Deal With the Aftermath of Defeat Yourself
The Martial Merit Medal.
In the Empire, the weight that name carried was nothing short of extraordinary.
This was a world where superhumans who wielded the miraculous power of mana soared through the skies, where swords and magic ran rampant. The upper limit of the force a single body could possess was boundless, and it was simply taken for granted that an exceptional individual could sweep aside a crowd that had nothing but numbers on its side.
In a world this powerful, earning martial distinction worthy of recognition was genuinely difficult. And to receive a medal from the Imperial House itself, acknowledging that martial merit? That was the kind of drinking story you could dine out on until your dying day — a family pride to be passed down for generations.
In other words, to be a recipient of the Empire's Martial Merit Medal was among the highest honors on the continent. On a continent where martial prowess held value above all else, this was no ordinary decoration from some minor nation — it was the Empire's own Martial Merit Medal.
Nor was it a medal that made frequent appearances. This was not some award handed out every year like a celebrity grand prize at an awards show.
Just how rare was it? Across the Empire's long history, the number of recipients of the Fourth-class Martial Merit Medal — the lowest grade — had never reached four digits, and First-class recipients had only barely cracked double digits.
So when the Emperor abruptly conferred a Third-class Martial Merit Medal, the stir that rippled through the hall was only natural.
And on top of that—
The First Imperial Treasury…?!
Of the five treasuries maintained by the Imperial Family, the First Imperial Treasury housed treasures among treasures — relics of such value that no price could be placed upon them. The opening of a door that heavy was a reward that could never be taken lightly.
Leon slowly straightened from the bow he had held, his mind awash with a tangle of emotions and thoughts.
He was well aware that the rewards the Emperor had just named were excessive. That was precisely why he couldn't easily read the man's intentions. The fact that he still hadn't fully figured out the Emperor as a person only added to the confusion — the man was complicated in more ways than one.
But if he thought about it in ordinary terms… he couldn't come up with any reason for the Emperor to look upon him favorably. Which meant the man almost certainly wanted something from him, and this was how he was going about it.
Filing that thought away for now, Leon looked at the box the Emperor held out.
The lid was flipped open invitingly, and inside, insignia gleamed with a lustrous golden light. One was a badge that could be pinned to the chest; the other was a lapel badge for the collar.
On the palm-sized pentagonal badge were engraved the words Third-class Martial Merit Medal Recipient — Leon Crusif, along with the crests of the Empire and the Imperial Family. Elegant ornamentation, precise flows of mana, and a dense, polished sheen wrapped the whole piece. The lapel badge was simply a scaled-down rectangular version of the same — a miniature decoration, essentially.
The head butler approached Leon's side.
— Would you turn toward me, please.
A practiced telepathic message adjusted Leon's posture. Once Leon complied, the butler took the badges from the Emperor's box and fastened them to Leon's left breast and collar.
A low hum sounded as the mana bound to the badges stirred, sweeping through Leon's own mana — a recognition enchantment, locking onto its owner.
— You may face the assembly now.
Leon turned ninety degrees with a deliberately solemn air, hands clasped behind his back.
A sea of heated gazes from the spectators stretched out before him. The emotions they wore were, by and large, far from friendly. At the milder end: displeasure, discomfort. At the sharper end: jealousy, outright anger. Clearly, the Emperor's commendation had left a great many people thoroughly put out.
These bastards…
Leon glared back at them and curled the corner of his mouth. Got a problem?
The Emperor smiled faintly.
The nobles startled and hastily composed their faces. But the Emperor was not about to let it slide.
He pointed at Leon, who stood below him.
One of the defining traits of a madman: you can never predict what he'll do next.
The Emperor had just proven the point.
He's throwing me into a fight out of nowhere?
Leon's expression turned complicated.
The Emperor's meaning was plain enough. I am the master of this place, and I will do as I please.
Not move to a floor. Make one.
The court mages formed hand seals and began to chant. A deep, resonant hum filled the air as a transparent barrier rose solidly across the open space in front of the table rows — designed to keep any fallout from reaching the surroundings. The sparring ground was right here.
It wasn't unsuitable. The tables were pressed tight against both walls, and the center of the hall was more than spacious enough.
Already back in his seat, the Emperor crossed his legs and spoke.
Well, damn.
Leon was impressed in spite of himself. There really was no hesitation in the way the Emperor moved. The whole stage had been set in an instant.
Hmm. But then again…
His heart was telling him the stage the Emperor had laid out wasn't half bad. No — it was better than that. His pulse was picking up.
The biggest draw was simple: he could beat the hell out of every one of those people staring at him with those dirty looks. And that, in turn, meant he could snuff out the discontent, suspicion, envy, and jealousy aimed his way in one stroke.
Leon licked his lips.
This could be fun.
Still, he needed to keep the Emperor's motives in mind. There was no telling why the man was pulling this stunt. Even a madman had his own purposes.
He'd play along this time — but being led around by someone else's nose forever didn't sit well with his temperament either. The Emperor had mentioned a private audience earlier, hadn't he? Perhaps that would be where they could have a frank conversation.
Leon turned his head and looked at one of the court mages, tapping his throat. Catching the signal, the mage cast the same voice-amplification magic on him that the Emperor was using.
"…Ah. Ah."
Leon tested his voice and nodded in satisfaction.
"I am Leon Crusif. First of all… Your Majesty. I gratefully accept this commendation. I am truly humbled."
He bowed politely toward the Emperor. The Emperor's mouth curved in a faint smile, and he gave a small jut of his chin — go on.
Granted unspoken leave, Leon started talking freely.
"As His Majesty has so abruptly arranged, we will now proceed with this entirely unscheduled friendly sparring match."
A light dig at the Emperor, and then he began walking slowly forward.
"Anyone dissatisfied with the commendation I've received. Anyone who thinks the reward is excessive. Anyone who muttered, 'Huh? Who the hell is that guy to get a Third-class Martial Merit Medal?' — feel free to step up. As it happens, I have a sword at my hip."
His eyes happened to meet Ceren's. He winked with his left eye.
"Warriors of the Empire. Swordsmen, spearmen, archers, martial artists, mages — young, middle-aged, old, man or woman, it makes no difference. You may send a proxy, or come yourselves."
His stride was bold, and the smile on his lips was pure confidence.
"Do you need proof? Can't accept it? Does it look like empty fame and exaggeration? Are you jealous of the gold chunk pinned to my chest? Then come forward. I'll give you the chance to face my sword."
It was an arrogant, brazen display. Veins stood out on the foreheads of the spectators listening in.
"Is this confidence, or is it arrogance? The recklessness of a boy whose head hasn't even dried yet? Is he just drunk on the atmosphere and spouting whatever comes to mind? Here's your chance to find out. Ah — I can hear the sound of heads and eyeballs spinning. Telepathic messages flying every which way."
He could feel wide eyes raking over him. Of course, Leon had his aura locked down tight on purpose. How many people here even knew he was an upper-rank Expert?
"Surely we won't see the disgrace of Master-level seniors coming out to thrash me, though. I'm eighteen. Get a grip."
A few figures flinched at that.
"Anyone below Master rank is fair game. Distinguished young masters and ladies of great houses, family retainers, trainees… I see some Academy classmates and upperclassmen as well. Pierre of House Traum over there, for instance. Pierre — long time no see."
Every gaze in the hall snapped toward Pierre of Martial Arts Class A. Pierre's eyes went wide with alarm as he glared at Leon.
Leon grinned and cast a look around the room.
"And knights are welcome too. Just make sure you handle the aftermath of your own defeat."
A collective gasp burst from hundreds of mouths across the hall. Even the handful who hadn't been paying attention until now snapped their eyes wide open.
That — that was a provocation of the highest order.
No matter how far Leon could fly, he was still a first-year at the Academy. Eighteen years old — an age you couldn't even call young so much as outright juvenile.
And what was a knight? A finished warrior who had spent a lifetime honing martial skill, stacking experience and years upon years. Even after graduating from Elprime Academy, where Leon studied, you still needed grueling additional training to reach knighthood — though Elprime graduates did tend to become high-caliber knights and enter top-tier orders like the Imperial Knights.
Either way, knights were professionals. Even at the same rank, their technique and seasoned judgment were in a different league entirely — people who had fully refined their own talent and ability. The very phrase "knight-class" meant something complete.
The situation was roughly equivalent to a college freshman swaggering in front of experts who'd spent decades in the same profession.
A cold wave of hostility poured in from every direction. The atmosphere hardened and chilled. The air itself felt thin and precarious.
Ahh… this is fun.
Leon grinned from ear to ear.
A chair scraped violently as someone shoved it back and stood. A man with a face gone scarlet tore off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.
Leon dispersed the magic around his throat and muttered under his breath.
"Enter the clown."