Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Same Bed, Different Dreams (3)
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Three days later, the carriage carrying Demian arrived in the County of Copperhead.
The venue for the mounted combat tournament was a vast plain near Copperhead Castle.
Temporary arenas for the mounted combat and tents for the guests to lodge in had been set up there.
‘They must have spent quite a bit of money.’
The temporary arena, fenced with wooden barriers, was enormous in scale.
The tents put up for guest lodging numbered well over dozens.
“Halt.”
As the carriage reached the entrance, a middle-aged man stepped forward to block it.
“Where do you hail from?”
“We’re from Viscount Haksen’s household.”
Victor replied promptly.
The middle-aged man began scanning the roster in his hand.
Suddenly, his eyes went wide.
“Could it be Sir Demian Haksen inside?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“My deepest apologies. I am Conner, head butler of the Copperhead Count’s household.”
The middle-aged man hastily straightened up.
“We’ll handle the carriage. This way, please.”
The servant led the three toward an inner tent.
“You two will use this one.”
The tent the servant showed them was incredibly spacious.
A plush carpet covered the floor, and there were two beds.
“The tent right beside it is for the attendants.”
Even the servant’s quarters were attached.
This qualified as extravagant luxury.
“A banquet will be prepared for this evening. Rest well until then. Summon me anytime for any discomfort.”
The servant bowed his head and exited.
“This is a fantastic tent. To provide us something like this. Count Copperhead must be quite generous with his spending.”
Abel marveled as he looked around the tent.
Demian, by contrast, showed little enthusiasm.
In his previous life, Count Copperhead had insulted Abel and mocked Viscount Haksen’s household.
‘It’s only because I’m famous that they’re treating us this well.’
The count had provided such fine lodging purely due to Demian’s reputation.
Something similar had happened in his past life.
The mercenary group Demian belonged to had been a nameless, insignificant outfit, so they received no decent treatment wherever they went.
They were even chased out penniless after completing commissions.
But once Demian’s feats brought them fame, everything flipped 180 degrees.
That was when Demian realized the immense power of reputation.
“Victor, go check your own quarters. Speak up if there’s any issue.”
“Yes! Understood.”
Victor responded loudly and left the tent.
Abel collapsed onto the bed. The long carriage ride had worn him out.
“You rest. I’ll scout the grounds outside.”
“Yes, underst……”
Abel suddenly bolted upright from the bed.
“I’ll come with you.”
“What? Why? Just rest.”
“No can do. I made a promise with Father.”
“Promise?”
“He said if you looked like you’d stir up trouble, I had to stop you.”
Demian burst out laughing at Abel’s words.
“Trouble? I’m not some child who’d cause a scene. Don’t worry—just rest.”
“No. I’m coming along.”
With Abel refusing to yield, Demian clicked his tongue inwardly.
‘Tch, Father already caught on.’
Demian’s reason for heading out was to survey the tournament grounds and the knights.
And if he crossed paths with Sophia Russell and her lover en route, he intended to crush them on the spot.
“Brother. Let’s head out.”
“……Fine.”
Demian muttered in a deflated tone.
* * *
Demian wandered the area with Abel, sizing up the knights.
‘Most are junior knights.’
Count Copperhead had restricted this mounted combat tournament’s participants to young men.
As a result, the vast majority were only at the junior knight level.
‘A rare few low-class knights, though.’
Roughly one in every five was a low-class knight.
Attaining low-class at such a young age spoke to their exceptional talent.
“Brother, look. The tournament grounds.”
Abel pointed ahead. The Copperhead household had erected a makeshift arena there.
Calling it makeshift didn’t do it justice—it was vast, with the earth evenly packed.
“Will this mounted combat tournament be a team event?”
Mounted combat encompassed various formats.
Some pitted one-on-one, others determined victors through group battles.
As long as knights fought from horseback, it qualified as mounted combat.
“Could even be monster hunting.”
Demian was gazing at the arena and chatting idly when—
“Wait, that guy there—isn’t that Demian Haksen?”
“Hmm? Looks like that portrait from before.”
A group of five or six approached Demian Haksen.
Sturdy builds, swords at their hips.
Knights here for the mounted combat, no doubt.
“Demian Haksen?”
One knight addressed Demian. The only low-class knight among them.
“And if I am?”
The knights exchanged glances and chuckled. Smiles brimming with ill intent.
“Thrilled to meet the famous Demian Haksen in the flesh.”
“Slayer of black mages, victor over the Ryanbloom Marquis household’s heir?”
“Some truly astonishing rumors. Hard to swallow, really.”
The knights began encircling Demian.
“But I’ve heard about your past…… Weren’t you a notorious wastrel until just months ago?”
“Kicked out of taverns for brawling, pawning family heirlooms for massive loans?”
“Absurd tales, aren’t they? No way the great Sir Demian was such refuse.”
Derision oozed from their tones and faces.
“We’ve heard so many of those rumors, though. Thought we’d verify them this time.”
The knight who’d first spoken rested a hand on his sword hilt.
True to being the sole low-class knight, he took point for anything requiring force.
‘Sure enough, types like these appear.’
Rumors spread like wildfire, yet gaining true acceptance took ages.
Especially for Demian, who’d amassed colossal fame in so short a span.
He’d anticipated that this mounted combat tournament would draw those seeking to test the rumors’ truth.
“Perfect. My body’s all stiff from that endless carriage ride anyway.”
Demian stretched his arms as he spoke.
“Brother, no.”
“What’s that?”
“You promised Father…… no causing trouble.”
“But they picked the fight first. You want me to just swallow it?”
“Well…… but……”
Abel sighed.
“Please wrap it up as quietly as possible……”
“Fine. I won’t kill ’em.”
“That’s not……”
The knights scowled at the exchange.
“What impudent drivel……”
“It really is Demian Haksen?”
Then came another voice from afar.
“Came to check the commotion, and yep, it’s him. Didn’t think I’d run into you this quick.”
A young man strode over from the distance. A young woman walked beside him.
“Filthy pleased to cross paths like this.”
The young man bared a feral grin.
* * *
Demian stared hard at the young man’s face.
Rack his brains as he might, no memory surfaced.
“What’s this punk doing pretending we’re pals?”
“Punk? After taking a beating from me, you pull this? Kinda hurts.”
“Beating?”
Demian cocked his head. The woman beside the man then spoke up.
“Hmph. Playing tough guy now? Embarrassed by that incident? Pointless. We all remember, even if you feign ignorance.”
“Who the hell are you to chime in?”
Demian scowled.
He was already irked by the knights’ contempt—now this total stranger was sneering at him too.
“Brother, what’s with you all of a sudden?”
“What?”
“That’s Sophia Russell. The guy next to her is her lover, Jackson Cutter.”
Demian’s eyes bulged at the words.
His recollection of Sophia Russell had been hazy, but he hadn’t expected to miss her standing right there.
‘So that’s Jackson Cutter.’
Demian sized up Jackson Cutter.
Sharp nose, keen gaze. Far handsomer than anticipated.
‘No wonder Sophia Russell fell head over heels.’
Handsome features atop low-class knight prowess.
The Russell Viscount household’s engagement annulment suddenly made sense.
“What’re you staring at? Legs trembling at old memories?”
Jackson Cutter smirked. Demian mirrored the smile.
What the fuck is this scum spouting?
“……Hey. What’re you doing ignoring us?”
The earlier knight snapped irritably.
He glared at Jackson Cutter.
“You—whoever you are—Demian Haksen’s ours first. So beat it quietly.”
“Saying my lines? I’ve got business with Demian Haksen too. You beat it.”
“Cheeky bastard.”
The knight closed in on Jackson Cutter, radiating hostility.
“Some fools only wise up after tasting blood.”
“Yeah, yeah, got it—just come at me already.”
“You little shit!”
The knight erupted, seizing Jackson Cutter’s collar.
In that instant, Jackson Cutter slammed a fist into the knight’s gut.
“Gurk!”
The knight doubled over. He reeled back, even retching.
“Sir Berry?”
The trailing knights panicked.
Sir Berry was a low-class knight.
For a knight of that caliber to writhe from a single punch?
‘Released mana on impact.’
Demian pinpointed why Sir Berry suffered so.
Mana discharged through the abdominal strike, inflicting internal damage.
‘Mastering such an advanced technique.’
Knights relied on aura, habituated to channeling mana into blades.
Yet mana offered boundless applications.
‘He’s exceptionally capable.’
Knowing the skill was one thing—wielding it adeptly was proof of Jackson Cutter’s caliber.
“You scum! Laying hands on Sir Berry!”
One companion clutched his sword hilt. Jackson Cutter’s gaze turned glacial.
“Draw if you like…… but you die?”
The knight blanched under Jackson Cutter’s killing intent.
He was junior knight caliber at best.
Enduring that level of menace was impossible.
“W-We’ll settle this later!”
The knights scooped up Sir Berry and bolted.
“Cleared the pests…… now, time to handle our business…… What?”
Jackson Cutter turned to Demian—then jolted in dismay.
Demian Haksen beamed radiantly at his brother.
“Brother……”
“Hey, I didn’t start this.”
“Well…… but……”
Abel heaved a deep sigh.
“Please…… resolve it quietly, if at all possible.”
“No question.”
Demian closed in on Jackson Cutter and proffered his right hand.
“What’s this nonsense?”
“Why? Just a handshake.”
Jackson Cutter’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Fine. Why not.”
Jackson Cutter clasped Demian’s hand.
Instantly, Jackson Cutter’s body launched skyward.
“……Huh?”
Before he could process it, his head plunged headfirst into the dirt.