Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Selection Tournament (2)
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Theo Lorenz carefully placed the completed necklace on the red cloth.
His fingertips lightly brushed the red gem of the necklace.
The silver chain shimmered faintly, swaying softly.
"Do you know what its effect is?"
I gazed at the necklace.
The center of the still-warm gem pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat.
Theo hummed as he fiddled with the necklace.
Gauging its power, he replied uncertainly.
"It seems to boost cutting power. Not sure, though. One thing's certain—it's no ordinary artifact."
"If it's not ordinary?"
"The materials weren't commonplace. My guess? It massively amps up cutting power, or maybe tacks on extra effects."
In summary, defense ignore plus critical hits, maybe.
The sword used as material had killed plenty.
Monsters, humans, you name it.
The blade was worn down to the point of being unusable.
Given it reflects the karma in the materials, the odds of something ordinary were low.
Freya carefully lifted it.
"If it's not ordinary, that's good in its own way. It's special."
Freya turned to me and continued.
"It'll make a fine gift for Lady Irena."
I hoped it would.
I nodded.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The selection tournament was an event to choose the Knight Commander.
Apparently held in tournament format.
Basically, applicants duel each other through brackets until the finals to claim the title.
I had plenty to say about the format, but it wasn't entirely incomprehensible.
In the Empire, the Knight Commander position carried immense prestige.
Symbol of martial might, shield of the Empire.
Its stature matched the lofty titles.
Those who'd served as Knight Commander were viewed as above average nobles.
Especially for the First Knight Order upholding the Northern Frontline.
Objectively, it rivaled a ducal rank.
The Empire's militaristic bent, fused with the mindset prioritizing strength against Great Beast threats.
Given their massive role in defending the North from Great Beasts,
Raw power mattered more than elders voting by majority.
It made sense, really.
If the chosen Commander got their head lopped off by a Great Beast, it'd be pure catastrophe.
Troop morale crumbles, frontline retreats—the nightmare scenario.
That said, it wasn't purely about brawn.
All applicants needed solid contributions to the Order, five-plus years of service,
and a recommendation from another Knight Commander.
No randos wasting time.
The day of Irena's retirement ceremony and selection tournament arrived.
On the podium, the Empress surveyed the crowd briefly, then stepped forward.
Red and black flags whipped through the sky, tearing at it.
The Empress still wore a wide-sleeved robe.
Golden eyes faintly gleamed through the face-veiling cloth.
An androgynous, mysterious figure.
Yet that only amplified her unknowable charisma.
"The Great Beasts of the North are dead. Now is the era of humanity."
The Empress's voice wasn't loud.
Yet somehow, the words drilled straight into your mind, no straining required.
As if everyone were compelled to hear them.
"The age of Monsters and Great Beasts has passed. This continent is no longer theirs. It belongs truly to humans."
The Empress raised her head.
It felt like radiant light poured down behind her.
Staged theatrics?
Who could say.
"Thus, today's matches aren't merely to witness swordsmanship. They're to see the will within that blade—and the human wielding it."
As she lowered her hand,
the north gate swung open.
The First Knight Order's arena slowly came into view.
Below, named knights emerged one by one.
Full plate armor, gleaming blades, cloaks emblazoned with patron house crests.
The crests marked true sponsorship.
Gear like swords and armor provided.
Houses sponsored to bolster their prestige.
Backing a future Commander cemented ties and flaunted status, elevating the house.
It was somewhat understandable, yet baffling too.
I decided to view it as brand advertising.
Win for your guy, fame for his backers.
One familiar face among them.
Asel Hartmann.
Vice-Commander of the First Knight Order.
He'd witnessed my duel with Irena firsthand.
Objectively, not the romance-novel pretty boy type.
He bore a crest on his back too.
Looks familiar—
"—Sir Hartmann is the one I'm sponsoring."
Turning, a familiar woman stood there.
A blonde of alluring years.
Ellen Luos smiled with crinkled eyes and continued.
"This means a great deal to me. My house is in rough shape right now."
Ellen Luos, youngest daughter of Duke Luos—who'd charged in to crush Red Star.
The ruthless sort who'd slain her own kin to salvage a treason-tainted house.
Her presence here implied she'd inherited the title.
Catching my gaze, Ellen replied with a somber air.
"Sadly, Father's illness took a turn for the worse. He passed."
I couldn't muster a reply.
So I simply offered condolences.
"It's fine. It made cleanup convenient."
"...I see."
Ellen's smile felt oddly chilling.
Keen calculation veiled as grief.
No pain or loss in the emotions seeping through her expression.
I met her smile, then turned back to the arena.
No need for empathy or pity.
The Ellen Luos I'd seen was no weakling.
She was rebuilding her crumbling house into a towering bastion.
By any means, staking anything.
Even hurling kin onto broken scales to force balance.
Someone like that wouldn't crumble.
If Ellen ever fell,
it'd be after throwing herself onto those scales too.
"By the way, Sir Valencia, who do you think takes it? I'd value your take."
Ellen plopped casually beside me, fanning herself lightly with a fan in hand.
Her words drew my eyes back to the arena knights.
All veterans, five years plus. Transcendent humans—monsters among monsters.
"Tough to call precisely without seeing action, but..."
Stance and gait give a rough read.
I observed the applicants, Asel Hartmann included.
"Sir Hartmann wins."
"Same thought here. Mind sharing why?"
The fights hadn't started, but plenty showed already.
"Their basic stances differ."
I continued slowly.
"Shoulder angle, weight balance, toe direction. That's not just holding a sword—it's primed to lunge anytime."
Ellen nodded quietly.
Thoughtful, she shifted her gaze back to Asel Hartmann.
I pressed on.
Most knights eased tension or rhythmically adjusted gear while waiting.
Straighten posture, steady breaths, attune to ready stance.
But Asel Hartmann was different.
He kept his heels perpetually lifted just a touch.
"Normally, you'd conserve stamina... but that screams confidence in endurance."
Ten minutes like that, and feet go numb for most.
In heavy plate, stamina drain is brutal.
Maintaining it meant serious stamina reserves.
I pointed to a section of the arena.
"Also, just now—opponent turned his head, Hartmann's eyes dropped low."
Avoiding eye contact while reading breath and rhythm.
Analysis boosts duel win rates.
Spot habits, seize timing—odds skyrocket.
That's duels versus real combat's gulf.
Know your foe or not.
Hartmann, battle-hardened on the Northern Frontline, had keen instincts.
Ellen mulled my words silently.
Then she chuckled softly.
"As expected. Wise to heed you."
With a quiet laugh—"straight bet beats reverse"—she waved and returned to her seat.
Moments later, Freya returned from her brief absence.
"Ian. Who's that woman?"
"Duke Luos."
At those words, Freya shot a glare at the back of Ellen's head.