V. O, Glory of the Tournament! (15)
V. O, Glory of the Tournament! (15)
"Undefeated Knight?"
"That's what everyone's been calling you. Haven't you heard?"
"First I'm hearing of it."
Keldric shook his head with a perplexed look. Undefeated Knight—he had no idea.
"Who does 'Undefeated Knight' even refer to? Could it be Sir Ortvin?"
"No. It's a title for you, Sir Keldric, not Sir Ortvin."
"...Me?"
"Yesss."
He had won every tournament match he'd fought so far, but Keldric hadn't thought he'd actually shown anything special.
To put on a show in a tournament match, you needed flashy, eye-catching, dazzling skill—and Keldric knew nothing about that sort of thing. He just smashed everything in his path.
And yet, somehow, the result was even more intense attention and roaring cheers. A look of bemusement rose on Keldric's face.
"Why me?"
"Why? Because you've won every single match you've fought so far, that's why!"
Sir Henri, who'd been guzzling wine like water, threw an arm around Keldric's shoulders.
The thick smell of alcohol jabbed at Keldric's nose repeatedly.
"It can't be that many matches."
"Even that alone is remarkable. No matter how you look at it, after five matches or so, a man ought to have at least one loss—but you crushed them all with sheer skill, didn't you?"
"Well, that's..."
Thinking it over after hearing Sir Alan's words, it really was rather impressive.
To have entered a tournament—a tournament as grand and prestigious as the Bogenberg Tournament—and to have won five matches in a row by flat-out overpowering everyone with skill was, in itself, remarkable.
Hearing it put that way, even Keldric, who'd figured he'd just gotten past the people he was supposed to get past and climbed up without much fuss, found himself newly impressed.
"Sir Rupert did win six consecutive tournament victories elsewhere, but that's counting final tournament wins. Even Sir Rupert lost individual matches here and there."
Entering a large-scale tournament and winning every single match en route to victory was, so far, one of the very rarest of records.
It was also the chivalric ideal of every knight.
To face any opponent boldly, to fight with courage, and to seize glory through honorable yet overwhelmingly superior martial prowess—that was the very model of knighthood.
"Plenty of other knights want to meet you as well. I suppose it's thanks to being moved by your honorable conduct."
On top of that, after the match just ended, Keldric had gone so far as to divide the rewards fairly.
In group combat, it was customary for a knight to take the shares of the opponents he personally brought down. By the rules, Keldric would have been in the right to take home five or six men's worth of rewards.
But Keldric took only the shares from Sir Rupert and Sir Ricart, whom he had clearly felled himself, and gave all the remaining shares to the knights of the Blue Dragoon Team.
Quite a few knights were moved by that sight. In fact, after the match ended, several knights came up to Keldric to shake his hand.
Of course, Keldric hadn't intended any of that.
Nor had he split things fairly because he was a pushover. Keldric's decision to share the rewards had its own reasons.
'It'd just be too shameless.'
Snatching it all up and keeping his mouth shut would have looked utterly wretched.
When you got down to it, Keldric had barged in and swept everything away before the other knights could even fight properly, so he'd unintentionally robbed them of their chances.
No knight would particularly object if Keldric claimed his full share, but they'd still have reason to feel discontented.
Besides, when it came to money, Keldric had already earned more than enough from the betting dividends, so he felt no need to indulge unnecessary greed. He considered connections with other knights and their goodwill to be far more important.
Connections and personal goodwill—especially the goodwill of knights, who were proud and foul-tempered—were not easily won.
There were two ways to win their favor: mollify them with wealth, or act with the honor befitting chivalry.
By simply refraining from greed, Keldric had, in effect, caught both rabbits at once.
"To be honest, if it hadn't been for you, the Blue Dragoon Team would have been at a bit of a disadvantage. The other side had Sir Rupert, after all."
"Ah, Sir Rupert."
"Right. He was holding off two knights in the center, and he wasn't easily pushed back."
Sir Rupert's skill was genuinely formidable. Up until now, Keldric had never taken a single wound in all his fights.
But this time was different. Keldric surreptitiously touched his side, which stung a little.
He'd just checked a moment ago—beneath the chain mail and gambeson, a faint bruise had formed.
It was fortunate that the swords used in the tournament had their edges blunted.
If it had been Sir Rupert's real sword, honed razor-sharp, Keldric would have been forced to adopt a different strategy.
"Does your side still hurt?"
When Keldric touched his flank, Sir Henri raised an eyebrow and looked at him.
As far as Keldric was concerned, it didn't particularly hurt. It was just a little irritating.
"No. I'm fine."
"If it hurts too much, tell me. Word must have gotten around, because a fairly famous barber has set up nearby."
"Ah, er..."
In this era, barbers who cut hair and beards often doubled as physicians, specifically handling surgical procedures.
If a bone broke or flesh tore, the proper thing was to sew it up or at least wrap it in clean cloth.
But barbers, who were regarded as the equivalent of professional surgeons, tended to slather gaping wounds with a paste of herbs mixed with wine.
Other people might not know better, but to Keldric's eyes they were practically indistinguishable from quack doctors.
Keldric figured he'd rather go back to the inn and apply a compress to the affected area himself.
He didn't have any other decent solution anyway, and it was a light wound to begin with.
"I'm fine."
"All right. If you say so, then that's how it is."
Sir Henri placed boundless trust in Keldric.
They already conversed easily and got along splendidly, and since what had remained was only the proof of martial strength—and Keldric had now proven even that—he was as good as a lifelong friend.
"You mustn't be in pain. If by chance the pain worsens or anything, I'll introduce you to a physician I know well. He's an Academia graduate, no less."
Sir Alan had grown even more warmly disposed toward him as well.
But it wasn't simply because he admired Keldric's martial prowess—it was also because he'd won the match that took place right after Keldric's.
Thanks to that, with the atmosphere now thoroughly convivial, Keldric turned his gaze toward the field where the third match was underway.
"Sir Ortvin! Sir Ortvin!"
"The invincible White Horse Knight!"
Sir Ortvin was fighting desperately inside the arena.
He was facing no fewer than three knights, and the way he endured, taking hits now and then yet holding on to the end without missing his moment to strike back—even in Keldric's eyes, the skill was admirable.
Moreover, his toughness was far sturdier than expected. Despite his epithet of White Horse Knight, Sir Ortvin showed a splendid fight even without his horse.
"The victors of this match are the valiant knights of the Blue Woodpecker Team! May God grant mercy and love to the defeated!"
"Waaaaah—!"
In the end, the victory went to the knights of the Blue Woodpecker Team, to which Sir Ortvin belonged.
Following Keldric's Blue Dragoon Team, several knights of the Red Paulownia Team—who had now lost even to Sir Ortvin—exploded with frustration.
And no wonder; no one had expected them to lose twice in a row with Sir Rupert among their ranks.
"Look at that. They seem properly incensed."
"...Is it because of me?"
"Strictly speaking, it's not only because of you. It's because their own skill was lacking... Tsk, tsk."
Sir Alan, watching the angry knights, delivered cold, cutting words.
As he said, Keldric had done nothing wrong. If they wanted to win, they simply needed to improve their skill.
"I'd thought a fight between the White Horse Knight, Sir Ortvin, and Sir Rupert, the Shield of Lichtenbaum, would be fascinating, but the picture's changed a bit now."
"It certainly has. After all, we've got the Undefeated Knight on this side, haven't we?"
Sir Alan's and Sir Henri's eyes converged on Keldric.
Keldric let out a low sigh and scratched his head.
Setting aside the question of how such a nickname was spreading by word of mouth, Keldric had something else to worry about right now.
Keldric pulled out the mace he'd slung roughly at his waist.
The head of the mace had flown off somewhere and was nowhere to be seen, and from being swung too brutally, the haft had splintered in the shape of his grip, reduced to little more than a rag.
The spare mace Keldric had kept in reserve was completely wrecked after just one match.
It hadn't been particularly expensive, but when you considered it was destroyed after a single match, it wasn't exactly cheap either.
'Damn. What a bloody waste.'
One per match. He'd bought cheap weapons on purpose, but smashing one to bits every single match was still infuriatingly wasteful.
Keldric stared at the mace with a trace of lingering regret, clicked his tongue, and looked elsewhere.
"Looks like the fourth match is about to start."
Regardless of the broken weapon, Keldric fought one more match after that.
Thanks to that, his fame rose far higher than before.
Now, even while he was leaving the tournament grounds, quite a few people recognized Keldric as the 'Undefeated Knight.'
To Keldric, it was an embarrassing nickname, but since people were calling him that, he had no choice but to accept it, sheepish though he felt.
Acquiring a distinct title was a good thing.
Knights who achieved astonishing or honorable feats generally built their renown that way.
Of course, if Keldric didn't win the tournament, all this talk of being undefeated and whatnot would naturally be forgotten. On the other hand, if he did win, then the epithet 'Undefeated Knight' would surely lead the way in spreading his fame from now on.
As the matches progressed, the number of eliminated knights steadily increased. The Red Paulownia Team, having lost twice today, were the protagonists of that story.
Watching the backs of the knights dejectedly leaving the arena, Keldric steeled his resolve.
And so the third day of the Bogenberg Tournament drew to a close.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
Why do people go wild over knights' brutal fights?
Most likely, it's largely the vicarious satisfaction of releasing the primal violence they've kept suppressed inside.
But no matter how fervently they throw themselves at such sensational spectacle, watching it for days on end is bound to get tiresome.
"There are no matches today?"
"Today is Lord Bogenberg's birthday, isn't it. There'll be a banquet at the castle."
After three breathless days, the tournament was temporarily suspended.
The banquet at the castle seemed intended to briefly refresh the tense tournament atmosphere and to mark the Count of Bogenberg's birthday while displaying his power and authority.
"I'm looking forward to the banquet food."
"What would a dim-witted Britas knight know? We'll be lucky if he doesn't grumble over his wine like some fellow from a house of dog pedigree. He ought to at least have that much sense."
"Oh, to hell with you! Just come at me! We'll settle this with a duel, right here!"
Naturally, Sir Henri and Sir Alan cared nothing for any of that and simply seemed thoroughly excited for the banquet.
Sir Henri's original reason for coming to Bogenberg—a distant relative—was apparently attending the banquet, and he also had the aim of arranging a match for that relative's betrothed.
Sir Alan's attitude was simply that anything good was good.
Imagining delicious food and drink and a merry banquet was enough to make even the normally composed Britas knight bubble with excitement.
"Sir Keldric. I'm sorry. I'm a little..."
Alisa was the opposite.
Being of fallen noble stock, she seemed thoroughly disinclined toward a banquet teeming with nobles and knights.
But as far as Keldric was concerned, he wanted Alisa by his side.
If he ended up meeting unfamiliar nobles or confronting banquet etiquette he didn't know well, Alisa—who was practically a walking encyclopedia—seemed like she would be a tremendous help.
"If it's truly uncomfortable, I won't press you. But I would like you to come along."
"..."
"If anyone picks a quarrel with you, tell me. I'll fend them off as best I can."
"I-I'll go..."
Keldric didn't have much to prepare.
Maintaining his armor was part of his daily routine, and all he really needed was one clean surcoat.
The surcoat he wore day to day often got blood-spattered or covered in dirt and dust.
He'd kept using it while washing it as best he could, but for an important occasion, observing proper form was a matter of courtesy.
From among the items crammed into Boreas's saddlebag, Keldric pulled out a spare surcoat he'd brought from home and put it on.
A clean surcoat of deep blue, bearing the image of a bear with a raised forepaw.
At a banquet like this, one's family crest was essential. In whatever manner, proudly displaying your house was, in itself, a duty.
"Today, I intend to drink until my nose goes crooked."
"You say that as if there's ever a day you don't. Are Frankish knights all nothing but drunkards like you?"
"Keep talking like that if you want to be humiliated at the banquet."
Dressed more cleanly than usual, Keldric mounted Boreas and, together with his companions, rode toward the castle that rose especially high above Bogenberg.
'A banquet, huh...'
He knew basic etiquette, but Keldric had never once attended a noble banquet.
Keldric was simply excited at the thought of experiencing fine food and the atmosphere of a banquet.
Using his head and engaging in shadowy intrigue didn't suit Keldric in the first place.