Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Cavalry Catching Cavalry Catching Cavalry (5)
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"Why all of a sudden...?"
Leaving Lamir, who stared at me with a puzzled look, I scanned our surroundings.
I focused my awareness.
My senses expanded naturally.
The nobles waited for the final bout, their faces a mix of satisfaction and unease. The young ladies, visibly uncomfortable with the splattering blood yet peeking through their fans with eyes flickering with subtle excitement.
-They say he's better than any knight on horseback. His reputation is well-earned. But if he wins too overwhelmingly, it might strain relations with them...
-They're soldiers. What else would they think about besides winning? That's what makes them so Bluecoat-like...
-Oh my. Look at that blood. Why do men love these barbaric games...?
-Surely no one will die...
Just as I'd trained for years, I filtered out the cheers and noise, distinguishing the voices one by one.
My eyes swept every inch of the tournament grounds.
Igor's impassive face. The Grand Duke of Zikzaile's inscrutable expression.
The nobles and envoys. The attendants and Redcoats.
No suspicious signs.
All the while, countless scenarios flickered through my mind and vanished.
Was security for the nobles sufficient?
Were the Redcoats positioned and prepared perfectly?
Think, Yannick.
Who the hell was behind this prank, and why?
Did they just want Thracia to lose?
Or were they aiming for something more?
Figure it out, Yannick.
There was no helpful intel, and too many variables.
In times like these, think backwards.
What was the worst that could happen here today?
Why did it have to be today?
An assassination of Igor? No.
Thracia's greatest immediate threat was the Zikzaile Grand Duke.
Because he was the Empire's spear aimed at the east? No.
He himself was the biggest danger Thracia could face.
If he were seriously injured or assassinated here, nothing could be worse.
An unfortunate incident in Thracia's territory, in Thracia's royal palace.
It would mean Thracia and Zikzaile crossed an irreversible river, forcing a complete break with the Empire.
If reconciliation between the two nations—questionable if it ever existed—shattered, who gained the most?
Astoria, Kazan, Malta.
And the unknown enemies targeting the envoy negotiating with Kazan.
Too many suspects came to mind immediately.
But they weren't the ones who profited most from war.
"Now I get it."
Once I pictured the worst-case scenario, I could see what was coming.
"Lamir."
"Can I go now?"
I shook my head.
"We won't do the final match."
Sorry, Lamir, but the game ended here.
Shocked, he double-checked my intent.
"...Since it's the general himself saying it, there must be a reason."
"I'll explain later."
"...Damn it!"
Lamir yanked off his helmet irritably and tossed his lance aside.
"Thracia forfeits the final match!"
I rode forward and shouted toward Igor and the Grand Duke.
-Murmurs rose.
The nobles awaiting the finale buzzed. The envoys, informed by interpreters, began whispering in confusion.
Igor simply gazed down at me without a hint of agitation.
Was something up?
Yes.
I'll trust you.
After a brief exchange of glances, he nodded.
"Amusements should end as amusements. No need to see it through and breed grudges."
Igor nodded without much reproach for my sudden move.
"That makes sense."
"A draw looks best."
Most nobles and envoys nodded in agreement.
"But it looks like we're winning and bailing. They might not see it that way..."
"His Majesty knows forfeiting could be a grave dishonor to them, despite our good intentions. Why...?"
The worriers were few.
And this time, the minority was right.
-......
The Grand Duke, not bothering to hide his displeasure, frowned and ranted to his interpreter at length.
"The Grand Duke says that if the Thracians think Zikzaile's knight clings to defeat and holds a grudge, that itself is dishonorable!"
The loud interpreter proclaimed it for all to hear.
"Furthermore, the Grand Duke says Zikzaile's knights value honorable defeat over dishonorable draws!"
So he insisted on seeing it through.
Of course he would.
I'd already concluded who benefited most from an incident involving the Grand Duke today.
It was the Grand Duke himself.
Or more precisely, the Empire.
He'd already confirmed the Thracians' unyielding will against the Empire's might at the previous banquet.
To secure a sea route through the straits, he needed Thracia's ports open, willing or not.
And this incident was the perfect pretext.
Whether Thracia took responsibility and opened the ports voluntarily, or the Empire forced it as a casus belli.
Either way, the Empire achieved its goal.
It might be a leap.
But ignoring my gut felt wrong.
Three times in my life I'd ignored it.
Those became my life's greatest failures and regrets.
I still thought about them sometimes.
If I could go back, I'd do anything to change those choices.
But time couldn't be rewound, spilled water gathered.
All I could do was atone by avoiding the same mistakes.
This was no different.
And plenty of circumstantial evidence backed my hunch.
The shift from the secure banquet hall to the open tournament grounds at his suggestion.
Insisting on continuing despite consensus.
More suspicions abounded.
For a Grand Duke to stage self-harm for pretext?
What shamelessness.
Bold and relentless.
As Igor said, he was a snake.
"If we don't finish, it's worse than not starting. He cannot accept this unilateral halt! He urges reconsideration so Thracia isn't remembered in shame by Zikzaile's knights!"
The snake kept flicking its tongue.
I wouldn't let a snake slither in my home unpunished.
"Your Majesty! May I speak?"
I stepped forward.
"The Grand Duke's words ring true. Ending it like this might turn our conciliatory decision into a deep rift."
Igor didn't ask what I was playing at after suggesting it.
"If we must have a winner, why not reset the stage?"
His trusting gaze made me shiver inwardly, but I pressed on.
"I've heard the Grand Duke of Zikzaile is not only a prince of his realm but leader of the Crusher Knights. Leading such elite knights speaks to his own prowess."
As that look dawned on Igor's face—you can't mean...
"I can't compare to the Grand Duke's fame and skill, but as a count of this realm leading the Steel Thunder unit, I might make a fitting opponent..."
Straight to the point.
"The gap in station won't chafe if Your Highness, as a master, graces this frontier bumpkin with a lesson. What say you, Grand Duke?"
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
Not conspiracy, but conquest through contest.
That was the Thracian way.
Swipe.
I tilted my chin provocatively, locking eyes with the Grand Duke.
Peel.
His expression shed like snakeskin.
Seeing that fierce, savage face lifted my spirits.
"Like Zikzaile's knights, I don't cling to victory. And you, Grand Duke?"
I couldn't help but grin.
"...The Grand Duke says he gladly accepts the proposal!"
The Grand Duke taking my bait was inevitable.
**
"You wanted to fight him yourself? Just say so."
Lamir grumbled as he helped me don my armor, forfeited against his will.
"As if."
"Not?"
"I'm not some battle-crazed lunatic."
"......?"
"......?"
I bantered lightly while eyeing the Zikzaile side.
The Crusher Knights fussed over armoring their Grand Duke.
True to the Empire's wealth, his plate was a rare masterpiece.
The fine wrinkle forging was impressive, but the subtle sheen was mystical.
It looked like it'd deflect all but the heaviest blows.
Even better.
Sturdy armor meant the Grand Duke was safe, so Thracia was safer too.
No botched self-harm show.
His gaze never left me as his knights helped him suit up.
Intense and burning.
I met it steadily.
The difference? He glared like he'd devour me. I looked back with pure, innocent eyes.
"Why the face...?"
"What's wrong with my face?"
"Looking at you pisses me off, bruises my pride."
Of course, Lamir, bitter from the forfeit, and petty bigots spouted nonsense.
Clank.
Lamir tightened my armor joints and thumped my breastplate.
The emotional pat? Forgiven generously.
More important things than narrow-minded Lamir now.
Thud.
I mounted the Royal Gift Horse.
Snort.
Pent-up from stable life in the capital, she shook her mane grumpily.
"Sorry, girl. Good girl."
I patted her neck lightly and straightened up.
"Helmet."
I pressed on the helmet Lamir handed me.
Dangling my left hand, nearby Bluecoats secured the kite shield to my wrist.
"Good."
Tightening the leather straps once more felt reassuring.
"Here..."
I took the lance—originally Lamir's, now mine for the tournament.
Checking the fixed coronet, a thought struck.
Maybe whoever tampered with Dayan's lance meant a warning.
Who knew.
Their identity, true motive—all mysteries now.
Not urgent anyway.
"Both sides to positions!"
What mattered: the arrogant guest testing owners ceaselessly, plotting from shadows, now dragged onstage.
"Both sides, swear before god, audience, and each other!"
Whatever happened now couldn't be pretext.
Not an incident, but agreed upon.
"Honorably, and fairly."
-......!
An accident fair in a fair fight.