chrome let the announcer’s voice wash over him as he scanned his surroundings. No academy students in sight. None of the dangerous individuals he had researched beforehand. And no sign of the walking guaranteed-loss event known as Ligret.
He had been momentarily alarmed when his name appeared in the very first block, but the matchups seemed reasonably favorable. He breathed a sigh of relief. Even though he planned to leave the actual championship to someone else, it would be embarrassing to drop out in the preliminaries.
Besides, he was genuinely curious how far he could go without relying on any underhanded tricks.
Instead of his usual crossbow, Chrome gripped a crude iron club—one that wouldn’t cause problems even if handled poorly. He lifted his head.
The tournament had begun.