The Crowd's Roar
The cheers subsided.
The spectators were visibly shaken by the unexpected turn of events.
In the rare, unbroken silence, tension coiled through the arena, mingled with a rising wave of anticipation.
Elbridge was certain of it.
Even those who had not come to watch the Grand Tournament would hear the story of this match until their ears burned.
The head paladin of the Bloodied Spear Order issued orders to the paladins under his command.
“Form up.”
The young paladin Felix asked in a small voice, “...Head Paladin, sir. Is there even a formation intended for duels against other humans?”
The Bloodied Spear Order had sustained its influence by actively hunting demonic beasts. There had never been any particular need to face them alone, so the order had invested heavily in coordinated assault training for beast hunts. Naturally, young Felix had mastered many such formations.
Yet every one of them shared a single commonality: they were designed with non-human demonic beasts as the enemy.
The head paladin answered, “There isn’t one.”
“...We are not hunting demonic beasts. Why should we adopt a formation meant for hunting them?”
“Because we have never seen a person fight the way he does.”
A demonic beast’s attacks were difficult to predict. That was why formations created to face them were built to respond to as many variables as possible.
Since Elbridge would undoubtedly attack with movements even harder to read than a demonic beast, using an anti-beast formation was the correct choice.
…Damn it.
Felix’s pride stung. The paladins of the Bloodied Spear Order possessed superior skill compared to those of any other combat order. That fact had always been the cornerstone of his self-respect.
And now five of those proud paladins had to face a single man.
In his mind, Felix recalled the first time he had met Elbridge—standing alone and dazed in the middle of a vast temple. The man had looked so forlorn that Felix had instinctively offered him a place in their order.
But the presence Elbridge radiated now was on an entirely different scale.
…Hoo.
In the end, Felix took his place beside the other paladins.
The head paladin gave the command. “Move.”
The paladins of the Bloodied Spear Order advanced slowly toward Elbridge, long spears held in their left hands and short spears in their right. The long spears were less weapons for subduing an enemy than defensive tools meant to blunt a demonic beast’s headlong charge. They could be used to strike vital points in a pinch, but the true offensive weapons were the short spears in their right hands.
Felix held his breath and watched Elbridge’s every movement.
Elbridge stood with his sword lowered, gazing toward them. Incongruous with the name of the Rusty Shield Order, no shield hung from his left arm.
Just as they would when encircling and subduing a demonic beast, Felix and the others kept their distance and crept forward. Five spearheads were trained on Elbridge.
At that moment, Elbridge bent his knees. The head paladin shouted, “Now!”
All five paladins planted the butts of their long spears against the ground at the same instant and stamped down hard with their left feet. At the same time, they wrenched the shafts upward with all their strength.
The tough, elastic wood flexed like a living thing, and the spearheads took aim at Elbridge. In this stance they could receive even an enormous weight upon their points.
Even the largest demonic beasts had only two choices when faced with this formation: charge forward and be impaled, or slow down and become locked in a stalemate.
Elbridge leapt—not forward, but to the right.
“Flank!”
The five spearheads instantly pivoted to track him.
Yet with a single step Elbridge reversed direction and dashed left.
“Opposite!”
The spearheads swung back again. But the centrifugal force and the pressure of the stamped feet delayed the turn by the smallest fraction of a second. In that instant, a gap opened between the five long spears.
Elbridge did not miss it.
Felix clenched his teeth. It doesn’t matter!
The long spears had already done their job simply by slowing the opponent. That was enough.
The five paladins discarded their long spears in unison and thrust their short spears. Elbridge’s blade traced a fluid arc, sweeping three of them aside.
Two short spears remained unparried—one belonging to the head paladin, the other to Felix.
Felix saw Elbridge use his left forearm to bat away the head paladin’s weapon.
His own short spear was still aimed squarely at Elbridge. Felix widened his eyes, waiting for the counter.
I won’t fall so easily.
But Elbridge’s response defied expectation.
Rather than dodge or deflect, Elbridge offered his left shoulder directly to the spearhead.
Scraaape—
A sword was made to cut; a spear was made to pierce. Armor that could resist a blade might still yield to a spearpoint—especially when driven by a paladin’s superhuman strength and practiced skill.
And Felix possessed both.
“…!”
His short spear punched through Elbridge’s pauldron and carved deep into the flesh beneath. He even felt the tip scrape bone. A clean, valid hit.
He’s giving up his shoulder that easily? A mistake?
No.
The moment he met Elbridge’s tranquil gaze, Felix understood the action had been deliberate.
Sliiide—
As though he felt no pain at all, Elbridge swung his sword without the slightest hesitation. The blade severed the rings that secured two paladins’ helmets to their breastplates.
Clatter, clatter—
Two helmets tumbled across the arena floor.
Only then did Felix grasp the true intent.
Elbridge was not a perfectionist who refused to win with injuries. His calculation was brutally simple: it was better to surrender his left shoulder and face only three opponents than to fight all five unscathed.
Insane.
Understandable in theory, yet impossible to imitate. What person in the world could deliberately drive their own shoulder onto an oncoming spearhead? And even if someone possessed such courage, how could they continue the next movement so cleanly, as if they felt no pain whatsoever?
The two disarmed paladins lowered their short spears and retreated. They had realized that if Elbridge had wished it, he could have killed them both.
…Two lost. Three remain.
Half a beat late, the crowd’s roar finally erupted.
“Waaaaah—!”
Unlike the excited spectators, the announcer’s eyes were filled with dismay. He knew Felix’s spear had driven deep into Elbridge’s shoulder. Yet he could not halt the match. The rules allowed intervention only when a combatant could no longer continue. And Elbridge’s movements showed almost no change from before the wound.
“Hmm.”
Elbridge spun the sword in his right hand and advanced on the three remaining paladins of the Bloodied Spear Order. His bearing was that of a man who clearly held the upper hand. Felix unconsciously retreated a few steps before catching himself and stopping, cheeks burning with shame.
The head paladin said, “Stay calm and watch for an opening. It’s acceptable if two more fall. If even one of us lands a decisive blow, victory is ours…”
Before he could finish, Elbridge charged again. Three short spears lashed out along separate arcs.
Once more Elbridge’s blade swept two of them aside—possible only because his skill was on another level entirely.
Again, Felix’s spear remained.
This time I’ll drive it home.
Elbridge raised his left arm. Was he trying to bat the spear away as he had done earlier?
No. His shoulder was injured; the left arm could not move freely.
His left hand opened wide, as if telling Felix to stop. But Felix did not hesitate. He thrust with all his strength.
The short spear pierced straight through Elbridge’s palm.
Perfect!
That much was good. What came next was not.
Even with a spear through his hand, Elbridge moved as though he felt nothing. Felix realized too late that the helmet was rushing toward him. A headbutt.
Thud!
The unexpected strike knocked Felix off balance. He hit the ground, mind reeling.
I have to get up—
But in the next instant he felt Elbridge’s boot planted on his chest and the cold tip of a sword against his throat.
In a real fight, he would already be dead.
“…”
Elbridge spoke a single word. “Drop it.”
Felix released the short spear. He was as good as a corpse.
What Elbridge did next was even more ruthless. He twisted the spear free from his own palm and, in one fluid motion, hurled it. The weapon buried itself in another paladin’s knee.
“Aaaargh!”
Felix’s thoughts spun. He could barely comprehend what had just happened.
The paladins of the Bloodied Spear Order had clashed with Elbridge exactly twice.
He had sacrificed a shoulder to disable two men, sacrificed a palm to disable Felix, then instantly thrown the spear to disable one more. Four elite paladins rendered helpless in the blink of an eye.
Until now, Felix had believed the most perfect victory was a flawless one without a single scratch.
Elbridge had shown him another definition entirely: to remove every enemy with absurd speed and absolute certainty, even if it meant accepting wounds and pain.
Only one impression remained in Felix’s mind.
Bold. And practical.
He had always thought the Bloodied Spear Order’s spearmanship was the pinnacle of practicality. Yet Elbridge’s sword revealed something beyond it.
Felix felt as though his consciousness were blooming, stepping onto a higher plane.
*
Only one opponent remained before Elbridge now—the head paladin of the Bloodied Spear Order.
The two men stared at each other in silence.
Elbridge was the one bleeding. The head paladin had not suffered so much as a scratch.
Yet every soul in the arena already knew how this battle would end.
The head paladin seemed to sense it too. He gripped his spear shaft with white-knuckled force, determined to block at least one blow before he fell.
Instead of charging, however, Elbridge turned to the announcer.
“Announcer.”
“Yes?”
“If I win, can this match’s victory be recorded as belonging to the Rusty Shield Order?”
The announcer looked toward Scarlet, leader of the Spring Rain and Moss Order, with a bewildered expression. Scarlet nodded. She had not forgotten what Viveka had told her before the match began.
After a brief hesitation, the announcer shook his head.
“…It is not permitted under the regulations. Sir Elbridge entered as the champion of the Spring Rain and Moss Order.”
“I see.”
Elbridge’s right hand rose to the back of his neck. Gauntleted fingers unfastened the clasp between helmet and breastplate. He removed the helm, and his hair spilled free.
The unexpected gesture silenced the entire crowd. Every eye was fixed on him.
“I forfeit,” Elbridge said.
“…Pardon?”
The announcer, the head paladin, and every spectator stared in shock. A forfeit completely unrelated to the flow of the match?
It was an empty conclusion. Yet no one jeered.
After witnessing that performance, there was no one left in the arena who could bring themselves to boo.
Elbridge offered the head paladin a brief, courteous nod, then leapt down from the stage.
The announcer declared belatedly, “The winner is… the Bloodied Spear Order!”
By tradition, the victor’s name should have been roared at the top of every throat.
Instead the crowd remained silent, utterly bewildered.
Even after Elbridge had left the stage, the arena stayed quiet.
Hakon and Arvid approached and clapped him on the back.
“That was incredible!”
Scarlet added her own praise. “I knew you were strong, but I didn’t expect this. Go inside for now—we’ll treat those wounds immediately!”
Only Viveka still could not grasp the situation.
“Why did you forfeit all of a sudden? You would have won if you kept fighting!”
Elbridge almost laughed.
Everyone who had fought alongside him understood the reason. The person most directly involved was the only one who did not.
“It’s because of you.”
“Because of me? Why are you suddenly blaming—”
At last Elbridge let out a chuckle. He reached out with his gauntleted right hand and ruffled Viveka’s hair.
“You may not understand now, but you will by this time next year.”
With those words he turned and walked toward the waiting room. Viveka stared after him, still thoroughly confused.
*
Alone in the waiting room, Elbridge sat down and whispered softly.
“Goddess. I wanted to raise the order’s name from a slightly higher place… Yet it has come to this. I am sorry.”
“Sorry? Elbridge. Did you truly believe your Goddess was so starved for glory that she would covet even the dreams of that child named Viveka?”
“That is not what I meant.”
“If you understand, then all is well. And Elbridge, I cannot fathom why you feel guilt at all.”
“She is the child I cherish most. Can you truly hear nothing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen carefully. You will soon realize you have no reason to feel guilty whatsoever.”
Elbridge did as she asked and listened in silence.
The spectators’ cheers, which had begun late, now reached even the waiting room as a faint murmur.
At first the sound was small.
But it grew steadily, swelling until it dwarfed any ordinary roar the arena had ever known.
Countless voices were chanting the name of a man who was not even on the stage.
Every spectator was shouting at the top of their lungs—for Elbridge, for the Rusty Shield Order.
Elbridge rose from his seat and walked back toward the arena.
The moment the vanished champion reappeared, a cheer powerful enough to shake the stands erupted once more.
Never since the arena’s construction had such a thunderous ovation been heard.
“Rusty Shield! Elbridge! Rusty Shield! Elbridge!”
Only then did Elbridge whisper, so softly that only he could hear.
“Now I hear it clearly, Goddess.”