Chapter 78: Advent (2)
Chapter 78: Advent (2)
The tournament.
It was the greatest event no festival of this age could do without: a sport of violence and glory enjoyed by everyone regardless of rank.
"The format varies greatly from nation to nation."
Varda's account of tournament customs in different countries fascinated Eugene.
In northern and central Roman, which were relatively safe from foreign threats, dignified jousting was the main event.
By contrast, the western, southern, and eastern regions bordering other nations held group battles that doubled as war training.
Gord's horsemanship was somewhat lacking, and the spectators preferred hand-to-hand combat between knights. As a result, they dismounted and fought in a manner similar to the Colosseum.
"I prefer the Gord style."
"You truly are an unusual one. It's a method that knights of other nations hold in contempt."
"Because the influence of luck is minimized. It's a pure contest of the knights' skill."
Haughty Barsia dismissed every other country's martial tournaments as children's games, and there was a reason for that.
"They use live blades?"
"Barsians say the smell of blood at a tournament is the finest delicacy of all."
Barsians could tolerate an arena without wine, but not one without bloodshed.
"If knights end up dropping dead in droves, that would be a national loss."
"Surprisingly, not that many people die. Maybe about twenty percent more than in other countries?"
"How is that kind of restraint possible with live steel?"
"In Barsian tournaments, there are referees."
"Oh!"
Eugene chuckled at a culture where savagery and advanced civilization coexisted.
"Disobeying a referee's order to halt during a match is punished as quasi-treason. So even the most hot-blooded knights rein themselves in when required."
It was a culture clearly designed to give the people their bloodshed without sacrificing the nation's fighting strength.
"I was certain you would enter without question. This is truly unexpected."
Everyone, Marbas included, was surprised that Eugene had not entered the tournament.
"I'm not interested."
"Doesn't the very thought of a tournament make a knight's blood boil?"
The prize money, the roaring fervor of the crowd, the honor, the word of mouth in noble society.
A tournament was an event tied more directly to a knight's advancement than achievements in monster slaying or even war.
Eugene was past the stage of needing a tournament to rise, but weren't knights creatures who endlessly hungered for fame and glory?
"I'm not particularly keen on the jousting tournament."
"Why ever not?"
"Because it's dangerous."
"Are you joking right now?"
"I'm serious."
Marbas stared blankly. In all the time he had known Eugene, the young knight had never seemed to possess the slightest sense of fear.
When rescuing Baron Yones, he had received horse archer support, it was true, but he had still charged alone against countless pirates.
Compared to smashing a rampaging golem where a single graze meant death, or pinning down a death knight and beating it to death, the jousting tournament seemed positively safe.
"To be precise, I dislike how much luck is involved, beyond one's own skill or strength. I'm not fond of the weapon either."
Jousts used wooden lances designed to break easily. The splintering made for a better spectacle, a satisfying impact, clear scoring, and reduced the force transferred to the rider.
But with bad luck, a splinter from the shattered lance could fly into the helmet and cost a man an eye. Some had even died when a shard lodged in a vital spot poorly protected by armor, like the neck or the armpit.
"I might consider it if the prize were truly impressive, but it isn't. If I ever come across a tournament with group combat, I'll enter then."
"I feel I've come to know you better today."
"Master Goffrey once said something similar."
Marbas laughed at how smoothly the young knight brushed it off.
"Good. That attitude will help you live a long life. To be frank, watching you fight has worried me at times. This is reassuring."
No matter how powerful a knight's body and soul, one mistake could still kill him. Having a shrewd side was better than relying on courage alone.
"Besides, not entering has its advantages. It makes socializing easier, doesn't it?"
At the banquet, Eugene exchanged greetings and shared cups with numerous knights.
Unlike the entrants, who watched one another warily as potential rivals, the spectators could socialize without restraint.
"This tournament offers a higher chance of advancement than those held before, doesn't it? The competition is bound to be fierce."
Many knights had died in the great battle between the Noble Faction and the Emperor Faction. Skilled and famous men had been no exception.
That meant better odds of winning than usual, and even a knight who failed to take first place could become a noble lord's vassal if he displayed enough skill.
Lords seeking men to fill vacant places and knights hoping to claim those places were all watching this tournament closely.
The vast arena was packed full of people. Besides the nobles and notables seated in the premium seats, commoners had also flocked in droves.
Entertainment helped soothe public discontent, while the crowd's cheers fired up the knights. Every region traditionally relaxed restrictions on commoners during tournaments.
The murmuring from all sides fell silent the moment Duke Ismar, upon the dais, raised his hand.
"I wish to express my gratitude to all who have attended today and blessed this tournament."
At the duke's words, people bowed their heads or placed their hands over their hearts to pay respects.
"Though the immediate threat has been repelled, the civil war is not yet over. In such times, it is all the more necessary that we unite more firmly and also train more diligently."
He sounded nothing like he had while speaking with Eugene. His voice boomed through the arena, astonishingly powerful for such a slender man.
"I hope this tournament gives a new generation of promising knights the chance to make their names. Gentlemen, I wish you all good fortune!"
When the duke declared the joust open, thunderous cheers erupted.
Prrr!
Mounted on horses draped in splendid caparisons, two knights glared at each other.
They should have been focused entirely on each other, yet their eyes kept drifting toward the spectators visible through the slits in their helmets.
Duke Ismar, countless lords and noblewomen, and an uncountable mass of commoners were all watching them with feverish excitement.
Would they ever again receive the gaze of so many nobles and the cheers of so many commoners at once?
'I shall surely claim victory!'
'I have trained for this day alone!'
The blood in their veins seemed ready to boil over and burst.
FLAP! FLAP!
Along with the blast of trumpets, the men holding flags upon the platform shook them with all their might.
"Glory to His Grace the Duke!"
"For the North!"
The two knights leveled their lances and charged at each other.
"WAAAAAAH!"
The crowd's roar reached its peak as the match began, but the knights could no longer hear it. The instant their horses broke into a charge, their hearing shut out the rest of the world.
THUMP! THUMP!
Each knight could hear only his own heartbeat and feel the lance grip tucked beneath his arm and the wavering point at its far end tracking his opponent.
These three things were all a knight could perceive. The extreme concentration had erased the entire world surrounding him.
CRACK!
CRUNCH!
The blunted lances struck their targets at the same instant and shattered.
"Wahahahaha!"
"That's it! That's the one!"
The crowd went wild at the exhilarating spectacle, stamping their feet one and all.
The knight on the left had been struck on his shield, but the knight on the right took the blow to his helm and was unhorsed on the spot.
Fortunately, he had not died. His squire and servants supported him as he staggered out of the lists.
"Sir! Are you all right?"
"Uuugh..."
Even with his helmet off, he could not come to his senses, apparently concussed.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD.
BOOM!
Another knight took a lance squarely to the chest and ended up sprawled across his horse's back. He had stayed in the saddle, but looked half-unconscious.
The horse kept walking as its rider's foot, trapped in the stirrup, bumped against its side. It finally stopped at the arena wall.
"Hahaha!"
"Sir Knight! Wake up! Haven't you sobered up from the banquet yet?"
At the somewhat comical sight, the commoner spectators jeered in a way they would never have dared under normal circumstances.
The knight was a poor free knight traveling alone, so a short while later, servants dispatched by the organizers came and carried him away.
"Cough! Khaaack!"
The knight finally regained consciousness only to cough without stopping. He broke off to vomit, and the large amount of red blood in it suggested a grave internal injury.
"He'll linger for a while and then die," Haind said regretfully from his post behind Eugene.
From what Eugene had learned at the Knight's House, those were signs of severe internal organ damage.
In this era, when medicine—especially treatment for internal injuries—was rudimentary, that was effectively a death sentence.
"Sir Hols, bravo!"
"Look this way, please!"
While the loser was carried away in misery, terrified of his all-but-certain death, the winner received every scrap of praise. Winner takes all.
'I definitely made the right choice not entering.'
Eugene resolved never to take part in a joust ever again.
Riders charged straight at each other along fixed lanes with their lances leveled, which meant exposing themselves to the opponent's attack. Regardless of skill, bad luck alone could turn it into a catastrophe.
From Eugene's perspective, the trial by combat fought with live steel at Bonyard had felt far safer.
Tournaments were entertainment that everyone in this age could enjoy together, but not everyone who came did so with innocent intentions.
Plenty came to swindle the crowds or pick pockets.
-By whatever means necessary, ruin the victory celebration.
Among them were those who had infiltrated carrying the emperor's secret orders.
"Must we really go through with this?"
"It is His Majesty's imperial command."
"Even so, this is far too dishonorable a trick."
With the Emperor Faction in the North wiped out and the Inland Sea pirates repelled, the Emperor had little left he could accomplish by force. Magical sabotage was about the only option remaining.
The mage and the knights were all loyal vassals, but their attitudes toward carrying out the order could not have been more different.
"Then why didn't you object to His Majesty back in the capital? You kept quiet then and came all the way here, and now you want to tuck tail and run?"
"..."
"I'm joking. Relax."
Although he told them to relax, Simon himself was glaring at them like a block of ice.
Even battle-hardened knights fell silent under his stare. It felt as though some unknown force that steel could neither cut nor block had closed around their very lives.
"If we let those rebel bastards enjoy their festival, won't His Majesty's authority in the North hit rock bottom?"
"That's true, but..."
His authority was already about as low as it could go, but a successful tournament and the rise of promising new knights would drive the point home. It was exactly the kind of symbolic event the Emperor wanted to stop, while tarnishing Duke Ismar's prestige in the bargain.
"But for innocent nobles to die in droves would be..."
"Hahaha!"
Simon laughed, having realized what the knights were worried about.
"If magic that powerful were possible, it would be used in war, not for this sort of backroom sabotage. Ruining the weather badly enough to stop the festival is all I can do."
"Oh, is that all?"
The knights looked much more at ease.
What they had been imagining was wicked sorcery that would abruptly conjure a poison cloud over the lists and slaughter people indiscriminately.
'Idiots who know nothing but how to swing a sword.'
Simon was exasperated. If something like that were possible, mages would have ruled the world long ago.
Even without knowing magic, anyone with the slightest common sense should have known better. Watching them get carried away by such fantasies was simply ridiculous.
Of course, the more the knights exaggerated magic and feared it, the easier Simon's work became, so he had no intention of correcting them.
Simon drew an enchanted artifact from inside his coat. An ancient spell was sealed within it, and it was one of the spoils recovered while searching ruins on the Emperor's orders.
-It is not powerful enough to matter on a battlefield, nor will it help fulfill His Majesty's long-cherished wish.
A summoner serving the Emperor in the capital had appraised it before handing it over.
"Damn it."
Simon sighed at his predicament.
The mages, knights, spies, and budget devoted to intelligence work were resources that ought to have been spent entirely on the war against the Noble Faction.
-Your Majesty. You must not squander personnel and resources as you are now on mirages like the Wandering Castle. You must concentrate on the war itself...
-Silence! I will hear no more, so see that you properly carry out the orders I have given!
He had offered loyal counsel, been shouted down, and now had to prove his loyalty with a terrorist mission.
His one consolation was the chance to experience the ancient kingdom's wondrous magic firsthand.
"Will that thing summon rain clouds?"
"No. It works differently. The spell briefly connects a shallow layer of this world with a shallow layer of the Otherworld."
"?"
"Just as water flows downhill and wind moves from high pressure to low pressure."
"??"
"Connecting worlds with different spiritual pressures will send a spiritual storm surging into this one. That should be more than enough to ruin the games."
"???"
Simon smiled in satisfaction at the blank expressions shared by all the knights.
The stupid looks on their faces fed his sense of superiority and relieved some of his stress.
"Let's finish this and go home."
Simon released the sealed ancient magic.
It was an exceedingly simple mission.
Infiltrate the tournament grounds, activate the artifact, and wait for this world and the shallow Otherworld to draw close enough to trigger a weather disaster. That was all.
But once in a great while, absurd coincidences piled up and produced an anomaly no one could have anticipated.
People call such moments turning points in history.
The variable Simon had not accounted for was Eugene, who was attending the tournament as a spectator.
"...?"
For an instant, Eugene felt as though someone were watching him from beyond the sky, like a being impossibly far away observing him through a telescope.
"What is it?"
"No. Probably just my imagination."
Eugene shook his head at Varda's question. The gaze he had felt from beyond the sky soon vanished.
Strictly speaking, it had not vanished but had merely shifted elsewhere, though there was no way for Eugene to know that.
The gaze beyond the sky had found the beacon it had longed for. Now it swept the surrounding area in search of its next target: a broad plain.
"Good. It's operating properly."
Simon smiled with satisfaction.
The Emperor's order to ruin Duke Ismar's tournament would certainly succeed.
Only, it would come to pass in an entirely different form than what the emperor had desired.