Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 034
Chapter Title: Glorious Battlefield
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Among the Arman Alliance, the kingdom where jousting tournaments reigned supreme was Libert. That said, Pendia was right there with it when it came to sheer popularity.
After all, wasn't Pendia the most martial of the five kingdoms, the one that idolized strength and went wild for knights?
You could tell just from how Roden knew the name of Peonil, the record-holding champion from neighboring Libert's jousting circuit. The people of Pendia had an insane passion for these tournaments.
As such, the jousting event held in the capital of Hasra was the biggest festival around, second only to a handful of major national ceremonies.
Folks hotly debated who would claim victory this time around, wagering their daily wages on the outcome.
"Hm?"
Baron Rabayan, the royal chamberlain who oversaw this hugely anticipated event, scowled at an application form.
A mere knight's entry should've been handled far below his level.
"What the hell is this doing on my desk..."
As he scanned the form, Baron Rabayan quickly understood why his subordinates had escalated it.
Shan of House Barendil. Born in Libert. Knighted by Pendia's Princess Sherin. Black hair, green eyes. Altoin.
'An Altoin knight?'
He barely had time to scoff at the absurdity before contacting the records office and pulling the knight registry. Sure enough, a knight by that exact name was listed.
Baron Rabayan immediately summoned the records clerks and tore into them.
"How in the world did something this critical slip through without a report?!"
"W-We apologize, sir. Princess Sherin specifically instructed us not to bother the higher-ups with the knighting of some nobody knight..."
Hearing that, Baron Rabayan lost any desire to chew them out further. He let out a light sigh and waved them off.
No lowly clerk would dare ignore a 'suggestion' from the princess.
She held no official position, but from a young age, she'd called out irrational and corrupt systems, dismantling them one by one. The bureaucrats adored her for it.
'The princes find out about this, it'll be a shitstorm.'
When royalty clashed, it was guys like him—direct aides—who ended up dying on the hill.
The thought of getting bounced around between factions drew another involuntary sigh.
In any case, there was no rule barring an Altoin from competing—naturally, since none had ever qualified. With a thud, the baron slammed down his approval stamp.
If he was going to catch heat anyway, better to stick to the rules.
The jousting grounds were an ancient arena from the old Arman Empire days.
Its massive stands, built to hold up to ten thousand, rose in a perfect circle around the central field.
Long ago, it had been called the "Glorious Battlefield," famed for the times the emperor himself came to watch gladiatorial bouts.
Usually empty, the seats now brimmed with spectators eager for the joust.
"[Glory to the Goddess, loyalty to the royal house! The royal Hasra Jousting Tournament begins now!]"
The voice, amplified by a magic tool, boomed across hundreds of meters, drawing roars from the crowd.
"[First contender! Sir Darmun of House Kallai, from the southern Luman Kingdom! Knighted by Viscount Shuld, lord of Beo Island. Hero who hunted siren packs of the southern seas and crushed the Black Moon pirate fleet!]"
Sir Darmun strode into the arena, raising a hand to the cheering masses.
The announcer continued calling out participants one by one from their waiting rooms scattered around the grounds. Midway through, his expression faltered.
"[Ah, this one... Twenty-eighth contender! Shan of House Barendil, from Libert! Knighted by Pendia's Princess Sherin. The young hero who slew Obilos's man-eating troll and a cockatrice from the Demon Realm! And... he is an Altoin!]"
The crowd froze for a split second, then erupted in cheers several times louder than before.
The star of those rampant cockatrice-hunting rumors was competing?
No knight dumb enough to fake credentials would dare enter a royal tournament.
"He's smaller than I expected. Thought he'd be some massive brute."
"Looks like a kid... Wait, he is a kid."
"That brat took down a cockatrice?"
"I think I heard some nonsense about an Altoin boy doing the hunt."
"An Altoin as a knight? Come on."
"He's faking his identity—"
Impersonating a knight was serious business, religion aside.
Murmurs rippled through the stands in seconds. Roden dashed to the announcer's side.
"What the hell's going on?!"
"It's right here in the knighting charter: he was dubbed a knight by the princess as an Altoin. See for yourself."
The announcer groaned softly at the prepped document. Shan's name, house, crest, physical description—all there. Sealed at the bottom by House Hasra itself.
VIP box officials came and went a few times. Then the announcer bellowed through his magic tool.
"[Attention! Sir Shan of House Barendil is of Altoin blood. The matter has royal sanction! He faces no disqualification as a knight!]"
Protests rained from Old Faith spectators, but the announcer steadfastly called the next name.
Meanwhile, Shan raised and lowered the detachable visor on his helm a few times, per tournament rules.
Vital safety measure—lance shards could easily stab his face otherwise.
Surveying the arena, Shan's face mixed awe and thrill.
"Whoa... this is insane."
"If this hadn't wrapped up quick, we'd be up there too, Sir Shan."
Mindful of the crowd, Roden spoke formally as his squire.
Shan grimaced awkwardly at the tone, then turned back to the spectators.
Thousands upon thousands of eyes bored in: curiosity, excitement, suspicion, even hostility and envy...
The sheer heat of their collective gaze felt like physical pressure.
"Cockatrice, huh?"
"Bullshit."
"An Altoin knight? Get real!"
Not just the crowd ogled Shan and Roden. Nearby knights listening to intros stared in disbelief too.
Bragging had limits. This scrawny kid looked like a stiff breeze—or a tap from any burly knight—would send him flying. Troll? Cockatrice? And an Altoin to boot?
The royals weren't idiots; they wouldn't knight some faker with bogus feats. But this story stretched credulity too far.
"How's the armor fitting? Not much time to adjust."
"Feels fine. Not uncomfortable at all. Damn fine craftsmanship."
"Made by the fifth-generation master plate armorer here in the capital."
Shan nodded at Roden's words, glancing down at his full plate.
This was a privilege reserved strictly for knights.
Full iron protection everywhere but the joints. Intricate design that didn't sacrifice mobility much compared to chainmail.
A properly made suit cost more than a decent warhorse.
Still growing, he'd need a new set once he shot up taller. The thought nearly brought tears.
And this one even bore potent defensive enchantments.
Shan stroked the faintly glowing armor thoughtfully.
'Gotta thank 'em properly next time.'
Two days before the tourney, the armor finished, he'd hit the mage academy for enchantments. Backlog was insane; no specialist available amid knights begging for their own gear.
Then some mages snuck him upstairs and enchanted it gratis. Courtesy of big-spender Princess Sherin, naturally.
"Hmph, at least he got himself some shiny new plate."
"Cockatrice must've trashed his old one."
"Bet they enchanted the crap outta that thing!"
Another reason for the jealous, contemptuous stares from fellow knights.
Theirs bore scars from countless melees, even well-maintained. Shan's gleamed like it'd never seen a fight.
Then the announcer's voice rang out.
"[Thirty-fifth contender! Sir Katr of House Dalik, from Rondo Gorge! The young hero who felled the banshee of Lanche Plains, the haunted tiger of Corban Village, and Obilos's man-eating troll!]"
"No way?"
Shan perked up at the familiar name and deeds. Roden nodded along.
"Sounds like him... Yeah, definitely."
Sure enough, in strode Sir Katr, troll-hunting partner from before. Kid squire at his side was familiar too.
The young knight scanned around sternly, lit up at Shan, and approached grinning.
"Thought it was a namesake, but it's really you! How the hell are you here? Knighted already?"
His tone suggested Shan's Altoin status as knight wasn't the shock—just doing it in a year.
Happy to see a familiar face, Shan grinned back.
"Yeah. Kinda fell into it."
"You two know each other, Sir Katr?"
A bearded middle-aged knight—built scrawny, giving him a shady vibe—cut in.
"Ah, Baron Lagol! Long time. Yes, Shan here... knight now, right? Sir Shan. We go way back. Hunted that Obilos troll together. Owed him my life back then."
True to form, Sir Katr openly admitted being saved by Shan.
Un-knightly honesty about honor stunned nearby knights.
"He really bagged a troll?"
"And now they say the kid got the cockatrice too."
Sir Katr blinked, remembering.
"Right, was gonna ask. You got the cockatrice? That stone lizard? For real?"
"Not entirely solo—got some help."
"Hard to believe, but... guy who fought a troll one-on-one without even awakening his aura? Doubting you's silly. Didn't hear about you there, though."
"Was in the Demon Realm till recently. Got it there."
"You keep the head?"
"Planted in the garden of the house I'm crashing at."
"Gotta see it. Mind if I swing by after the tourney?"
Less doubt, more genuine curiosity about the trophy.
Made sense—knights chased 'em for decades and rarely saw one.
"Of course."
"Thanks! Better head to my spot. Good jousting."
Sir Katr retreated. Onlooks on Shan shifted.
From "what a pathetic faker" pity to "maybe...?" intrigue.
Roden whispered low.
"Shame."
"Why?"
"They'd have underestimated you. Easy first round."
"Just win with skill. Done."
Tricking the careless wasn't champ material anyway.
Roden smirked in agreement.
The announcer wrapped up, gathering over eighty knights in the vast arena.
A count's pep talk followed. Soon, the first bout kicked off.
"[First match: Sir Ron of House Kacha versus Baron Garn! Goddess bless the victor!]"
"Win it!"
"Kill him!"
Excited horses snorted and stamped amid the roaring cheers.
Moments later, the pair charged full tilt from opposite ends.
"Go, go, go!"
"Ooooh!"
Lances couched under arms, blunt-tipped for the tourney. Seconds of thunderous gallop.
They crossed—boom echoing across the field. One knight tumbled off.
"Ahh!"
"No! Get up! Please!"
"My money..."
"Yes! We won! Paid off!"
Cheers and groans from friends and gamblers alike.
The fallen knight, out cold, got default loss. Waiting priests healed him awake.
"I... lost?"
"Well fought, my lord."
"Nngh..."
He winced, clutching his lance-bruised chest.
As Roden checked their horses, Shan stared out the window, entranced.
'Wow...'
He'd seen knights duel on battlefields, even jousted-ish with Peonil. But a full tourney? First time.
Up close, the raw power dwarfed his imaginings.
Stripped of all distractions, pure one-on-one. Their focus was otherworldly.
Each fall sparked waves of cheers and wails, heightening the drama.
Felt like puppeteering thousands' emotions through the fight.
"Don't stare too hard."
A knight across from Shan murmured.
"Huh?"
"Watching others stiffens you up from nerves. Better center yourself. Calms the aura for handling it right."
Misread Shan's focus as fear. Pure advice, no mockery. Shan nodded and sat.
Closing eyes, inward focus—he felt it: overexcited buzz.
Jousting in that state? Aura flow would've been sloppy.
Not decisive for victory, but still.
Mind settled, his name boomed outside.
"[Next: Shan of House Barendil versus Garn of House Pinua!]"
Shan shot up. His advisor-opponent did too.
Awkward stares.
"First-round matchup, huh..."
Shan bowed lightly.
"Here's to a good match."
"Aye."
In the arena, Shan dropped his visor, gripped lance and shield.
Opposite, his foe prepped similarly.
Flags crossed at midpoint: Barendil crest versus Pinua.
'Ready...'
Flag up—horses thundered.
Shan aimed, recalling Sir Darkal's jousting tips.
'First: lance and shield handling.'
Pinpoint headshot from full gallop? Brutal.
Chest compromise? More shield blocks, less unhorsing impact.
Plus defend your own. Three eyes short.
For Shan? Breathing easy. Dual-wielding pro—thrust and block? Trivial.
'Second: horse control.'
Unlike some locals, no barriers. Could swerve mid-charge, pass left-to-right.
Fleeing? DQ.
No reins with lance/shield. Precision tough. Botch the glance, horses collide—lucky bad injuries, unlucky death. Horses instant.
'Third: aura control.'
The alpha and omega.
Vets clash lance-on-shield often. Top bouts hinge on splitting aura between offense/defense at impact.
Holding opposing intents—attack/defense—in aura? High skill. Most specialize one.
Invisible, so gut/exp reliant.
All aura to lance, smash chest off?
Shield max, block then minimal headshot?
Split even, tank some hoping foe overcommits, counter?
Overdo, neglect basics.
'Which'll it be...'
Shan eyed his foe, distributing aura to lance and shield.
Key: no 'pierce' intent on lance.
'Impact' unhorses fine—neck snaps or organ mush accidental. 'Pierce' through shield/plate? Heinous assassination.
Collision: Shan angled shield to glance the lance away, his own shoving foe's helm.
Foe skimped aura knowing block unlikely. Speed alone boomed him off—full aura? Neck gone.
"He won!"
"The boy knight did it!"
Cheers erupted for the upset.
Humans love underdogs toppling giants.
Shan's ~160cm frame toppling a half-head-taller adult? Catharsis gold.
Altoin or not.
Back at station, Roden took reins grinning.
"Well fought, Sir Shan."
"Jousting's way more fun than I thought."
Leaps beyond hearing about it.
Especially the mind games beyond physical.
"Buy another suit later? Joust between us?"
"Mercy, please."
Shan chuckled at Roden's groan, but his sharp ears snagged cheers amid the buzz and jeers.
"Awesome, Shan!"
"You got this!"
"Win the next one too!"
Few Altoins in the arena—wealthy ones affording tickets, still far from elite.
Yet one of theirs, a boy no less, shone brightest below.
How could their blood not boil? How not scream it out?
Spotting them, Shan grinned, hoisting his lance high.