One Cup for the Victor Who Stands to the End
One cup for the victor who stands to the end.
I raised the mace, and cheers erupted from every direction.
Only then did it truly sink in that I had crossed the line between life and death dozens of times and survived.
As the tension drained from my body, I found myself wondering about the condition of the bastard who had chosen mutual destruction.
"The winner is Edwin Revan!"
The knight serving as referee declared my victory, and the cleric who had been standing by rushed into the arena.
But after checking the fallen man's condition, he shook his head with a grim expression.
This was someone who had pushed Bloodvein to its absolute limit and then triggered a self-destruct with Blood Jam.
Surviving that was never in the cards.
Dead men tell no tales, is that it…?
He had a record of working as a mercenary, so I could at least dig into the bare minimum of his history.
Commoners had to register as mercenaries and even pay an entrance fee just to set foot in a dungeon, after all.
Thud. Thud.
As I turned my back on the arena left in shambles by the brawl, a few figures still stood out even among the dense crowd.
The faithful of the Church of Cretus, cheering for me as always.
My brother, arms crossed and smiling as if to say I'd done well.
Miss Ariella, her face pale as a sheet, and the countess blinking in wide-eyed shock.
And Miss Seraphina, who had looked utterly appalled until our eyes met—then her lips curved into a graceful arc as she began to clap.
Looks like she was pretty worried.
A knight tournament might involve bloodshed, but at its core it was a place for exchanging honor and elevating one another.
Yet here, a matter of life and death had unfolded.
I had no choice but to take it seriously.
It had been a fight where I threw everything I had into the mix so I wouldn't regret it later.
I couldn't claim the flow had been perfect, but deep down I was satisfied with how the match had gone.
To her, though—someone completely unversed in combat—it must have been shocking enough to drain the color from her face.
I should go see her.
After I properly informed the guy who'd lent me the mace that I'd collected his consolation money, of course.
After delivering the news of my victory to Royta and exchanging a few brief words, I went looking for Miss Ariella.
Some time had passed, and her expression was calmer than before.
"Ah—y-you're here?"
She still hadn't fully settled, though; she kept stroking the side of her hair and avoiding my gaze.
"The festival isn't even over yet. Why the long face?"
"You said the festival was already over…"
"When good fortune piles up, the celebrations sometimes get extended, don't they?"
The mastermind who had prepared that dangerous blood-sucking sword and hemorrhage build was still unknown.
This whole affair might only be the tip of the iceberg; something even more spectacular could still appear.
But for now, hadn't we crossed one mountain?
In that case, one ought to find a spot with a fine view, share a few heartfelt words, and know how to enjoy the moment.
That was what it meant to be a knight.
"Really…"
The tension that had frozen Miss Ariella's face finally eased.
"You're not hurt anywhere?"
"If I were, I wouldn't have made it this far to find you."
"Honestly."
It felt familiar, almost like old times.
Except for the fact that she was still dodging my eyes.
"Miss Ariella. If it wouldn't be an imposition, would you prepare a meeting with Miss Seraphina for me?"
"…Why?"
Her reply came out oddly sharp.
"I responded rudely, so I ought to apologize for it. Even if I was pressed for time, my attitude lacked all courtesy."
Miss Ariella wore a complicated look, but soon nodded.
Aria, who had been dozing off on her shoulder, rubbed her eyes and woke up.
Spotting me, she beamed and waved, then used Ariella's shoulder as a slide, gliding down onto the table.
There she began vigorously ringing a bell roughly the size of her own body that had been sitting on the tabletop.
The sight was so endearing that a smile tugged at my lips before I knew it.
"…"
"Are you feeling unwell?"
Miss Ariella was wearing a somewhat vacant expression, which worried me a little.
"No, it's not that…"
She glanced away, and a servant who had heard the bell approached.
Upon being asked to summon Miss Seraphina, the servant quietly withdrew.
Before long, Miss Seraphina arrived in the garden under the servant's guidance.
I rose from my seat and greeted her first.
"Earlier I was so flustered that I committed a discourtesy, Miss Seraphina."
"When a knight declares he will act upon the resolve he carries in his breast, is it not the one who interferes who is in the wrong?"
For some reason, Miss Seraphina accepted my apology in a tone that bordered on theatrical.
"It is I who failed to read the situation and behaved rudely. Will you accept my apology once more, Lord Edwin?"
"I know you were concerned for my safety. I do not consider that rude."
Miss Ariella's gaze darted rapidly between Miss Seraphina and me.
Apparently she had never imagined a scene like this would unfold.
I hadn't planned on going this far either.
Somehow the situation had simply flowed that way.
"The festival is still in full swing, isn't it? Maybe we could all just… relax our shoulders a little?"
Miss Ariella gave an awkward smile and clasped her hands together.
Then, with a small nod, she invited us to take our seats.
"Mm…"
Miss Seraphina sat down looking a touch embarrassed.
— If your business is finished, please leave. This is not the place where we are meant to meet.
— Climb your way up by winning. I shall be waiting at the summit.
She seemed to be recalling the words we had exchanged back then.
"…For a summit, this place is far too peaceful."
As I spoke those words and sat down, Miss Seraphina flinched and gave a little shiver.
In time with the motion, the pommel of her saber tapped the table.
Clink!
The teacups on the table rattled, and a faint flush rose to Miss Seraphina's cheeks.
"Ahem!"
After a single cough, Miss Seraphina reached for the fresh teacup the servant had prepared.
She hesitated.
Apparently the bitter taste wasn't to her liking; she glanced at me and then reached for the sugar cubes and milk.
She quickly dropped just one sugar cube into her cup.
She probably preferred it a bit sweeter than that on ordinary days.
In that case…
I picked up the sugar tongs she had set down.
Then, with a completely straight face, I dropped three sugar cubes into my own cup and stirred slowly.
"…Don't you usually drink it plain?"
"On days when I've sweated a great deal, I take it this way as well."
Of course it was a lie.
Without a word I took a sip of the excessively sweet black tea.
Hah…
Far too sweet.
I preferred a subtle acidity, but the sweetness here completely smothered it.
It was not to my taste in the slightest.
Yet even that pointless little act of mine seemed to have carried meaning.
Swoosh.
Pretending to look elsewhere, Miss Seraphina picked up the sugar tongs.
Then, at blistering speed, she began tossing sugar cubes into the cup in front of her.
One, two, three, four… five?
Counting the one she had already added, that made a full six.
On top of that she poured in warm milk.
Calling that black tea would have been an insult.
Mother would have a fit if she saw this…
Among the secret teachings of House Revan was the maxim: "A wife must be a beautiful, wise, and tall woman."
I doubted that particular teaching belonged to our house alone.
Just as bloodlines matter in the horse-racing industry, passing down a house's secret teachings generation after generation also meant leaving behind superior genes.
In that sense, Miss Seraphina scored a perfect ten.
Her ash-gray hair, gathered into a braid, was both feminine and practical.
Those lake-like blue eyes and stubborn-looking gaze, plus the beauty mark beneath them, were striking.
Above all, as befitting someone blessed by the Knight class, she possessed a slender frame that stood well over 170 centimeters.
But if Mother ever saw her milk tea, she might wail, "This is not the daughter-in-law of House Revan!!!"
Half of that was a joke, of course.
She isn't the type to say such things to someone's face.
"Hoo…"
A faint smile rose to Miss Seraphina's face as she drank what was essentially sugar water with a splash of milk tea.
Apparently the spike in blood sugar had loosened her tension.
"I have heard that honorable knights share a drink even with those who will be their enemies on the morrow."
As she spoke, Miss Seraphina gently stroked the handle of her teacup.
"Indeed."
I raised my cup in answer to her words.
It looked almost like a toast, though it was hardly the etiquette a noble would display.
"One cup for the victor who stands to the end."
If she was the person I expected her to be—
"And another for the loser who yielded the victory…"
Yes. Exactly as I thought.
She gazed at me with bright, sparkling eyes, looking ready to clink cups at any moment.
But you mustn't, Miss Seraphina.
These teacups are masterpieces crafted by Roseline, the artisan my mother idolizes.
If we smashed them together the way they do in chivalric romances, they would shatter for certain, and at least fifty silverion gold coins would go flying out the window.
Blowing fifty million won in modern currency for a fleeting hit of dopamine was an extremely dangerous act.
So the instant she offered her cup, I carefully drew mine back and averted disaster.
The tea in the cups, which had barely brushed, sent out gentle ripples.
"…?"
Miss Ariella tilted her head slightly.
Finding that amusing, Aria tilted her head in imitation.
It was a perfectly natural reaction for anyone unfamiliar with chivalric literature.
They might make good friends.
So what if she was a little airheaded?
No one could be perfect in every respect, and there was no need to be.
A blade sharpened to a razor edge might seem ready to cut through anything, yet it could also become so fragile that the slightest impact would snap it.
Living the way she did was one valid answer as well, wasn't it?
Miss Seraphina is already normal by this world's standards.
Compared to those "mages" who served as the world's resident comedy bells, at least.
While I was thinking that, Miss Seraphina set down her empty cup and looked at me.
Honorable knights share a drink even with those who will be their enemies tomorrow.
The true meaning behind the words she had spoken was that she intended to give tomorrow's match everything she had.
It was a clear declaration of war, yet also a show of respect that refused to look down on an opponent of lower level.
And so I, too, met her gaze and gave a small nod.
This was not the place where we were meant to meet.
Tomorrow, just as promised, we would meet at the summit.
I stroked the betting slip in my pocket that bore the name "Edwin Revan."
All right. Time for the money-duplication bug.