Tournament (2)
I left the arena behind as thunderous cheers poured down from the stands.
The knight who had refereed the first match approached with a dazed look and handed me a necklace.
It was the token of first place in the group—and something that would later be exchanged for prize money.
Heh heh.
The way people looked at me had changed.
If I had simply used a shield or a longsword in the ordinary way, some might have claimed the knights had only lost because they were exhausted.
But I had sent people flying with nothing but Shield Bash and subdued two armed knights bare-handed.
The performance had been the main point, yet at least a few of them must have realized the truth.
Edwin Revan was not some easy mark they could mock as a dark horse and point fingers at.
Basking in the spectators’ stunned stares and the cheers of the Cretus clergy, I made my way to the waiting room.
Along the way my eyes met Lady Ariella’s; her face was flushed and she quickly averted her gaze.
Apparently the raw, wild display had left her a little overwhelmed.
Couldn’t be helped.
She looked every bit the proper young lady, but she was still of an age that had not yet received Elysion’s blessing.
Not used to this kind of stimulation yet, I see.
Thinking that, I entered the waiting room—only to find my brother already there, brows furrowed as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I braced myself for another lecture about the family honor.
“You should have at least taken their heads.”
Huh?
“What’s with that face?”
“Nothing. Just… not the reaction I expected.”
I had been certain he would launch into the usual honor speech.
“Did you not hear their insults? Then of course you should make them pay the proper price.”
“O-ohhh…”
“Father always said that a man who means to accomplish great things must not let petty gossip or insults bother him. But those fools needed a sharp lesson if the family’s dignity is to be preserved.”
“Mmm, true enough.”
“The method was a little excessive, but that was so you could hide your full strength from the opponents you’ll meet in the main rounds, wasn’t it?”
Ah. Now I understood.
This is why gambling is terrifying.
My brother and I were bound by fate—we were in this together.
There was no need or reason for him to scold his own teammate here.
Actually, this is better.
Not having to listen to a lecture was a genuine relief.
“More importantly, sit down already. The next match is Lady Seraphina’s.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Tournament participants only had their names and blessings made public.
Yet somehow Lady Seraphina’s exact level was already known.
According to the rumors, she had introduced herself as “Seraphina Voltain, a Knight who has overcome thirty-three trials.”
Since one starts at level 1 the moment the blessing is received, that made her current level 34.
I didn’t think it was a bluff.
Nobles were a race that did not casually lie in public places.
Why, though?
A show of confidence that she was certain of victory?
Well, I’d find out soon enough.
I took the cheap snacks my brother had prepared and turned my eyes to the arena.
“If you were going to buy something, you could’ve gotten better ones.”
“You need money to buy things, don’t you?”
“…Brother.”
“Father always said that even if you live with your strength clenched tight most of the time, you can loosen your shoulders and enjoy a festival. You used to say the same thing—so why am I not allowed?”
At that point it’s just dislocation, Brother…
I watched the arena while chewing on a bland oat cake.
At first it looked little different from the opening match.
The participants gathered in the center and exchanged light probes.
Then a trumpet blast would signal the real fighting—that was the usual pattern.
But the second match unfolded in a completely different way from the one I had fought.
That’s a strategy in its own right.
Unlike the first match, where everyone had thoroughly ignored me, every gaze was fixed on Lady Seraphina.
They had probably tried to win her over and received a firm refusal.
I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw her shake her head several times.
Step. Step.
While everyone else swallowed dryly and tensed, only one person strolled freely across the arena.
She had already made enemies of every other participant, yet she walked as if it didn’t concern her in the slightest, heading straight for the center of the field.
A circular encirclement formed around her of its own accord.
What on earth was she planning?
I was still wondering when—
Shiiing.
Crack. Crackle!
Flash!
Blue lightning flared across the arena and wiped away the murmur of the crowd in an instant.
“Wh-what?!”
“Kyaaa!”
“Ugh!”
A searing azure flash, like the moment just before a thunderbolt strikes, swallowed the field.
Only afterward did the screams erupt, rolling through the arena like thunder itself.
Crack. Crackle!
Lightning still danced along the blade she had drawn.
“So that’s the Blue Lightning of House Voltain I’ve only heard about…!”
My brother stared at Lady Seraphina with eyes full of envy rather than tension.
Can’t blame him.
Performance aside, the visual effects were so spectacular that plenty of players had stuck with a pure lightning concept all the way to the ending.
Saber and main-gauche…
The defensive surface was narrower than a buckler or targe, but a main-gauche allowed far more aggressive use.
It meant she had considerable confidence in her skill.
And she seems to care about the showmanship too.
There was no real need to walk all the way to the center, nor to waste power by constantly discharging electricity.
Crack. Crackle!
Sparks flying in every direction had even scorched the tip of her cloak.
A bit of an airhead, maybe.
Once that thought struck me, the red cloth wrapped around her right arm for insulation suddenly took on a different meaning.
— Guh… the Black Flame Dragon in my right arm is going berserk…
A snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it.
Bwoooom—!
The trumpet sounded, and the participants charged Lady Seraphina as if they had rehearsed it.
No matter how strong the opponent, two blades could not block every attack.
Her armor was light, protecting only the vital points; if they rushed her from all sides they believed they could win.
I would have made the same call.
Even if their experience and levels were still lacking, each of them had been raised as a knight by their own house.
At least their tactical judgment was sound.
Crackle!
The lightning-wreathed saber swept out.
Unlike the relatively straightforward cuts of a two-handed straight sword, blue current flowed along the blade as it waved like water.
“Urgh… ghk!”
A light slash opened a path.
Through that narrow gap her form shot forward like a bolt of lightning itself.
Clang! Crackle!
From a distance her movement into the enemy’s midst was too fast to follow.
Only the trail of blue electricity that followed her gave any sense of the flow.
“Closer to a Warrior’s tactics than a Knight’s.”
My brother’s assessment was exact.
The knights who clashed blades with the electrified saber stiffened from the shock.
She slipped through the gaps created by those frozen living walls and, at point-blank range where swinging a sword was nearly impossible, lashed out with the main-gauche.
Even a short blade meant for defense became an excellent weapon in such close quarters.
The main-gauche’s short edge skimmed across a Warrior’s thigh.
As he cried out and toppled backward, she burst free from behind his bulk, scattering electricity, and leapt.
From a stance so low she was almost invisible, the saber whipped around like a surging current and lightly grazed the backs of hands and wrists.
Those struck by the current locked up completely; Lady Seraphina then tapped the frozen knights with the pommel of her saber.
They tumbled to the ground tangled together like bowling pins.
All of it happened in less than ten seconds.
Crackle!
The lightning-charged saber and main-gauche leveled at those still standing in a daze.
The remaining knights swallowed hard, glanced at one another, and raised both hands in unison.
With four left, even a forfeit would guarantee advancement to the main tournament—that was their calculation.
Beautiful.
It was as dramatic a composition as any knightly epic staged by a theater troupe.
Given the nature of a knight tournament, bloodshed was almost inevitable; yet the match had ended this cleanly, with no serious injuries…
“Haa…”
A sigh came from beside me.
“Lightning… truly a natural disaster.”
This guy?
“She really is something.”
It was clearly a money-dump build, yet her skill was already that of a fully matured knight.
But if what she had just shown was everything—
I can work with this.
I didn’t feel like I would lose.
Whirl!
She sheathed the main-gauche at her waist and flourished the saber through the air in a stylish reverse grip before returning it to its scabbard.
Then she scanned the spectators, spotted someone, flashed a bright smile, and quickly composed her expression again.
After that she offered a perfectly angled knight’s salute.
In that direction stood the Countess and Lady Ariella.
Apparently Lady Seraphina did have some prior connection with the Countess.
Judging by the Countess’s awkward little wave, however, her participation had been unexpected.
Well, she did ask me to escort Lady Ariella.
The Countess did not know my true strength.
At best she had heard from her knights that, contrary to the usual evaluation of Guardians, I possessed rather outstanding skill.
She would never have summoned such an irregular and then casually entrusted the escort to me.
What kind of relationship is it?
It bothered me a little, but—
Swoosh.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To grab even a ten-percent edge.”
“…Good thinking.”
She might show airheaded moments, but her skill was the real deal—exactly what one expected from a favorite.
In that case I needed to raise my odds even a little.
It should have been reconstructed by now.
An iron kite shield could not stop electricity.
So—
I’ll be imposing on you again.
All I needed was a shield that electricity could not pass through.
First match: Edwin’s bold, flashy performance.
Second match: Seraphina’s refined and dazzling display of martial artistry.
Just when everyone had expected a tournament full of greenhorns, two matches worth watching had come back-to-back.
The audience’s expectations soared as they waited for the next bout.
What they got instead was—
Clang, clang, clang!
Clang! Clang!
Thud! Thud! Thwack!
—a match so dull it made people yawn.
Swing and get hit and fall down.
Thrust and block and shove.
A tedious contest of pure strength with neither technique nor artistry.
At the end the knight who took first place in the group raised a fist with an exhausted face.
At first a few scattered claps could still be heard, but once the fifth match passed even that response vanished.
Most of the spectators had already left the arena to enjoy the festival.
For the participants it was an utterly unfair situation.
In a tournament that was essentially for fledglings, those featureless matches were the average.
“Hey, Royta. Do you think our evaluation is fair?”
“…After those two put on such a show up front, what can you do?”
Among the victims were the knight trainees of House Remington.
“Still, we have to give it our best. We’ll be knights of House Remington soon enough.”
Royta had been about to spit out something far harsher, then rubbed the jaw Edwin had punched.
From now on he would never let his guard down against anyone.
That was the path of an honorable knight.
“I just hope we don’t run into those two the moment we reach the main rounds.”
“Tell me about it.”
The two exchanged light jokes while eyeing the competitors in front of them.
Most looked like mediocre opponents.
There was just one who stood out.
“A Fighter, huh…”
A blessing known for extremely aggressive combat centered on axes and maces.
It was also said to grant decent proficiency even with unfamiliar weapons and close-quarters unarmed techniques.
Commoners who never received systematic martial training in a noble house often chose it.
Is that a sword…?
The weapon wrapped tightly in old cloth looked like a sword no matter how you sliced it.
A Fighter charging Warriors and Knights with a sword.
It would probably turn out like the Fighter from the first match.
Royta and the handful of spectators still left in the arena all thought the same thing.
And before long…
“Match over! The final winner of Group 8 is Albert!!!”
That thought turned into pure shock.
“Call a cleric! Hurry, hurry!!!”
The victor of the final, eighth preliminary match.
Albert — Fighter.
Albert walked past the knight offering the first-place token, his face drained of all color.
Dark crimson blood was seeping through the old cloth.
All that remained in his wake was a trail of red dots.