Chapter 205: Noble's Entertainment
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 205: Noble's Entertainment
Resolving all disputes through duels. For Duke Babel, who leads a massive faction, it was a brilliant idea. It was an easy way to handle troublesome mediations and prevent his own power from diminishing.
The problem was the harm this method would bring. No matter how you dressed it up, its essence was a duel for a wager. A gamble-like duel with enormous interests at stake.
Considering the nature of gambling—that the addiction grows as the stakes get higher—Duke Babel's faction could very well fester from within and collapse.
‘The stakes will just keep getting bigger. The gamblers who've already gotten a taste for it will crave ever more intense pleasure, like a runaway train with no brakes.’
More and more interests will be put on the line, enough to tempt even those who find the situation unpleasant or are hesitant.
The game would grow even larger, and in the blink of an eye, it might swallow not just Duke Babel's faction but the entire southern continent.
This wasn't an exaggeration. Even the commoners were joining this trend. The first sounds of discord would surely come from the have-not commoner class.
‘I might have to give up on the southern continent.’
The thought of the entire continent teeming with gambling addicts made my head spin. Isn't there a saying that you can quit drugs, but you can't quit gambling?
If gambling became established as a cultural phenomenon, how much time, effort, and money would it take to fix it?
Even if I managed to take the southern continent, I might just suffer for nothing and die without ever seeing the fruits of my labor.
For the sake of my descendants? I'm a selfish bastard, so even if it would help my own children, I don't have the slightest intention of sacrificing myself.
‘This is definitely not an overblown concern.’
This was an era with little entertainment. It was no coincidence that the wealthy were gluttonous and promiscuous.
Another problem was that the perception of gambling, like dice games, wasn't bad. That's why taverns turned into gambling dens late at night.
Of course, it was a different story if you got addicted…
However, I didn't think Duke Babel was unaware of this. He hadn't become one of the Three Powers of the south by playing dice, after all.
I put the thought aside. It wouldn't be too late to think about it after dealing with Vivian. The important thing was how much this situation would help my plan.
‘If gambling thrives, the demand for useful players will gradually increase.’
In the not-too-distant future, might high nobles come rushing out barefoot to greet a mere commoner-born champion?
If that really happened, my plan to become a champion, befriend high nobles, and find Vivian would gain even more momentum.
The problem was that this method would draw far more attention than my original plan, which meant the probability of Vivian discovering me would also increase.
‘I have to change the plan.’
Changing my identity and face wouldn't be enough. I had to change everything, from head to toe, so that no one would be reminded of my old self.
The problem was how…
“It's done.”
Orin's voice broke me out of my thoughts. I had come to pick up the sword I'd left with him, but he'd said it wasn't finished yet, so I was waiting.
“Hmm, you've given me the wrong one.”
But the sword Orin handed me was not mine.
“I gave you the right one.”
As I stared at him blankly, Orin finally began to explain.
“At first, I was just going to replace the hilt with one that could withstand your strength. But then I realized it would probably change the center of balance.”
“Then the result would have been worse than doing nothing at all…”
The center of balance is crucial. How you wield a sword changes completely depending on where it is. The reason I'd taken a liking to Orin's sword was that its center of balance was similar to the one I usually used.
“So I decided to just make a new one instead.”
I had wondered why it was taking a whole week just to replace the hilt and sharpen the chipped blade. It seemed his plan had been to forge a new one from scratch all along.
I examined the sword again. The hilt was sturdy, as if made from good steel, and the center of balance was similar to my old sword.
When I flicked the flat of the blade lightly, a clear sound rang out—proof that it had been cleanly forged.
“This is a much better sword.”
Orin's skill was greater than I'd thought. It made me greedy.
“Can you make me another sword?”
“You don't like it?”
Orin's face, which had aged terribly in just a week and still looked dark and tired, darkened further.
“Of course not. This is a fine sword. I just need one specifically for dueling.”
For a perfect disguise, I needed to change more than just my appearance; I had to change my fighting style as well. A dueling sword was for that purpose.
Orin's eyes sparkled as he listened to my description of the sword I wanted.
“A sword with a thin blade, mainly for thrusting. I've heard of it. I remember it because the guard is unusual. They use them quite a bit in the western regions, don't they?”
“Can you make it?”
“Well, I've never made one before, so I can't give you a definite answer.”
“Money is no object.”
Hugo, the former master of the artisan's guild, had left behind a sizable fortune. When I added that he could invest all of it, Orin grinned.
“Then I have to take on the challenge!”
It was three days later that Orin called for me, saying the sword was complete. The weapon he had forged met 120% of my requirements.
The part I liked most was the guard. The rings protecting the hand were intricately intertwined, making it look as beautiful as a flower.
“I didn't make it just to look pretty.”
Orin struck the guard with a defective sword. Even though he put quite a bit of force into it, the guard, woven from thin steel, was left unscathed.
The result was the same when he struck other parts. As I stared in surprise, Orin continued with a smug look on his face.
“It's structured to mitigate force from any direction. I also used the same hard steel as the hilt. An ordinary attack won't even leave a scratch. The weight increased more than I expected, but this much should be fine for you, right?”
Even though the body of the sword was thinner and narrower than a longsword's, it weighed more. But given its appearance, that was something you wouldn't know without holding it.
“It's perfect.”
The sword suited my tastes so perfectly that I couldn't help but be polite.
After forcing the rest of the fortune on Orin, I immediately began practicing a new fighting style at the training ground Baron Allanton had prepared.
It was the complete opposite of my existing style of breaking through head-on with brute strength—a precise form of swordsmanship that utilized quick footwork and the weapon's long reach.
At first, it was incredibly uncomfortable, like wearing ill-fitting clothes. Is this how someone feels when they know a shortcut but are forced to take the long way around?
If it weren't for my 'eyes that see the world slowly,' which allowed me to see the trembling of the sword's tip decrease in real time, my motivation would have plummeted even further.
Baron Allanton came to find me when I had reached a point where, without eyes like mine that see the world slowly, even a master swordsman wouldn't have been able to notice the trembling of the sword's tip.
“Balak. Are you ready?”
“I've been waiting.”
The rest could be filled in with real combat. After all, they say there's no better training than actual battle.
As if satisfied by my confidence, Baron Allanton grinned.
“We're going to Baron Taliang's territory.”
Baron Allanton had finished all the travel preparations before coming to get me. Thanks to him, all I had to do was show up.
He had even prepared a carriage just for me—proof that the treatment of champions was improving faster than I had expected.
“Isn't Baron Taliang's territory quite far away?”
“It's a place you can only reach by passing through two other nobles' territories.”
“But how?”
It takes two to tango. A duel required a dispute, and there was rarely cause for one between non-neighboring nobles.
Even if there was, the distance often meant there was nothing that could be done about it.
“Heh heh. Creating a dispute is a skill in itself.”
Baron Allanton was a talkative man. To be precise, he became talkative when he had something to boast about.
“Baron Taliang has a beautiful daughter, famous for her looks. She's not just beautiful but also wise, so much so that any nearby noble with a son has sent a matchmaker at least once. But recently, the matchmakers have stopped coming. Do you know why?”
It wasn't a question that expected an answer. In times like these, one had to feign ignorance, even if they knew.
“I don't know.”
As if he'd expected that, the corners of Baron Allanton's mouth curled up.
“Because his only son, the one who would have carried on the family line, passed away in an accident.”
“Ah, it would be rude to send a matchmaker during a time of mourning.”
Baron Allanton shook his head.
“It's not just about etiquette. The real problem is that with his son's death, his daughter is the only child left to succeed him. In other words, whoever marries the daughter can later claim a share of the inheritance upon Baron Taliang's death.”
Sending a matchmaker when the only heir had just died was no different from declaring an intention to swallow his family, title, and territory after his death.
For Baron Taliang, it was like rubbing salt in the wound.
“Surely not...?”
When I looked back at him in disbelief, Baron Allanton grinned.
“That's right. I sent a matchmaker while the other nobles were still testing the waters.”
“But the age difference must be huge…”
This was an era of arranged marriages at a young age. If matchmakers were involved, it meant she was of marriageable age, so Baron Taliang's daughter was likely in her mid-to-late teens. Baron Allanton, on the other hand, looked to be at least in his mid-thirties.
A ten-year age gap wasn't uncommon in unions between nobles, but given the circumstances? If I were Baron Taliang, I would have taken it as a tremendous insult.
“That's what makes it even better.”
And that was precisely Baron Allanton's goal. He continued.
“You may or may not know this, but sending a matchmaker between nobles is a matter of face. The sending party can't do it lightly, out of concern for their own face, and the receiving party can't easily refuse, out of concern for the other's.”
A refusal was tantamount to an insult. Therefore, a rejection was often accompanied by an apology adorned with all sorts of flowery language, or even a gift.
Of course, the party that sent the matchmaker, considering the other's sincerity, would return the gift and express their thanks.
However, sending a matchmaker in this situation meant there was no way pleasantries would be exchanged. Considering that face was everything to a noble, a dispute was inevitable.
“Is there enough to gain to be worth making an enemy?”
One thing that puzzled me was the fact that he had made an enemy of another noble when their territories were too far apart for him to gain any land.
“The material rewards will be small, true. But, didn't I tell you? Baron Taliang's daughter was very popular. Furthermore, now that she's the only child, her popularity will grow to the point where even counts will take an interest.”
Baron Allanton continued with a meaningful smile.
“In other words, this duel is bound to attract the public's attention! Aren't these the perfect conditions for your debut?”
I was at a loss for words. Was the treatment of champions better than I thought? Or was Baron Allanton just crazy about gambling?
It was neither. Baron Allanton had something of a plan.
“Trust my eye. You're not the kind of talent to be stuck in the provinces. You definitely deserve to play on a bigger stage. And I will make that happen for you.”
“A bigger stage?”
“Yes! Nobles with outstanding champions sometimes get called up to the big leagues. If things go as I plan, a completely different world will open up for us. You'll enjoy wealth and glory, and I might even get a promotion in rank.”
Wasn't this also a gamble? If the opposite of what he wanted happened, with all eyes on him, Baron Allanton would be in quite a predicament. As far as I could see, the baron was already a gambling addict.
However, it wasn't bad news for me, either. If things went as he said, my own plan would gain more momentum.
Baron Allanton continued.
“For now, just focus on the duel before us. If you win, you'll receive a huge reward as well.”
Baron Allanton smiled confidently. But that smile didn't last long. It vanished the moment the two champions stood in the dueling arena.
“What in the world!”
Baron Allanton shot to his feet upon seeing the opposing champion. And for good reason—the opposing champion was a woman.
The bigger problem was that she was Baron Taliang's daughter, Pompiné. She pointed her sword at me with a rather convincing stance and spoke.
“I am Pompiné of Taliang.”
The moment she stepped forward herself, Baron Allanton's plan was doomed to fail.
If she were to get hurt during the duel, the Taliang family line might be severed. In other words, they would become mortal enemies, a feud that could not be resolved by a simple duel.
Even winning would be a problem. Duels could be considered entertainment only because the nobles themselves suffered no direct harm.
In other words, the moment a noble—and the sole heir to a family—stepped onto the stage, this duel ceased to be simple entertainment.
It meant that even in victory, he would be met with criticism.
For Baron Allanton, who dreamed of social ascent by catching the eye of high nobles and participating in a bigger game, this was the worst possible outcome.
He shouted, his face pale.
“You can't be thinking of fighting yourself?”
Pompiné looked up at Baron Allanton in the stands, her expression resolute.
“Not only could I not find a champion stronger than myself, but my father, Baron Taliang, is also bedridden with illness. What other choice do I have?”
Her justification was plausible. Baron Allanton's face crumpled, and he let out a groan.
‘The rumors of her wisdom were true.’
Anticipating all of this and making such a bold move must have been her own plan.
As I approached the stands, Baron Allanton leaned over the railing to close the distance.
“You must not harm a single hair on her head. No, that's not it. I should just surrender. We'll pretend this never happened.”
“Then your Lordship's face will be dragged through the mud.”
“Isn't that better than letting this duel proceed as is!”
Surrendering now would be utterly humiliating, but Baron Allanton had judged it to be the better option.
For me, however, this was unacceptable. If that happened, my own plan would be ruined. I shook my head and spoke firmly.
“Trust in your eye, my lord. I have a plan.”