The Proposal
“Sir Edward, wake up!”
I snapped to my senses at the sound of my wife’s voice. Sleeping in at my age? What did I do yesterday?
“I came to see how you were doing before the match, and you’re just going to lounge around until it starts?”
Why was she using formal language all of a sudden? She usually couldn't stand the sight of me sleeping, so why was she standing right next to me?
“Uh… honey?”
“‘Honey’? You’re acting as if you’ve already won. It may be a foregone conclusion decided by the families, but if you want to use such endearments, win the tournament first.”
What was she talking about? Win? What?
As I stood there blankly, my wife looked at me with that familiar expression of disdain.
“Don’t just stand there looking like an idiot. I’ll tie this victory charm on you myself, so if you don’t win, don’t expect to live. It’s embarrassing.”
The Countess—no, Monica Rystein—pulled out her handkerchief. She tried to tie it to the top of the lance standing nearby, but when she couldn't reach, she tied it to the handle at the bottom instead.
“This is expensive, so if you tear it or lose it, I won’t forgive you. Understand? I tied it here, so even if the lance breaks, you’d better protect the handkerchief.”
They say when a person suddenly changes, their time is up. Why was she acting so soft? Compared to her usual habit of ignoring me and speaking in casual, condescending tones, this was practically tender.
Come to think of it, I remembered dying after being defeated by a barbarian warrior. So, was this scene a dream?
I was so flustered that I didn't react, just stood still, and Monica frowned, clearly annoyed. Perhaps to hide her embarrassment, she squeezed her eyes shut and spoke in an exaggerated, theatrical tone.
“Sigh. My knight, Sir Edward, will you offer your victory to me, the rightful successor of the Rystein family, Monica Rystein?”
It was a sentence etched into my memory. Exactly fifteen years ago, just before I entered the finals of the Rystein County tournament, I had heard those exact words from my wife.
Back then, I had replied, ‘Of course, my lady.’ The foolish me from that time had knelt on one knee and kissed the back of the hand she extended.
The situation was identical to my memory. I took her hand, which was extended before my kneeling form. Instead of kissing it, I looked up at her. Her skin was smooth, without a single wrinkle on her forehead or between her brows. She was exactly as she had looked when I first fell in love with her.
When she felt no contact on the back of her hand, she squinted at me. Fearing she would get annoyed if I kept her waiting any longer, I hurriedly kissed it.
*Smooch*
“Of course, my lady.”
“...Hmph.”
Monica turned and walked out of the waiting room. Only then, left alone, was I able to calmly organize the situation. I bit into a cigar and lit it. The cigar tasted bitter.
Was I dreaming? I had clearly died, defeated by a barbarian warrior. The sensation of a crude stone smashing my skull was vivid. Then what was this situation before my eyes? Was I experiencing a life-review?
It was strange for a life-review. Where was a life-review that started from one’s youth instead of childhood? This tournament, where I had reached the finals, was the first button I had misaligned in my life. My birth hadn't been smooth, but that wasn't a button I had fastened myself. From the moment I failed to win this rigged match, everything had gone wrong.
“Sir Edward, it is time for you to enter.”
An attendant entered to announce the match time. So that’s what he looked like when he was young.
“I understand.”
With the attendant’s help, I put on the armor I had taken off. Wearing a helmet was stifling, so the attendant would carry it to the arena. In my previous life, I hadn't worn a helmet to look cool and ended up with a scar on my face. It had been a long time since I’d worn jousting armor, but my body felt familiar with it, and there was no awkwardness.
I took the lance with Monica’s handkerchief tied to it, mounted my horse, and slowly moved to the arena with the attendant. I could hear the roar of the crowd and the voice of the announcer.
“The first finalist! The second son of the Mountbern Count family! It is said he has run without rest to win this tournament and propose to Lady Monica! It is Sir Edward Mountbern, who unhorsed all his opponents in the previous rounds!”
A thunderous cheer erupted. From the start, this was a matter already agreed upon between the Mountbern and Rystein families. The tournament was just for show; it had been decided that I would win. They must have hired shills to stir up the atmosphere when I appeared.
“And his opponent! An unknown knight shrouded in mystery! The knight of the blue helmet who insists on mysticism!”
At the introduction, there was a noticeably smaller cheer. The knight in the blue helmet didn't seem to care, keeping his eyes fixed solely on me. His gaze was burning. There had been times I was overwhelmed by that look, but to the me of now, it looked like the eyes of a mere fledgling.
My rejuvenated body was overflowing with vitality. If I charged right now, I felt I would never lose. I took the Stechhelm from the attendant, put it on, and waited for the signal. I saw the red flag go up.
I spurred my horse and began to pick up speed. It was a lance I hadn't held in a long time, but it fit perfectly, as if my body remembered it. I leaned forward to secure my vision and gripped the lance tucked under my arm tightly. The opponent, who had been the size of a thumbnail, grew larger in an instant. I braced myself for the impact on my left shoulder—now!
*Clang!*
The sound of the lance striking the armor rang out. I had succeeded in landing a hit, but my opponent, unable to deflect the force, staggered. There was no major gain in the two subsequent rounds, either. Still, it was better than my previous life, where I had been hit by a spear and knocked off immediately.
All that remained was the foot combat. The opponent, holding his lance, charged quickly.
“Hiyah!”
With a shout, the opponent threw his lance. I dodged it lightly, threw my own lance from a much closer distance, and drew my sword. The opponent, who had been charging with his sword, staggered in confusion at the spear flying horizontally. It was hard to dodge something long flying sideways. I then poured attacks onto the off-balance opponent. Flustered by the continuous strikes, the opponent was reduced to desperately blocking with his sword.
It was far easier than I remembered. My body was overflowing with strength; I could feel the opponent being pushed back every time I swung my sword. When I swung my blade hard at the opponent, whose posture had collapsed under the relentless assault, he couldn't block it, and his sword went flying. When I pointed my blade at him, the match ended.
“Match over! The winner is Sir Edward Mountbern!”
A deafening roar of applause filled the air. It was the joy of a winner I had never been able to enjoy in my life. The label of ‘loser’ that had followed me around my entire life seemed to peel away as if it had never existed. I shouted in joy and liberation. It was as if things were always meant to be this way; my button had found its place so easily.
I wondered if it was a dream. I thought, if it is a dream, please, don't let me wake up.
The awards ceremony for the winner was held briefly, and I was invited into the Count’s estate. The banquet for the tournament participants was being held in the garden, but since I was a noble and my victory had been scheduled, I decided to dine separately with the Rystein family.
“You were truly magnificent! To think such a knight is marrying into our territory, it’s truly reassuring.”
My mother-in-law praised my performance. Vera was just as kind as I remembered.
“It’s not surprising he won a rigged game...”
“Monica.”
The elegant and noble Vera—no, my mother-in-law—warned Monica. She looked so much younger than in my memories that it would have been more fitting to call her Monica’s sister. With such a beautiful mother-in-law on my side, Monica’s sarcasm didn't even register.
‘Come to think of it, Vera is definitely more beautiful.’ In my previous life, I had been a fool, dragged around here and there before marrying Monica.
“Haha, it’s fine. She isn't exactly wrong.”
“Still, to say such things to a guest...”
“Alright, alright. Stop nagging, Mom.”
The former Count Rystein, Montgomery Rystein, had died leaving only one daughter, so there were only three of us at the table: Vera, Monica, and me. The simple meal for three was proceeding in a much better state than the cold atmosphere in my memory. Monica used to nag me constantly, saying I should have married the tournament winner. The difference between the tournament winner and the runner-up. The atmosphere at this table was exactly that—just enough that Monica wouldn't ask me with what face a loser like me was eating.
The meal continued with small talk. I could see Monica looking at me as if waiting for something, and Vera kept giving her looks, but I silently finished my meal.
“I’ll go have a smoke for a moment.”
“Ah, yes. Go ahead.”
I stepped out onto the familiar balcony. I used the excuse of a cigarette to buy some time after the meal. Both of them seemed to be expecting me to propose to Monica, but I couldn't just do that. Originally, as a runner-up who had lost in the finals, I had proposed from a position of total inferiority. But now it was different. I had won fair and square, and while I was still a son-in-law, I could have a married life under better conditions. If I wanted to demand something, I had to do it now. The moment I proposed and signed the marriage contract, the terms couldn't be changed. I had fifteen years of memories of being tormented by Monica; I couldn't marry again without any leverage.
‘Should I make her obey her husband? Or get a vow of loyalty?’
“Hoo…”
The cigar glowed red, burning away along with my insides. My brain, which had started spinning rapidly, reached a conclusion before the cigar had burned down. I cut the cigar and put it back in my pocket. I took the engagement ring out and walked into the dining room. A bitter taste of tobacco lingered in my mouth.
“As the winner of the tournament and a member of the Mountbern family, I have something to say. Lady of the Rystein family, will you marry me?”
Monica stood up with a triumphant smile. I wanted to see that expression crumble.
“Yes, of cour—”
Before Monica could take the ring, I pulled it back.
“My words were not for your daughter, but for you, Mother.”
Monica’s expression twisted.