Big or Small, Winning Always Feels Good
"Was all that archery practice for this?"
"Huh? What are you talking about, Laura. You don't think I actually predicted this whole situation, do you?"
"Well, if you were smart enough to pull that off, I wouldn't be suffering like this right now."
"That's a compliment, right? Right?"
My heart skipped a beat at the pointed question Laura tossed my way, but I recovered quickly, playing it cool as I rolled my shoulders.
"That makes it one win, one draw... Even if I lose the next round, we'd still end in a tie. So there's no need to worry about losing, my lord."
"Huh? What on earth are you talking about, Laura?"
"I beg your pardon? What am I talking about?"
"I told you earlier, remember? That I was going to win."
"My lord, don't tell me..."
Handing my outer coat to the mildly astonished woman, I stretched my arms and legs out long, loosening up.
I could have used magic from the very start of the archery contest and taken it with a flawless shutout — but I'd deliberately held back.
Winning was never the hard part. My goal was to humiliate Karaton.
Just imagine how it would feel: to nearly end in a draw with a rank beginner like me, in an event he'd personally prepared, convinced of his own talent. That stung far worse than a clean loss.
And it wasn't even a fair draw — he'd missed his first four shots. If I'd sunk even one more arrow, the match would have been over on the spot. He knew that better than anyone.
He was probably fuming right about now, barking at Mulat to vent his frustration. Served him right.
"Now then! This joyous festival of ours is drawing to a close, I daresay! Let the final contest begin!"
Karaton emerged from the tent with forced enthusiasm, Mulat trailing behind him looking thoroughly put out. Judging by his face, he'd been chewed out something fierce. I could see it plain as day.
Karaton approached me carrying a small box. That must be the equipment he'd prepared for the final sword contest.
"Since each of us has already contested the event we're confident in, the final match shall be decided 'fairly' — by drawing lots! I've written down everything that can be contested here. The first draw determines the event, and the remaining two determine who competes."
"Then wouldn't one of us end up drawing twice?"
"Then let your aide draw the first one! How does that sound?"
"Sounds fine. Let's do it that way."
I could have picked apart his logic all day, but this was an event hosted by the baron. Dragging things out past what courtesy demanded would have been rude.
Watching him labor to stress how "fair" this would be, his scheme was transparent. He intended to force a sword duel, push me into the ring, and have his knight put me in the dirt.
Unfortunately for him, I'd caught wind of it beforehand and come prepared. Laura, following the agreement, reached into the box and drew a single lot.
"It says... 'sword duel.'"
"Oh, does it? Well, a sword duel is more than fitting to crown the finale, wouldn't you say— I mean, isn't that right!"
"Hurraaah!" While Karaton whipped the crowd into a cheer, Mulat slid the box away and hastily dumped the remaining lots into the fire pit.
He probably wrote the same thing on every single lot. Honestly, even his rigging methods are sloppy as hell.
The box was refilled, and the second lot — the competitor who would fight for our side — was to be drawn.
"Hmm... hmm... who will it be, I wonder."
I watched him dawdle and pretend to deliberate, silently urging him to hurry up and draw already. Not that it mattered — he'd rigged it so I'd come out anyway.
"Excellent! The chosen one is... oh my, say it isn't so! Why, it's none other than... Reus! You've been chosen, my friend!"
"What? Oh dear, whatever shall I do? I've only just taken up the sword recently!"
Karaton, drawing a preordained lot and putting on his little show; me, hearing the result and feigning helpless embarrassment.
If acting had been one of the contests, we might have tied. And now, at last, it was time for me to draw the final lot.
The moment my hand entered the lot box, I wreathed my index finger and thumb in a faint golden shimmer. I rummaged around briefly, then plucked one out at random.
"I've drawn it. And the chosen one is... oh my, good heavens? It's you, Baron!"
"Mm, so it is... wait, what did you say? Who did you say?"
"You, Baron. Here, see for yourself!"
<Karaton.>
Some other name had surely been written on that lot — but a moment ago, I had cast a quick 'disguise' spell inside the box, overlaying the writing so that his name showed instead.
This one's actually handy. Nothing I could use openly, but for a cheap little parlor trick like this? Child's play.
Karaton stared at the lot bearing his own three syllables and shot Mulat a look demanding an explanation — but Mulat could only tremble, pupils quivering, unable to say a word.
Well, what could he say? If he'd pressed the issue, their own rigging would have come to light first.
With the final match once again shaping up as me versus Karaton, the crowd's roar climbed even higher.
"Are you truly going to fight? Wouldn't it be wiser to have one of the soldiers who came with us stand in for you?"
"That would kill the mood, Laura. Lord against lord — that's what everyone's here to see."
As I donned the borrowed helm, gauntlets, chainmail, and greaves for the final contest, Laura drew close, her voice tight with worry.
"It's not about the mood! What if you get hurt doing something reckless—"
"Wait. Are you worried about me just now?"
"W-worry? Who's worried?! If you get hurt, it just means more work for me, that's all! So don't you dare get hurt!"
Leaving Laura grumbling her way off to the sidelines, I accepted the practice longsword the knights handed me and made for the dueling ground.
The crowd had formed a ring, and at its center stood Karaton, sword in hand, dressed exactly as I was.
But... was he struggling a bit, perhaps? His helmet was so tight his cheeks bulged against it, and I barely strangled the laugh threatening to burst out of me.
"Shall we begin? The conditions of defeat are to fully release the sword from your hand — correct?"
"Yes... let us... begin."
The helmet's chin strap was strangling his throat, and his voice came out strangled too. Laughter rippled through the crowd. That's right, everyone — we're all thinking the same thing.
But the comedy was only skin deep. Perhaps his archery training had come bundled with swordsmanship, because his grip and footwork were nothing to scoff at.
Can I catch him with that thing Hans taught me...? Damn it all, not being able to use magic openly is the real agony here.
Recalling the techniques I'd drilled with the soldiers, I raised my sword with a touch of nerves. The knight stepped forward, swept his banner through the air, and the final contest began.
The first strike came from Karaton, unexpectedly. While I hesitated, his blade came at me in a relentless press.
Swings, descending slashes, thrusts — a whole gallery of attacks rained toward me. And then, at last—
THWACK!
"Ugh...!!"
A full-force overhead blow caught me square on the head. Even through the helmet, taking a practice sword to the skull made my bones ring and my vision spin.
My legs wobbled wildly; I stabbed my sword into the dirt to steady myself and hastily found my balance again.
The moment Karaton landed his hit, worried cries rose from our side. I stole a quick glance in that direction.
Laura with her fists clenched white, Hans who'd trained with me — even the other farmers all wore the same anxious expressions.
This is hard. Really hard. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a lord after all? Still... I have to see this through!!
Gathering myself with a fresh shout, I charged, somehow pressing Karaton with the basic movements Hans had drilled into me.
He clearly hadn't expected me to close the distance so suddenly, and he scrambled back a step, flustered. Seizing the opening, I swept my sword high overhead.
He naturally assumed I was aiming for his head — and the instant he raised his guard, his flank opened up wide and empty.
The moment I saw it, I did exactly as Hans had taught me: reversed my grip and seized the blade long with both hands.
"Wha—?"
"That stance—!"
While Karaton's knights gaped, I leveled the inverted grip at his exposed side and swung with everything I had, slamming the hilt into him with full force.
The instant the hilt struck his flank, I snapped the 'weight increase' spell — the inverse of the lightening magic I'd used before — across the entire blade.
CRUNCH!
The crushing blow, heavy with both speed and mass, launched Karaton's enormous frame sideways through the air. He hit the ground and crumpled in a heap.
"Ggh... GGAAAHK—! M-my flank—!!"
"B-Baron! Baron Karaton!!"
Flat on his back, Karaton dropped his sword entirely, clutching the point of impact and dry-heaving. A startled Mulat came sprinting over.
He'd been struck through armor, sure — but with my weight increase spell layered on top, it must have hurt a hundred times worse.
No question about it — I'd won. But I quietly turned to the knight who'd been refereeing.
The knight looked between me and Karaton, then slowly shook his head and thrust his banner high in my direction.
The moment I confirmed the unambiguous declaration of victory, I lowered my sword and pulled off my helmet—
"My lord!! My lord!!"
"Our lord won it all—!!"
"Whoa, hey, people! At least let me take this armor off—!"
The whole crowd from our estate came swarming in, seized me by the arms and legs, hoisted me up—
"Huzzah! Huzzah for our lord!!"
"Huzzah for Lord Reus!!"
—and tossed me toward the sky in a proper celebration heave. Up I floated, and down I came into their waiting hands.
They must have thrown me a good ten times before they finally set me down. Through my dazed eyes, I saw every face around me grinning with delight.
"My lord!"
"Laura!"
Relief shone on my aide's face as she ran up last. For a moment, the two of us simply stood there, gazing at each other in silence.
"I promised, didn't I? That I'd win."
"Yes... you did say that, quite clearly."
"And win I did, as you can see. What's your review?"
"Well, I assumed you'd naturally keep a promise you made yourself. If only you kept your work promises this faithfully."
She was plainly delighted, yet answering with deliberate indifference — so I flashed her a grin. Then I felt something trickling down my forehead; I rubbed it with a finger, and red came away on my skin.
"Huh? Wait, this is..."
Had the blow to my head earlier split the skin a little? Just as I moved to wipe away the thin smear of blood—
"That's... blood! Blood!! You're hurt!!"
Laura grabbed my face and started rummaging wildly through my hair, hunting for the wound.
"I swear I can't leave you alone for a second! Look at this, your forehead's split right—"
"Um, Laura? Aren't you... standing a little close?"
When I gently pointed out that we were perhaps a touch too near, she held her silence for a long beat—
"And... AND WHO TOLD YOU TO GET HURT?!"
CRACK!! — and she drove her forehead into mine with everything she had. Dead center on the wound, no less. Ow. Ow ow ow.
The contest that had begun with her headbutt ended with her headbutt too — the two of us shoulder to shoulder, surrounded on all sides by cheering friends.
The breeze brushing past my skin felt so much cooler, so much cleaner, than it had before.
By the time the contest was over, the sun that had hung at its zenith had crept down near the horizon without my noticing.
Karaton, propped upright with two fat cushions strapped to his flank and supported on either side by three soldiers, groaned and moaned on the verge of actual tears. Ahh, sweet satisfaction.
"Well then, I believe it's time to honor our agreement."
"Y-yes... yes, I suppose it is..."
He winced five times uttering that one short sentence — it must have hurt badly. Really, why did you have to go ogling my Laura, hmm?
"Mulat... I leave the rest... to you. I... I need to go lie down..."
Clearly too wrung out in body and mind for further words, Karaton handed the remainder to Mulat and let himself be half-dragged by his soldiers into a small carriage.
"Aide Mulat? Shall we continue our business, then?"
The moment Karaton withdrew, Laura stepped briskly forward. All traces of her earlier fluster were gone; the sharp, capable woman was back.
"The terms of the agreement, if I recall, were: 'should one side win the contest, the other shall surrender one person of the victor's choosing.' Our side claims myself; yours claimed a knight."
"Yes... that was it. Hey! Someone bring Ludlow here."
Mulat didn't seem especially broken up about it either. Regrettable, perhaps — but nothing he couldn't part with. That was the feeling I got.
Which makes sense for now. Back in the game's early patches, when he had no strategies written for him, he was dismissed as trash-tier as often as people breathed.
Ludlow, the textbook case of the late-blooming growth curve, would without fail blossom into his true talent down the road.
In other words, this was a bet on the future. Right on cue, Ludlow appeared, escorted by a soldier.
"You called for me, Aide Mulat?"
"Ah, good timing. Ludlow — as of today, you are no longer a knight of Wood Pigeon's Perch."
Even hearing words that amounted to dismissal, Ludlow simply nodded without visible reaction. He seemed like a man who'd read the writing on the wall — so it's finally come — and steeled himself long ago.
"And furthermore, Lord Reus here has engaged your services. You are therefore notified that, from this hour, you belong to Crow's Head Valley."
"Understoo— I beg your pardon? What did you say?"
"I mean that, as of today, I am your superior. I look forward to working with you."
Ludlow, who had been answering with flat indifference, went wide-eyed at the news that he now served under me. When I extended my hand, he nearly leapt out of his boots.
"Um... c-could there be some mistake? Perhaps you meant to summon someone else, and I simply came by accident?"
"Not in the least. You are exactly the one I wanted, Knight Ludlow."
Unable to believe that anyone had come looking for him, Ludlow asked again and again. I nodded my assurance each time, until he finally ran out of questions and accepted reality.
"Thank you for taking in a deficient man, Baron... no, forgive me — my lord. I'm sorry. The words just keep coming out."
"Deficient? How deficient could you possibly be, compared to me? I look forward to your service."
With his missing ear and grim bearing, his face promised ferocity — but his manner was far more timid and uncertain than I'd expected.
Watching the other knights snub him earlier said everything. He'd simply grown too accustomed to contempt.
Don't worry, my friend. Those days are gone for good. With a small, firm handshake, our talent transaction was sealed.
I couldn't yet know what ripples his recruitment would one day send... but for now, it was time to savor this victory.