This Is How a Contest Is Done
"Attention! Everyone, attention!"
Bwooo—puh—! One of the baron's soldiers blew a horn to draw the crowd's attention.
Everyone had eaten their fill and thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and joy brimmed over the whole gathering. It warmed my heart to see how relaxed the faces of our farmers were.
Ludlow, my target, leaned lazily against a tree, watching us. Just you wait — soon enough you'll be working hard for our estate!
"To add to the merriment of all of you enjoying yourselves, our two lords have prepared a few simple games!"
"Games? What in the world are those?"
"I'll take it from here."
Karaton stepped forward and waited until every eye was fixed on him before speaking.
"We shall now hold… a contest! A simple contest consisting of three matches! Each side will pick something they're confident in, and the final match will be decided by lot!"
I didn't know what he was planning, but the moment words like match and contest reached their ears, everyone's interest was piqued. Not only the baron's people but our own as well buzzed with anticipation.
"Our lord is going to compete?"
"As long as he doesn't get hurt, I suppose…."
Hearing the occasional murmurs of concern for me lifted my spirits for no good reason. It helped that nothing of the sort could be heard from Karaton's side.
"Well then, Reus, I'll yield the first match to you. Have you thought of something in advance?"
"Yes, I've been thinking about it ever since we arrived."
I stretched out my hand and pointed a finger at the small sacks of flour loaded on the cart Karaton had brought. Roughly twenty of them were stacked there.
"Those."
"The sacks? What kind of contest do you intend to have with those?"
"Let's compete by carrying those sacks to a destination, a fixed number at a time, as fast as we can. How does that sound? From the cart… to that tree over there."
I extended a finger toward the tree farthest from the cart. Karaton shot me a look that asked if that would really do.
"And the participants? If we let anyone who wants to join, it won't be a fair contest."
"One-on-one seems cleanest, doesn't it?"
"Very well. Let's do it that way."
At the words one-on-one, Karaton's lips smacked together. A hundred times out of a hundred, he'd be entering a knight.
I had soldiers too, but none of them could stand against a knight whose entire life had been spent forging nothing but the strength to beat people down for a living. To any observer, my defeat would look like a foregone conclusion.
'But that's when I was an ordinary fellow.'
While I was mentally rehearsing the plan I'd prepared, the soldiers began unloading the flour sacks at my request.
Told to stand guard on the perimeter, Ludlow settled against his tree and resigned himself to idly watching the contest.
Twenty sacks of flour in total, split into ten each, to be carried to the tree. A pure test of strength and nothing more.
'Whatever they try, it's useless. Only a knight can beat a knight.'
Whoever stepped forward from Reus's knightless side, there was no way they could beat a knight under Karaton's command. That was common sense. That was simply how the world worked.
Screeech—! The moment a sharp whistle split the air, the contest began — and at the very same instant—
"Huh?"
Reus rose from his seat and darted forward, then began stacking the sacks on the ground one by one into a tower.
"What are you doing, Reus?"
"We never decided who would actually compete, did we? So I'm volunteering!"
Hyah! With a grunt of effort, Reus stacked the sacks up briskly, one atop another. Watching this wild spectacle that Karaton could never have imagined, Ludlow let out a short, surprised laugh. Huh.
However small the sacks looked, they were packed with flour with not a bit of empty space inside, making each one remarkably heavy. Three or four at a time should have been the absolute limit, no matter how strong you were….
"Isn't he stacking far too many…?"
"C-can he really do that?"
Reus stacked all ten sacks of flour. The farmers, and indeed everyone on Karaton's side including Ludlow, stared at him with eyes that asked, is that man insane?
Just as everyone watched him, eyes full of doubt and worry, wondering if he could even lift such a thing—
"Now then, let's see… hnngh!!"
Reus lifted all ten man-height sacks at once and began walking toward the tree.
Step, step, step, step. His gait was so light that anyone watching might have thought he was out for a stroll.
The Karaton-side knight, burdened with five sacks, had frozen solid, forgetting entirely that it was his turn to move.
Before long, Reus reached the tree, carefully set down his sacks, and raised both arms overhead.
"Done!"
A brief silence hung over the crowd — then one of our farmers began clapping softly. The applause spread, and soon it swelled into a roar of celebration.
Our lord did it—!
Our lord won—!
The spell I had just used was Featherlight. I'd cast it on each sack one by one as I stacked them.
They looked like ten, but their actual weight was reduced to about two — light enough that even I could carry them without trouble.
'No warning message, I see. So as long as it isn't something like shooting fire and lightning from my hands — something anyone would scream "magic" at — a trick at this level gets a pass, huh.'
I'd calculated beforehand that combining this wager with this spell guaranteed a win. As a bonus, I'd also learned roughly how far I could push my magic before it crossed the line.
It would have been even better if there were a body-reinforcement spell… regrettably, nothing of the sort seemed to exist.
Mulat rushed over in a panic to inspect the sacks, but by then I'd already dispelled the magic and they'd returned to their original crushing weight. Utterly criminal, I know.
Watching Karaton's and Mulat's expressions curdle into something fouler than a pile of rotted compost was simply… delicious, mm.
Seeing young and old alike embrace one another in celebration, I smiled quietly to myself.
'What? What just happened? How… how is that even possible?'
Ludlow, who had blinked his eyes dozens upon dozens of times throughout the whole spectacle.
'Wh-what on earth was that…? Was our lord always that strong?'
Laura, who had watched with her heart in her throat as the party whose stake was on the line.
All of them, without exception, were staring at the very same spot. The profile of a cheerful young lord, smiling amid the cheers of his farmers.
"C-congr…congratulations! Th-that was tr-truly impressive. I had n-no idea you were, ah, s-such a strongman!"
Karaton, his lips trembling with a sourness worse than finding half a worm in a piece of fruit, forced out his congratulations and hastily rose from his seat.
"Now then, riding this momentum, let us proceed at once to the second match! Mulat!!"
When he barked for Mulat with a rigid smile plastered on his face, Mulat scrambled over as if he'd been waiting for the call, hauling in a small cart laden with bows.
"The next contest is archery! The one who lands more of ten arrows on the target wins!"
Perhaps because he'd had his dignity shredded so completely in the very first match, the composure had drained out of Karaton, and he snatched up a bow in a flash.
While the soldiers set up scarecrow targets, I picked up a bow as well and gave the string a test pull. The tension humming through the taut string was considerable.
I managed a full draw, but the string slipped free almost immediately. I'd only held it for a moment, and already my grip was going slack.
'Thank goodness I'd at least learned the basics of archery. If I hadn't….'
Had I not gone snooping around to gather intel on these men beforehand, I might well have lost this match.
"What's the matter? If it's too much for you, how about using the little one over there? No sense straining yourself."
I ignored Karaton, who pointed at the tiny toy bows placed on the cart purely to mock me, and concentrated harder on drawing the string.
After several more pulls, I managed to hold it for a few seconds, and a faint smile crossed my lips. This would be enough — the round would go according to plan.
"Now, let's begin! I'll go first!"
Eager to erase the humiliation of defeat, Karaton stepped up with an arrow in hand. His rolls of flesh jiggled — apparently not all fat — and he drew the string with far more ease than I had.
Thwip, thock! Swish, thock! He loosed his ten arrows in quick succession, and six in total struck the scarecrow target.
"Six out of ten. Not bad. Your turn now."
He surrendered the spot with a triumphant gleam in his eyes, so certain I couldn't match it.
"Ahh~ I only learned archery for a brief spell as a lad, whatever am I to do?"
I made a show of being troubled as I picked up the bow, loud enough for everyone to hear. The expressions of our farmers dimmed slightly at that….
"Don't worry, my lord! We won the first round, didn't we?"
"Losing one round's fine, sir! Just win the next'un!"
"Thank you all for the cheering. For your sakes, I'll give it my best."
Their spirits brightened again in no time, and they sent their encouragement my way. Feeling everyone's hopes resting on me — that feeling is honestly wonderful, you know.
I took a deep breath, nocked an arrow, and drew the bow. Thwang!! The arrow tore loose from my grip and fell to the ground without coming anywhere near the scarecrow.
Then the next, and the one after that… four consecutive failures, and a mood settled over the crowd that said this round was as good as lost.
"Dear me. Had I known you were so unversed in the bow, I'd have suggested we prepare something else. Needlework, perhaps…."
I brushed off Karaton's needling with a light shrug, then slowly exhaled the breath I'd gathered, letting it out in one long, thin stream — hooooo—.
The breath quietly drew in and gathered the air of the open field around it. In an instant, it formed an invisible, long, slender corridor of wind that stretched in a perfectly straight line to the scarecrow.
Essentially, I was shooting at a target already pinned in place — practically cheating, really. But as I'd confirmed earlier, if it can't be seen and can't be caught, that's all that matters. No one was going to dash out in front of the arrows to check.
Thwip, THOCK!! The fifth arrow rode the corridor and, quite naturally, buried itself in the scarecrow's head.
"The heavens seem to have favored you this once."
"I couldn't say? I don't particularly believe in the heavens. Just good luck, I suppose."
When my sixth arrow struck home, Karaton was still smiling.
By the seventh and eighth, his mouth had flattened into a straight line; by the ninth, he was chewing his lips raw.
And when the long-awaited final arrow rode the corridor and thocked into the scarecrow—
WHAAA—!! Our lord's done it again!!
Reus! Reus! Reus!
An even greater roar than after the first victory erupted, and our farmers chanted my name over and over.
Instead of answering, I raised my bow high above my head in salute.
From a situation anyone could see was hopeless, I'd landed every remaining shot for a miraculous draw. Laura was so stunned she stood gaping at me, mouth hanging open.
The spirit of a people blessed by Heaven with the bow rages within me. Clearly, I ought to practice my archery regularly.
"Con…congratulations, Reus. You've, ah, fought quite well."
"Congratulations? For what? I only barely managed a draw! Which means… I suppose we'll have to settle this in the final match, won't we?"
When I smirked and emphasized the word draw, the flesh beneath Karaton's jaw quivered violently as he strained to keep smiling.
I set down my bow and walked away, quietly dispelling the Wind Path as I went. Now then… we're approaching the final act of putting this wretched man in his place.
Mulat entered the tent, bowed his head before Karaton, dropped to one knee, and swallowed hard.
"What manner of humiliation is this!! Eh!! How in the world did this happen, Mulat!"
"I… I am ashamed, my lord."
"That's what you said! You swore that bookish weakling couldn't so much as pull a string, let alone shoot!"
Karaton crushed the bread in his fist and crammed it into his mouth, snorting like a bellows as he berated Mulat.
"And then what was that, eh? Explain that to me! A frail country scholar who'd only ever held a bow in passing! Matching the record of me, who trained at archery for nearly two years?! Does that make any sense whatsoever!!"
Gulp, gulp! To quell the fire in his gut, he filled a tankard to the brim with ale and downed it in one go — a sight that fit the name 'Gluttonous Baron' to perfection.
"One draw, one loss! Even if we win the next round, bringing Laura back is well beyond our reach now!"
He'd been certain he'd win comfortably with the absurd first contest of hauling flour sacks. And the result? Defeat. Such an overwhelming defeat that he had no excuse to offer whatsoever.
With his original goal of claiming Laura now utterly reduced to a dream, Karaton clutched at the back of his neck.
'Lord Reus… a man who knows how to hide his own prowess? No — even if that were so, his build, his movements should have given it away. What… what is he? That man, what in the world…?'
Mulat, lips sealed tight before his enraged lord, was no less rattled. Had he truly looked straight at that greenhorn lord back then?
The reason he had served for years as an aide to a man like Karaton without being cast out was his discerning eye for people.
It was a talent others acknowledged and one he took no small pride in himself — so every time Reus slipped past his expectations, his throat went bone-dry. And then….
"My lord… could it be that the man was using… magic?"
"Oh, magic? Oho~ yes, quite right! If it were magic, that would explain it! Did you know, Mulat? In the forest our estate administers, there lives an old witch! Runs a unicorn ranch, no less!"
"Ah… that is, um…."
"Spout nonsense that at least sounds plausible! Are you suggesting that man is some kind of mage?!"
"F-forgive me. I was thinking so hard that the foolish thought simply slipped out."
Something like magic happened, so perhaps he used magic — a perfectly reasonable conjecture. But the moment even Mulat started spouting nonsense, Karaton's insides burst, and he stomped over to the small box of lots set off in the corner.
"At this point, all that's left is to win the final match. Your preparations on that front are certain, I trust, Mulat?"
"Yes, my lord. The event drawn will naturally be a sword duel, and I've arranged the lots cleanly so that Lord Reus will step forward as his opponent."
"And who fights for our side?"
"I've arranged it so one of the knights will be chosen. Have no fear. He will suffer a humiliation far greater than the one Your Lordship endured."
Whatever else happened, they had to achieve at least this one goal: dragging down Reus's reputation. Karaton picked up the box of lots.