Chapter 21: Champion (4)
Chapter 21: Champion (4)
The knight who was said to be summoned from afar never made it to Bonyard in the end.
"I wanted to see what kind of man he was. What a shame."
"Given the distance, I wasn't expecting much, Sir Eugene. For now, more than that..."
Panis looked at Kresi with dismay.
It was because Kresi had stubbornly insisted on entering the dueling ground, even though there were better knights among the invited.
'With the disciple of the Knight of Prophecy and Karas here, I might not even need to step in. If things go south, I can always surrender at the right moment.'
That was Kresi's thinking. The pay jumped to an entirely different level just for setting foot in the arena.
'Anyway, if it reaches the point where those two knights lose and I have to step up, the other men from the city wouldn't fare any better.'
It was self-justification, but the maddening part was that it wasn't exactly wrong.
Regardless of skill level, if a knight declared he would fight honorably, the inviter couldn't tell him to step down.
"Welcome! I hope you've all prepared well."
Count Andar, already gulping down wine, laughed. It was a smile imbued with the conviction that he would never lose.
The venue for a trial by combat varied. A fight between ordinary knights took place in a suitable clearing, while powerful nobles sometimes rented the colosseum to stage one in splendor.
Bonyard did not wish to escalate the affair into a spectacle, win or lose. So they chose an abandoned temple near the city.
One by one, the guests arrived and settled into the seats arranged around the dueling ground.
"Good heavens, are you drinking already?"
"What else am I to do? The mood is so fine I keep wanting to drink something."
"You must watch a fight with a clear head to enjoy it properly. Please, stop drinking."
"I said I understand! I understand!"
The Gord nobles laughed and exchanged greetings with one another.
"They seem to think they've already won. Arrogant bastards, the lot of them."
"They've prepared thoroughly, so they must be brimming with confidence. To those lowborn brutes, we probably look like commoners with a bit of money."
"Just look at the size of them. What on earth do they eat to grow that big? Not that I distrust our own knights, but in comparison, it's rather..."
The notables of Bonyard spoke in hushed tones due to the difference in status and power.
They were speaking carefully, but Eugene could hear them perfectly well. He had been closing his eyes and heightening his senses before the battle, after all.
Scrrrape. Clack.
Beside him, the sound of Karas whetting his sword on a stone helped him focus.
"I understand you're confident in your strength, but shouldn't you loosen your muscles? If you stay still like that, your body will stiffen up."
Karas asked with a face full of curiosity.
It wasn't unusual for knights to meditate. But this was the first time he had seen one sit quietly with his eyes closed right before a duel. Usually, that time was better spent studying gaps in an opponent's armor or the reach of their weapon.
"Every knight has a different way of approaching a fight, don't they?"
"I'm just curious, that's all."
Whoosh!
"Krya!"
Across the way, the Gord champion was loosening up, swinging his weapon amid the cheers of the spectators.
"Well, it's a far sight better than making a racket like that."
Karas, who valued speed and technique over crude displays of strength, could only look on with contempt.
"I've sharpened the blade enough. Now it's time to hone my senses. This is something that can't be done in advance."
"...I ask just in case, but is it something like being able to see the future, like Sir Goffrey?"
Eugene opened his eyes halfway.
"I wasn't asking seriously!"
Karas grew sheepish under Eugene's look, which plainly said, 'Are you kidding me?'
It was something Eugene had learned since entering the wider world: far more people than he had imagined genuinely believed Goffrey fought while receiving divine revelations. Perhaps that was only fitting for an age that could never let go of either faith or superstition.
"Karas. How about reconsidering the order? I know you're strong, but against those three, you'd have a hard time coming away unscathed. They're on a different level from the ones at the city manor."
Eugene spoke, his eyes closed.
When Karas had stepped up earlier to go first, Eugene had welcomed it inwardly, but over the past few days he had grown fond of the man.
"The matchup doesn't look very favorable either."
Karas was the type who fought with a focus on technique, wielding a rapier and a main-gauche.
The brutal two-handed axe Volks swung carried the risk of shattering his weapons, parrying or otherwise.
Against Lipton, famed for his formidable shieldsmanship, closing to melee range would be dangerous. If he pressed forward behind his shield and struck, even the swift Karas would be in trouble.
"You don't need to worry."
But the reckless Samurian was completely unfazed.
"I don't hunt monsters, and I don't fight on battlefields or in tournaments. Yet there's one reason I've made a name for myself so quickly."
Karas twirled the rapier in his right hand and the main-gauche in his left.
"I spent all my time poking holes in knights. Turns out that's the quickest way to make a name for yourself."
"Along with grudges, I imagine. Do you think you've stayed alive and well until now for any reason other than being of the Cruze family?"
"Maybe some thought so. After my family severed ties with me, plenty came gunning for me, but not one of them ever managed to touch me."
Karas, who had paused for a moment, let out a sigh.
"Except for you."
"There is one more. My squire."
"What?"
Karas looked back at Homi. She had been waiting quietly, and the tail that usually swayed at least a little was now utterly still. Instead, a quiet little laugh escaped her.
"You don't happen to have a lump on the back of your head, do you?"
"I do have one. Why...?"
Karas touched the small lump that had formed on his head. It was a wound now nearly healed.
"After you passed out in the tavern, Homi threw you. Your head hit the table with a loud crack."
"...So that's what happened."
"How about we call us even with this? And you can stop pestering me."
"Fine by me. As it happens, there's a target right here to take my anger out on."
After that, Karas said no more either.
Eugene did not consider the Gord champions a threat.
Unlike being deployed for monster hunting or large-scale battles, a one-on-one fight was absolutely in his favor.
But for something he had never experienced, it was only natural to prepare thoroughly. Since this was his first trial by combat, he wanted to face it with his senses at their peak.
A short while after the last guest arrived, the hourglass ran out completely. The moment that would decide the fate of Bonyard City had arrived.
"It's finally beginning."
Count Andar rubbed his palms together and licked his lips in anticipation.
On the left sat the Gord officials and their champions; on the right sat the Bonyard officials and their champions.
The seats of honor built on the upper level at the front were occupied by the guests invited as witnesses. Some were of lower status than nobles, but it was a long-standing tradition to yield the best seats to the observers.
A nobleman from Roman stood upon the dais.
"Today we have gathered here to receive judgment from the gods."
He proclaimed in a solemn voice.
The speech before a duel was handled by a noble, a priest, or a knight of high renown.
This time, with so much at stake, a knight could not serve as observer, and the priests had also declined because of the greed involved in the dispute. A Roman noble who frequently handled such matters was the right man for the job.
"What transpires here shall be witnessed by the consciences of both sides, the eyes of the observers, and the gods. There must be not a speck of falsehood or dishonor. Once a divine judgment is rendered, all must submit to the outcome."
Everyone in the arena offered a prayer to their respective gods.
"Now it is time to extol the honorable champions."
The spectators sent applause and cheers to the champions they supported.
The cheers were decidedly more fervent on the Gord side. Visually, the hulking axe warrior made for quite a spectacle.
Both Eugene and Karas seemed utterly indifferent to the crowd's response, busy with their own affairs, which dampened the spirits of the Bonyard supporters.
"It begins now. The gods are just, so let us leave judgment entirely to them. All we may ask of them is mercy. Good luck!"
The Roman noble stepped back, and genuine tension began to fill the air.
"Well then, shall I head out?"
Karas made to step into the arena.
"Hold!"
At that moment, Count Andar raised his hand.
The brows of the observers twitched. Once the representative's declaration was finished, nothing should follow but the champions' fight. For anyone else to interject was a breach of custom.
"What is the matter, Count Andar?"
The Roman noble who had delivered the speech asked. His tone was unmistakably displeased.
"As you, good sir, have declared, the judgment of the gods is sacred above all else. Therefore, I wish to add one more expression of the divine will to this momentous duel."
"Add the divine will, you say? What do you mean?"
The Roman noble's curiosity seemed piqued by the unfamiliar proposal, and his tone softened.
"It is simple. Let us entrust even the order of entry onto the dueling ground to the gods. For that very reason, we have not determined any sequence on our side."
Count Andar looked at his three Gord champions and shrugged.
"Determining the order now would be a headache. They're all knights of considerable pride, you see."
The Roman noble bit his lip.
'These uncouth Gord bastards, really.'
It was a blatant discourtesy, but he was in no position to order a halt to the duel.
"And the method?"
"Haha! It's time to show you a tradition beloved by our people."
At Count Andar's signal, a servant brought out six stick-shaped lots.
The Gord nobles, who carried the blood of both sea raiders and merchants, favored the sort of methods mercenaries would use.
"Does Bonyard accept?"
"What choice do we have?"
The chief magistrate, acting as representative, answered coldly.
Given the disparity in power, they had no choice but to accept. Perhaps this was even better. It could serve as a justification to prevent any underhandedness from Gord should they happen to lose.
'We even accepted this lot-drawing you arbitrarily proposed. Can you possibly act so pettily against a sacred result?'
If they said that, Gord would have no defense at all.
"Then I shall take that as acceptance. Let the champions of both sides each draw a lot."
Grinning, Count Andar held out three sticks in each of his hands, which were as broad as pot lids.
On the Gord side, all three squires stepped forward. On the Bonyard side, Karas and Kresi drew for themselves; Homi drew for Eugene, the only Bonyard knight with a squire.
"Damn it."
With his honed hearing, Eugene caught Kresi's curse. His plan to hide behind the two strong knights and merely collect his pay had crumbled.
"Everyone has drawn. Good luck."
Count Andar laughed heartily and returned to his seat.
"A count, eh? Heh heh."
"That's giving me chills, so stop it."
"O Count Andar! Allow me to offer a drink to Your Excellency."
"Oh, I said stop it!"
As Count Andar took his seat, the nobles nearby began to tease him.
The kingdoms of this world had originally used different systems of noble titles.
But the Ancient Kingdom had used a five-rank system, and royal houses seeking to leverage its legitimacy also began granting titles under that system.
As the practice continued over the years, the five-rank system spread across the continent.
However, in Gord, where the people took fierce pride in their own bloodlines, the custom of using only two titles—king and War Lord—still remained.
It was a gradually vanishing culture, and even they used the five-rank system for external diplomatic affairs.
"Damn it all!"
"Blasted..."
Karas looked disappointed, while Kresi lamented his luck. Karas had apparently drawn a later turn, while Kresi had drawn the first.
"Number three, huh? Luck really isn't with me. Sir Kresi—good luck."
Karas said as he moved to stand beside Eugene.
"..."
Kresi donned his helm with a troubled face. He didn't seem to hear his comrade's encouragement at all.
'Damned Gord noble!'
Gripping his two-handed axe, Kresi faced the first opposing champion, who glared at him with burning eyes.
"K'ha!"
A roar as if Volks meant to devour him alive.
His heart sank at the sheer menace. Of all three, it had to be Volks, the largest and most ferocious.
But if he fled now, his life as a knight was over. He also owed huge gambling debts, and if he were stripped of even the title of knight, his very life would be in danger.
'God dammit!'
Having entered the contest with such a mindset from the start, the outcome was all too obvious.
"Wait! I surr—"
Not long after the fight began, finding himself cornered, Kresi declared his surrender. But the descending axe blade cleaved through his shout.
Crunch!
"Gaaagh!"
Kresi's sword clattered to the ground as blood fountained out.
His body, split from right shoulder to chest by the massive axe blade, rolled on the ground.
"Aaaah!"
"Oh, good heavens."
"Hahahaha!"
Noble ladies screamed and buried themselves against their lovers' and husbands' chests. The Bonyard officials groaned with stricken faces. Gord, meanwhile, clapped and stamped their feet in celebration.
"Grrrg."
The servants swiftly dragged the dying Kresi away, leaving a long trail of blood behind.
The physician standing by shook his head. It was a grave wound utterly beyond treatment. All he could do was spray a powerful painkiller liberally along the way to ease the suffering on the journey.
"His armor wasn't in proper condition. That thin chainmail, with links broken in places too, could never stop an axe like that."
Karas lamented. Whatever else could be said, watching a knight who had fought on their side die so pointlessly left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Victory goes to Sir Volks! Honor to the victor! Condolences to the vanquished!"
The Roman noble cried out.
Had the defeated man lived, they would have offered encouragement or wished him a swift recovery instead of condolences. But judging by what had just happened, the wound was clearly fatal.
"Sir Volks declares that he will continue earning honor!"
At the squire's shout, cheers erupted from the Gord stands. The Bonyard side, by contrast, fell into funereal silence.
As every eye turned toward him, the next challenger, Eugene, opened his eyes. The brown eyes inherited from his mother regarded Volks coldly.