Civil Servant Marygold (4) - The Gauntlet Thrown
“Lancel Dante.”
Count Runter’s face grew ice-cold. A subtle aura of intimidation boiled up around him, making the surrounding dirt and sand tremble.
The onlookers suspected the count might be possessed by a spirit, but Lancel knew better. The man was perfectly fine.
He could feel the thick calluses filling the count’s palms and the mana steadily rising from him. This was the true nature of Count Runter as Lancel had witnessed it: a veteran knight who hadn’t let go of his sword for a single day even in his advanced years.
Any greenhorn would lose strength in their legs just facing him. Even the guards were instinctively stepping back.
“Do you know what your action just now signifies?”
“I’m a knight too, Your Excellency.”
Lancel met his gaze with clear eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I know the meaning of a duel staked on one’s life?”
“Considering you’re still a foolish boy, I’ll give you one chance to take it back. Pick up the sword you threw and go.”
Count Runter’s half-lidded eyes were as cold as ice.
“Think it over carefully, you reckless pup of House Dante. If you back down now, it might be dishonorable, but you won’t regret that choice for the rest of your life. Hurry and pick it up. I have children of my own. I don’t want to send pointless condolences to Viscount Dante.”
Die, or run. That’s what he was saying. Lancel’s answer was already decided.
“You know it well enough. A knight gets no second chances.”
“……Very well.”
Count Runter glanced back.
The knights guarding him had eyes blazing like fire. They were itching to teach this insolent young knight a lesson right then and there.
“Who will step forward?”
“My lord, allow me……”
“All of you.”
The air froze the instant Lancel’s voice fell. Frost seemed to creep in, dropping the night air several degrees in a heartbeat.
“I’ll defeat every knight here. Your Excellency, Count Runter.”
“…….”
Tilting his head slightly, Lancel continued.
“The honor of Archivist Mary, and my own knighthood as Lancel Dante. It’d just invite mockery if that’s worth only one knight.”
“Ugh……”
“That’s why I told you not to strut around needlessly.”
“But still……”
“No buts. Look at the mess you’re in. You’re not even a criminal.”
Marygold shivered from the chill wind blowing through the gaping hole where the window should be.
Locked in the spire of Runter Manor, she was already trembling with frustration, and now Pina’s nonstop nagging piled on, sending her self-esteem crashing to rock bottom.
At her feet sat a bowl of oatmeal porridge, slop-like and adding fuel to her misery.
“Just apologize now and beg forgiveness. They said they’d let you go. Why keep being stubborn?”
“……My record as an administrator……”
“Rot here forever for all I care. Not my problem.”
“Aaaah!”
Marygold clutched her head and screamed.
“Aaaaaah……Huh?”
Just then, a commotion reached her ears. Noises drifting up from outside the spire window.
It sounded like a huge uproar—people rushing about frantically.
“Count Runter, Your Excellency! Lancel Dante of House Dante Viscount has come to prove his knighthood!”
The familiar voice rang in her ears the next moment.
“Ah! Don’t lean out like that, it’s dangerous!”
Pina cried out in alarm. Marygold had thrust her body out the window of the spire.
The manor’s courtyard came into view. And a man with a familiar face and build.
“Sir Lancel?”
7.
“Henry Hockwood. I won’t hold back on strength control, understand?”
A tall man stepped forward gripping a bastard sword. He towered a full head over Lancel.
This was a duel of pure knighthood—no mana allowed. The two faced off with nothing but their steel blades.
“I’ll yield the first move. Come at me.”
“Yeah?”
Lancel didn’t hesitate.
He leaped forward in a massive stride. The ground scenery slid past beneath his feet.
“I see it!”
The knight stared wide-eyed at Lancel charging low.
He raised his blade high and brought it crashing down. It had enough force to carve into Lancel’s shoulder in one blow.
“I’ve won!”
The moment victory seemed certain, Lancel’s body slyly slipped past the blade. The sudden shift stole the knight’s timing completely.
“……!”
The pommel at the sword’s hilt filled the knight’s vision.
A dull impact crashed over him. His sight shook, his ears rang. Only then did he realize he was sprawled on the ground.
“Lie still for a day, and you’ll walk again.”
Lancel wiped the blood from the pommel with a handkerchief.
“Next.”
The air shifted.
The knights’ gazes on Lancel had changed. At the very least, everyone knew he wasn’t just talk.
“Walter Bailey.”
The next opponent strode forward. A young man still.
No wasted motion in how he raised his longsword. “Nice form,” Lancel murmured, stroking his chin.
“Fine knights, all of them, Your Excellency. My father would be jealous seeing such loyal men.”
“You still have the leisure to praise your foes, eh?”
“Maybe Your Excellency should relax a bit too.”
Did he take Lancel’s words as an insult? The young knight narrowed his eyes.
“Here I come, Sir Lancel.”
“Anytime.”
The young knight crept forward slowly—then vanished from sight in an instant.
“Haat!”
He’d dropped his stance below waist level. Like a beast licking the dirt.
Swaaak—!
His blade tip surged up from knee height, aiming dead center at Lancel’s body.
“Good sword, but……”
Lancel twisted with a smile. The instant the blade grazed past, his shoulder slammed into the young knight’s torso.
Center of gravity shattered, the knight spun half around and crashed back-first. No chance to recover—Lancel’s blade was already at his nape.
“You lack experience. Not much practice without mana, huh?”
“……I yield.”
“Hone it. More practice, and you’ll be a great knight.”
“…….”
Two knights down.
In under ten minutes.
And the last fight wasn’t even a duel—it was closer to instruction. The gap was at least master and pupil.
The knights gathered at the manor sobered up.
“Geoffrey Lancaster. No mercy.”
“Come on. Want to finish before sunrise.”
Three clashes, then down.
“Gilbert. Show me your stuff.”
“You first.”
Swords clashed twice, then flew from his grip. Gilbert’s palms were soaked in blood.
“Arnold Duncan.”
“What a filthy huge body. Let’s see if the sword matches.”
He charged with a massive kiai—felled in one stroke.
“William Ford.”
Temple struck with the flat, out cold.
“Reiner Maximilian.”
Trip and pin. Done.
“Ragnar.”
Cut.
“Leopold Edgar! I’ll end this!”
Cut cut.
“Arthurway Doria!”
Cut cut cut.
……
“No!”
Marygold cried, covering her face.
Watching the fights drag on in the courtyard had her heart in her throat.
“Ugh! No!”
One.
Two.
“No……way?”
Three.
Four.
“……?”
“He’s winning them all?”
Marygold stared in bewilderment at the knights collapsing helplessly before him.
Honestly, she had no firm idea how skilled a knight he was. Stronger than a mercenary, sure—that was it.
But past five, past ten.
Past ten to twenty knights felled.
And when the twenty-first opponent appeared before Lancel.
Kaaaaang—!
The fight’s mood shifted.
……
“Let’s see, how many left?”
Lancel counted the remaining in the manor with his fingers. From dozens at the start, now barely half.
Most had limped off for treatment or slumped, shaking off the aftereffects.
“Seventeen left.”
Lancel rolled his shoulders.
A few sweat drops on his face, but no panting or fatigue. Like he’d just finished warming up.
“Who’s next? Time’s wasting—come on out and end this. Guards need sleep too.”
“One bout, please. Chester……”
“Enough.”
As the next knight moved to step up, Count Runter spoke.
After a moment’s silence, he continued.
“Adelhardt.”
“Yes, Father.”
A man from behind the knights strode forward. Lancel quirked one corner of his mouth.
Finally showing up.
Seeing the familiar face brought a wave of nostalgia.
Adelhardt Edric Runter……the Star Knight.
How to sum up this era of the empire in one phrase?
The age of courtly romance? The empire’s final golden era? The calm before the war-torn storm? The peak of debauchery among the capital nobles?
No.
Lancel believed any future history book on this time would title it the Age of Heroes’ Rise.
An era when countless future heroes had just reached adulthood, hatching from their shells. When the promising talents began wielding sword and spell, making their names known.
Adelhardt was one of them. A hero who’d shine in the coming wars.
Though his blade turned against the empire, earning him the traitor label. From another’s view, he was every bit a hero. No wonder they called him the Star Knight.
There was reason such praise clung to a rebel. He was a knight great enough to captivate even enemy nations.
From his 0th to 3rd loops, spent mired in battlefields, Lancel had clashed with him often enough to know the face intimately.
“You step up.”
“Leave it to me, Father.”
Adelhardt’s eyes flashed sharp. Like stars in the night sky.
“Sir Lancel. I know well you’re an excellent knight.”
Adelhardt drew a gleaming silver blade—a long, thick greatsword.
Arm extended, sword tip leveled at Lancel.
“Still, I don’t think I’ll lose.”
“Confidence is good. Come on.”
“Then.”
The Star Knight stepped forward.
“Here I come.”
Thud—the compressed power exploded from his heel slamming the ground.
Arm, shoulder, waist, heel rotated in sync, blade slicing horizontally true.
The problem was the speed.
Far beyond human limits, the swing cleaved with force to bisect Lancel’s upper body.
Thud—!
The air-splitting whoosh.
Adelhardt’s strike hammered Lancel’s hilt dead-on.
Kaaaaang!
The roar shook their ears. Sparks flew, lighting the night.
As expected of a genius!
Lancel grinned. He couldn’t help feeling thrilled at facing a real deal after so long.