Chapter 84
Chapter 84
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Cavalry Catching the Cavalry-Catchers (4)
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Late at night, beneath the arena's brilliant lights, Igor and the Grand Duke settled side by side in the stands.
"Thracia side: Number one Bluecoat, Isoph Garya! Number two, Sasei Patrice! Number three, Omar Yerenchev! Number four, Dyan Sanenko! Number five, Lamir Romanov!"
The herald bowed once toward the two men before bellowing out the Bluecoats' names at the top of his lungs.
"Zikxail side: Number one from the Crusher Knights, Peter von Brenner! Number two, Christoph von Rashkent! Number three, Karl von Vechenberger! Number four, Michael von Bierbihler! Number five, Stefan Granah!"
I quietly took in the Zikxail knights.
Their black plate armor gleamed with ornate flourishes, and their grandguards—those reinforced plates covering the left breast and neck—were disproportionately massive. Their classic Stechhelm helmets, shaped like frog mouths, had eye slits positioned upward. They were meant to charge with heads bowed, lifting them only at the moment of impact to fend off any stray debris.
Compared to those oversized grandguards, their dueling shields looked almost dainty.
Anyone could tell at a glance that this gear had been custom-made with tournaments in mind.
Our boys patched up the same old suit of armor and wore it through thick and thin for an entire year, while these guys had separate sets for battle and tourneys.
"Must be nice swimming in cash."
It was pure extravagance.
"Today's tournament will be best of five bouts, with each rider allotted three lances. The match ends immediately if one side breaks all their lances or is unhorsed. Strike only with the lance coronels. Hitting the grandguard scores one point; the helmet scores two. Striking the horse results in disqualification—take care."
Even as I eyed the Crusher Knights' gear, the herald droned on with the rules and warnings.
"Both sides, swear before God, the audience, and each other!"
At the herald's command, the Bluecoats—who'd been gawking curiously at the coronels fitted to their lance tips—turned to stare blankly at me.
"...Honorably and fairly."
"Uh, honorably and fairly!"
With a sigh, I walked them through the oath, and only then did they parrot it back.
"Team captains, forward."
A tall, exceptionally pale Crusher Knight stepped out from their side, while Lamir emerged from ours.
"May victor and vanquished alike find honor, and may fortune smile upon you."
Princess Yeniche Trakieri herself descended to the front row of the stands and handed over red and blue ribbons. Attendant squires promptly tied them just above the handguards on both riders' lances.
"Hooray!"
As the two raised their ribboned lances high and circled the tournament field, nobles and envoys erupted in cheers.
"Just to check—no one still unclear on the rules?"
"..."
I asked the tournament newbies among the Bluecoats, but no one spoke up.
That meant they hadn't understood a damn thing.
"...Hit the opponent's grandguard or helmet with the coronels to break your lance— that's one point or two. If it doesn't snap clean, it's a miss, no score. Unhorse them, and you win regardless of points. Use up all three lances without a valid hit? You lose."
I rattled off the rules quickly, but the Bluecoats' faces remained dubious.
"...Everyone get that?"
"Yes."
"What did I just say?"
"The one who unhorses wins."
"......."
Isoph answered with smug confidence, and the other Bluecoats nodded along like it all made perfect sense.
"First riders from both sides, to your positions!"
Right on cue, the herald called for the first pair.
"Isoph."
"Yes, sir."
"Go stomp him flat."
Instead of replying, Isoph thumped his breastplate with a clang-clang.
"Check coronels! Visors down! Ready!"
The riders faced off.
"Charge!"
Zikxail struck first.
The Crusher Knight charged like he'd been born in the saddle, spurring his mount the instant the herald finished. Isoph, standing there like an idiot, only kicked his horse into gear after seeing it.
The gap closed in a flash.
BAM!
A heavy crack echoed where the riders crossed.
Clop-clop-clop.
The Crusher Knight reined in, his lance snapped clean in his grip.
"Zikxail! Grandguard! One point!"
Meanwhile, Isoph's lance, halted on our side, looked brand new—not a scratch.
-......
The Crusher Knight yammered something our way.
You didn't need to speak the imperial tongue to recognize mockery.
"Th-that bastard!"
"Ha. That prick. We gotta strip off his coat. Embarrassment to the nation. Total embarrassment."
The Bluecoats unleashed a torrent of curses.
"Both sides! Check coronels! Charge!"
The riders crossed again.
"Zikxail! Grandguard! One point!"
Once more, the Crusher Knight landed a clean hit.
"Hey, you punk! Saving your lances to take home?!"
"Can't you do it right?!"
Lieutenant Isoph's fancy lance remained pristine.
Ignoring it all, he raised his visor and peered curiously at his own pauldron.
"Ah, so that's how it works."
His face lit up with sudden excitement as he lowered his visor.
"Both sides, check coronels and... charge!"
The riders blurred past in an instant.
BAM!
The loudest impact yet.
The nobles and envoys in the stands shot to their feet.
Clop, clop.
The Crusher Knight's horse slowed to a halt before us.
His back fully arched, the knight lay plastered against his mount's flank, teetering on the verge of tumbling off.
Grip.
But he clung on, clenching the reins until he finally straightened up.
"Th-Thracia! Helmet! Two points!"
Instead of calling a unhorsing, the herald added:
"Zikxail grandguard! One point! Zikxail lances exhausted! Total score: three points—Zikxail wins!"
Sighs rippled through the stands.
"Th-that, that bastard! Argh! I knew he was full of it from the start."
"'Ah, so that's how it is?' Where'd he learn that crap?!"
The Bluecoats vented their fury.
Isoph shuffled back only after the herald's reprimand, ignoring our side entirely.
"Heh heh heh."
Too cocky, maybe.
Isoph dismounted with an awkward grin, and the Bluecoats pounced like they'd been waiting.
"Ow! Ugh! Gah!"
I ignored his pleas for help and watched the Crusher Knight.
With his comrades' aid, he practically rolled off his horse.
His face, unhelmed, was a wreck—nose gushing blood, mouth torn open and dripping down his chin.
Still reeling from the shock, he shook his head repeatedly, splattering blood everywhere.
He staggered a few times before steadying himself. I glanced back at Isoph.
"Ugh, too filthy to even look at. Seriously."
Isoph griped nonstop, standing at a slant. His face was battered too, but far less than the knight's.
If this had been real combat instead of a tourney, the outcome would've flipped.
Not that it would've changed the final result.
"Both sides, second riders forward!"
"Watch and learn, all of you. Especially you, Isoph. Yeah, you, punk."
Lieutenant Sasei mounted up with a swagger at his summons.
"Check coronels! Visors down! Ready... charge!"
Three clashes followed.
"Thracia grandguard—two valid hits! Helmet—one valid hit! Total: four points! Thracia wins!"
Sasei's victory this time.
"What exactly were we supposed to watch?"
"Thought he'd unhorsed him in one go."
But he'd failed to unhorse the Crusher Knight, and though not as bad as Isoph, Sasei still caught hell from the Bluecoats.
"They lift their heads right before impact."
"Helmet's blocking their view, maybe. If they do that in a real fight, just kill me."
Lieutenant Omar went third and nailed the helmet all three times for a light six-point win.
"Woooah!"
"Bluecoats! Bluecoats!"
The cheers from the stands swelled louder.
But the Bluecoats themselves looked thoroughly displeased.
"He tanked that?"
"Those bastards have some serious grit."
The Crusher Knight who'd eaten three helmet shots without falling stood ramrod straight toward the Grand Duke—his face utterly smashed, front teeth even chipped.
"Fourth riders! Prepare!"
Dyan, fourth up, landed solid helmet hits too, but failed to unhorse his foe.
"Thracia—final attack invalid!"
Worse, his coronels detached from bad luck, handing him a disqualification loss.
Unlike with Isoph, though, the Bluecoats didn't rag on Dyan.
"...Something's off."
"Two of those three hits were dead on."
Dyan wasn't just making excuses.
"Even I could see the first two landed clean."
"Neck should've snapped, helmet or no. Few chipped teeth and done?"
"Come to think of it, Omar's round too."
The Bluecoats scowled.
These men who'd crossed death's door countless times trusted their instincts absolutely.
No room for illusions.
Tournaments were brutal even with all the safety measures—maimed or dead riders popped up constantly.
They should've had at least one or two fatalities by now.
"They say imperial tech is decades ahead. Guess it's no exaggeration."
Of course, superior craftsmanship alone didn't explain it.
Armor holding together was one thing; the rider inside staying intact was another.
"Hm."
What if we met these guys on the battlefield?
Raw power favored the Bluecoats; defense, the Crusher Knights.
We hadn't tested mobility enough, but I doubted we'd lose there.
Could we overwhelm them? Hard to say.
"Imperial lance tips, huh."
To me, they looked more like iron maces.
Anyway.
More importantly, someone tampered with Dyan's jousting lance.
It shouldn't have just shed the coronels like that—snapped whole or not at all.
"Bluecoats! Bluecoats!"
"Thracia!"
The nobles and envoys, hooked on the fierce jousting, screamed themselves hoarse.
I scanned everyone who'd had access to the lances, hunting for anything suspicious. Nothing.
Not that they'd be sloppy enough to get caught.
I didn't know who'd rigged it, but one thing was clear: they didn't want the Bluecoats winning.
"I'll go drop him clean."
Captain Lamir mounted up.
I meticulously checked his jousting lance.
All good.
My unease lingered anyway.
Thump-thump-thump.
My heart pounded like mad.
A chill crawled up my neck.
Ah, I know this feeling.
Familiar sensation.
"Lamir, hold up."
My bad-luck pouch was fit to burst.