Chapter 210
Chapter 210
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: 63. Sword and Rose, and Lion (2)
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"Gah!"
A crisp slash sent yet another Rose Thorn Knight tumbling away with a scream.
"Raaargh!"
Bernard Ilai, standing tall before him, let out a triumphant roar.
Not a shred of mercy for his opponent.
Normally, that would have made me frown, but not today.
Duncan Seymour Tudor's face was frozen like stone as he stared at the training grounds. Even the Rose Thorn Knights, who had been so full of vigor moments ago, now watched their fallen comrade in silence, their eyes dark and subdued.
How satisfying that sight was.
Duncan Seymour Tudor glared at Ilai for a moment before sending up another knight.
Bam!
"The third!"
And that one fell to Ilai as well.
"Who's next!"
The man's shoulders puffed up arrogantly as he bellowed, twisting the faces of the Tuton knights in disgust.
The duke dispatched yet another knight.
Unlike his comrades who had all gone down in the first clash, this one put up a decent fight.
Still, he only lasted ten exchanges before rolling across the ground.
"The fourth! I am the one His Highness will grace with a sword!"
"Booo!"
Jeers rained down on Ilai from the training grounds.
The Rose Thorn Knights kept their mouths shut in grim silence.
I turned around in disbelief.
"Jumping in without discussion! If you regret it, come down yourself!"
"What meaning is there in a stolen victory!"
The kingdom's knights hurled insults and mockery at Ilai with utter nonchalance.
They clearly despised how he'd hopped onto the grounds without waiting for them to decide the order.
No matter how annoying Ilai usually was, he was still one of their own.
"I'm next after Ilai!"
"Who asked you!"
Some were even bickering over the order, bringing up Ilai's still-unbeaten stance.
It was absurd.
If I felt this way, how must the Tutons see it?
Duncan Seymour Tudor's stony face twisted completely.
He must have thought the kingdom's knights were deliberately insulting them.
I wanted to go over and tell him otherwise.
That it was a misunderstanding—they were just upset their own chances to fight were slipping away because of someone else.
But I didn't.
Watching the duke's distorted face was far too enjoyable.
The duke called out a knight and whispered a few words to him.
The knight nodded and stepped onto the grounds.
Not a hint of hesitation in his stride, despite seeing four comrades sprawled in ruin.
It was only natural.
Just as Ilai was a master, so was this one.
A master who had perfected his art with ring mana, the antithesis of heart mana.
"Gerard Butland."
The Tuton master introduced himself flatly.
"Bernard Ilai. This is the knight who will break you."
Ilai, too excited to even notice his opponent was a master, met him with the same haughty flair.
He was going to get hurt bad like that.
As annoying as he was, I didn't want to see him smashed by the Tutons, so I moved to call him back and warn him.
If I hadn't caught that look in his eyes, I surely would have.
Ilai's gaze was deep and sunken.
"How long can you hold out? Not long, I wager."
His face was all smug bravado, but his eyes were calmer than ever.
He had something in mind.
A man cunning enough to dupe wastrel noble heirs from declining houses to rebuild his family wouldn't fail to anticipate a master among the continent's elite Rose Thorn Knights.
I waited quietly.
For the ace up that cunning Ilai's sleeve.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Fierce slashes clashed repeatedly in the air.
"Urk."
Ilai's ever-composed face twisted in pain. His radiant aura blade began to flicker unsteadily.
Bam!
The Tuton master, by contrast, showed no change in expression.
It was due to the unique vibrations of ring mana, which dismantled heart mana.
Up to that point, I still believed Ilai had another trick.
But no.
Ilai faced the Tuton master with nothing but pure swordplay, no schemes at all.
He even ignored my repeated advice to avoid clashing blades directly with ring knights before forming his own rank, charging ahead with brute stubbornness.
Sheer force against force. Aura blade against aura blade in a mindless brawl.
In pure swordsmanship, Ilai clearly held the edge.
His opponent's blade was refined to perfection, sleek and agile, but the sword arts of the Ilai house—once called the kingdom's finest knightly lineage—surpassed even the Rose Thorns'.
Yet the advantage lay with the Tuton knight.
Ilai hadn't yielded a single step thus far—that alone was valiant.
Even watching Ilai struggle, I didn't intervene.
Don't back down.
Heart mana is no trash.
I wasn't wrong.
Through the power of [Third Ear], I heard Ilai endlessly repeating those words to himself.
He wasn't here for a simple win.
A house that crumbled clinging to heart mana,
A world that mocked and ridiculed the Ilais for their folly.
He had stepped onto these grounds to sever ties with all of it.
Ilai shouted.
"I...!"
As he thrust with mana drawn fully from his heart infused in the blade.
Bam! Bam!
Fragments of aura blade scattered in the air.
All chipped from Ilai's sword.
His opponent's energy surged wildly. Clearly planning to end it swiftly without dragging on for the next bout.
The Tuton master unleashed a barrage of his fiercest slashes yet.
Bam! Bam!
With each strike, chunks of Ilai's aura blade sheared away.
"Am the kingdom's greatest sword house!"
His insides shaken, Ilai spat a gush of blood as he cried out.
The blades clashed once more in midair.
And then.
Crack.
A massive fissure split the swordlight on Ilai's blade.
It shattered into pieces.
Ilai stared at his sword, now bereft of its brilliant glow.
The Tuton master raised his blade, shouting something.
"Heir to the Ilai house of this generation, Bernard Ilai."
Ilai, dazed as he gazed at his sword, regripped it with both hands and twisted his waist.
"On a moonless night black as deepest shadow, green rust clings thick to the blade."
Reciting poetry softly from his lips.
"With the pale waning moon, I brush off the blue rust, honing the dulled edge to the wolves' eerie howl."
⟨ Ilai Sword Chant ⟩
A faint glow settled where the aura blade had vanished.
And in that instant, the Tuton master swung down.
Bam!
I shot to my feet.
Thud.
The Tuton master dropped to one knee.
A half-shattered sword clutched in his hand.
Standing proudly before him was Bernard Ilai.
Disheveled hair, body drenched in blood—yet still on his own two feet.
Ilai turned to me.
"I am Bernard Ilai."
Hearing those words, I clenched my fist without thinking.
A count's house that clung to its heart mana legacy even when it was dismissed as trash fit only for cheap mercenaries, ultimately falling to ruin.
This heir's victory was the signal flare of the house's revival—and a declaration that heart mana knights, long pushed aside by ring knights, had returned to the world.
The restoration of ancient glory.
My heart pounded fiercely.
The kneeling Tuton master slowly tilted, then collapsed fully.
Stagger.
Ilai swayed.
Then began to crumble.
I caught his falling body.
"I-I win this one, Your Highness."
Ilai grinned in my arms.
His usual cheeky, infuriating smile.
"Well done, Bernard."
His eyes widened at my words.
"What's this? Calling me by name for once. You've never done that."
Instead of answering, I held him steady and turned.
"Ah, Lady Arwen should've seen me win properly..."
The fool rambling in my arms didn't finish before closing his eyes.
And lost consciousness completely.
I gazed steadily at the princess standing at the edge of the grounds.
"Both have lost consciousness, but the one who endured to the end—the knight of Leonberger Kingdom, Bernard Ilai—is declared the victor."
The stunned princess announced Ilai's victory.
"Ilai's the best!"
"Kingdom's silver lion!"
"Bernard Ilai!"
The kingdom's knights erupted in cheers. The same ones who'd jeered him moments ago.
I couldn't help but chuckle in disbelief.
As I returned to my seat, the waiting royal physician took Ilai from me.
"His internals are shaken—he'll need rest for a while—but fortunately, no major wounds."
"Knew the tough bastard would pull through."
The Royal Knights helped the physician carry Ilai away.
Meanwhile, I eyed the Tuton side.
Their master had already been carted off, and the remaining knights stared blankly, half out of their minds from the shocking defeat.
Festival atmosphere here, funeral over there.
Just the picture I wanted. A most pleasing scene.
But the duels had only just begun.
The Tuton knights, stung by successive losses, glared daggers our way. Our own, buoyed by Ilai's win, bared teeth right back.
The Tuton duke watched us with sunken eyes.
Gone was the arrogance that had looked down on our kingdom and trampled our knights.
I curled my lips at that sharp gaze.
And mouthed the words.
The party's just starting. The real show's next.
"Who's going up nex—"
Before the words finished, a figure bolted onto the grounds like a shot.
A one-eyed knight gripping a black spear.
Captain of the Black Spear Cavalry, Quean Lichtheim.
Bad habits die fast, huh.
I gave a hollow laugh and watched the grounds.
The late-arriving Tuton knight introduced himself.
And the duels resumed.
Victory. Defeat.
Joys and sorrows traded places endlessly between the sides.
Dusk settled.
Torches were lit everywhere. Royal Knights circled the grounds with flares.
Even then, the knights of both nations clashed swords without pause.
Night fell completely.
The grounds glowed red in the firelight.
The floor was littered with knights' spilled blood and metal shards.
No one suggested tidying up.
The heat on both sides burned too fiercely for that.
"Next!"
The dueling knights charged each other without letting the fire cool.
By then, most of the palace guests had flocked to the grounds.
Maximilian and unknown direct Leonbergers. The Grand Marshal. Montpellier. Shiirin.
"Your Highness."
"The talks?"
Eyes still following the duels, I asked Shiirin about the conference.
"Halted as per Your Highness's orders."
"Any gains?"
Not that a halted talk would yield much, but something might have come up.
"We learned the Tutons seek not equal alliance, but formation of an anti-empire league centered on themselves. Judging by their attitude, several nations have already accepted their proposal."
"Playing hegemon to ape the empire, eh."
Shiirin nodded.
"And about Montpellier."
She added as if it just occurred to her.
"Why that guy?"
"I still question if he's fit for this task."
A kingdom knight was just seizing the upper hand to end a duel, so I glanced over.
Shiirin's face was stiff as she looked at me.
"If Your Highness didn't assign him to rile the Tutons just to upend their guts, then excluding him now would be wise. He's only obstructing and strutting—talks aren't progressing because of him."
"That's exactly why I sent him."
"Pardon?"
"To obstruct and flip their insides. That's the job."
Shiirin's face turned baffled at my words.
"Of course, I didn't send him just to poke them mindlessly."
I gestured to summon Montpellier, who was lurking at a distance, watching us.
"I thought once we'd crossed swords with their knights as Your Highness said, the real talks would go smoother afterward. After a thorough thrashing... er, defeat crushes their spirit, they won't strut like this anymore."
"There you have it."
Shiirin sighed at my words.
She clearly disliked how I and Montpellier were handling diplomacy like tightrope walking.
But she didn't voice disagreement.
Just kept sighing deeply.
Then her attitude flipped the moment Arwen stepped up against a Tuton master.
She glared at the Tuton knights who had scratched her precious daughter's skin as if they were enemies of the state.
Arwen had won, and her scratches were mere grazes. Her Tuton master opponent lay unconscious with holes punched through his gut and shoulder.
When it came to his daughter, the count still knew no measure.
Whatever.
"It's winding down."
I refocused on the knights' duels.