The Rematch
The Crown Prince's mouth hardened as his hand trembled slightly. Through the narrow gap in his helmet, cold eyes gleamed sharply.
‘…When the hell does this bastard stop growing?’
His disgusting cousin had grown another handspan taller since the last time he'd seen him. That aspect of the man always provoked the Pig Prince.
Instead of craning his neck to see Paeroa's face, the prince looked up. Not raising his head was the best display of pride he could manage.
"Zama."
"Yes, my lord."
Duke Paeroa called his squire while looking down at the prince with cold eyes.
"Tell the lord of Salt Castle to lend me a horse."
The man twisted his broad shoulders, pushing past the prince to step into the light.
"I must go on a pig hunt. The grunting is getting on my nerves."
As always, the man was already fully armed. The only thing left to prepare for the challenge was saddling the horse.
A resounding trumpet blast pierced the courtyard of Salt Castle. The sound, wrapping around the eardrums three times before soaring over the walls, halted people's footsteps. Those intrigued by the alarm, as if claiming there was more to see, began returning.
Rematch, rematch?
People were confused at first about how things were unfolding. They were uncertain. Then, when a knight raised a gray flag high into the sky, they were certain. The flag depicted a massive horse rearing on its hind legs. It was the banner of Duke Paeroa's Iron Horse Knights.
Rematch, rematch!
With certainty, the people shouted in unison. Their returning steps gained strength. The crowd's unified cheers were joined by the sound of stomping feet. The arena grew even more lively inside and out. As if responding to that fervent anticipation, the large double-reed trumpet blared once more.
Bwoo, bwoo, bwooo-.
The news was announced through the herald.
The final match! An extra match! The extra match is beginning!
It was news that an unplanned match would take place.
It's not over yet?
Seems so. They say there's one more match.
To Serra's bewildered question, Ranlam responded with delight.
At that moment, she was fortunately standing right in the middle of the stands. By mixing with those wanting to leave, she had managed to claim the seats they vacated.
The newly acquired spot offered a vivid view of the center of the arena, filling Ranlam with anticipation. The thought of witnessing the fierce jousting scene with her own eyes made her heart race.
‘Who’s fighting whom?’
She believed it would be a special match, as sudden as it was.
And indeed, not long after, the protagonists of the match appeared.
Guarding Knight, Zylas Acoph!
It was that man again. The cheers weren't the same as before, and Zylas himself didn't wave this time. Only some women who still admired him inside his helmet let out habitual screams.
Soon, a new figure appeared from the opposite side.
The herald shouted the man's name with a bit more force than usual.
Responding to the challenge… Iron Horse Knights, Nyx Farrow!
New cheers poured out for the new figure.
Some shouted fervently because they recognized him, while others joined the excitement without knowing anything. Ranlam was more of the latter.
Farrow, Farrow!
Farrow, Farrow!
It was clearly an unexpected person. The crowd, who had only wanted a rematch no matter who it was, now cried out biased toward one name.
Ranlam asked, curious about his identity.
Serra, do you know who that knight is?
Though it was her first time seeing him, Serra knew a song about him. He was quite a famous figure.
Nyx Farrow. The Iron Horse Duke Nyx Farrow. Holy War hero. Guardian of Lichfield.
He had many nicknames. The only word Ranlam understood among them was "holy war." The people of Bigland called the war that drove out the heretic forces from Lichfield that way.
Thus, to Ranlam, the man looked like a villain.
The knight wore coal-black armor that seemed as if it would leave soot marks. There was nothing else. The horse had no cloth covering its rump, and the man himself wore no common cloak. Compared to Zylas, he lacked decorative elements, but even so, the intimidation he exuded was immense. His pitch-black, solid appearance formed a stark contrast with the ornate pure-white Guarding Knight.
He's enormous. The horse he's riding looks like a donkey.
There was a bit of exaggeration in that statement, but as Serra said, he was very large. Even accounting for the space left inside the armor, it was true. His shoulders with pauldrons were broad, and his legs encased in greaves and cuisses were long. The sight reminded her of Kanne's words that Loudhill men had thick, sturdy thighs.
That duke should be the one riding that huge horse earlier.
Ranlam agreed with that as well. The tall knight and the massive mountain horse seemed like they could make each other look normal-sized.
If he looked this way from afar, how enormous would he be up close?
Perhaps because of his ferocious build, the steel he wore looked more like a weapon than armor. A sharp impression, as if it would cut on contact, lingered on that black armor.
Amid the fervor and excitement boiling from all sides before the match, Duke Paeroa thought coldly.
‘The bastard's gorget is loose. I could kill him if I aim for the throat.’
If this battle were real combat, that beautiful Guarding Knight would have his life taken in one blow.
The duke could avenge his poor subordinate who had suffered a disappointing loss by judgment in his first mounted joust. All he had to do was pour all his strength into the blunt lance tip and pierce through crudely.
The man possessed both the strength and the pretext to make that possible. That Guarding Knight would pay the price for his frivolity in putting on and taking off his helmet. If he wanted to avoid the criticism that followed murder, claiming "I wasn't used to the height of an unfamiliar horse" would suffice.
‘But that would be too harsh.’
It was a young man who had mustered the courage to challenge him. Even though the screams women let out at the sight of him were as grating as the Crown Prince's grunting, he had no intention of killing Zylas. He only wanted to humiliate him a little. That would be enough to restore the pride lost by the Iron Horse Knights.
The duke disliked handsome men as much as young women. No, that feeling was better suited to the names inferiority complex or jealousy.
Now the trumpet sounded and the charge command was given. The man gripped the reins with his left hand and kicked the horse's flank with his right ankle. The unfamiliar warhorse he was riding for the first time today galloped forward with a somewhat staggering gait.
Bang, clang, crack.
The fiercely thrust lance tips struck each other's chests. Zylas's lance succeeded in touching the duke's breastplate but, regrettably, failed to break it. What shattered cleanly was only Duke Paeroa's lance.
After passing each other like a gale, the duke clicked his tongue in displeasure.
He had missed the desired point of impact by a finger's width. It was because his horse had suddenly slowed and hesitated upon meeting the opponent's horse. Sighs escaped the mouths of the watching Iron Horse Knights. Someone complained that it was clearly not a fine horse, judging by its timid nature.
However, the pushing force was so strong that Zylas staggered greatly. He nearly fell from the saddle but barely clung to the horse's neck to hold on.
‘Was I facing a bear instead of a person?’
Zylas thought with a bewildered mind. The duke showed no interest in accumulating points gradually. What he wanted was only the opponent's fall from the horse. That ruthless intent was clearly felt by the other party as well.
Having barely avoided falling, the Guarding Knight struggled to regain his balance and pulled on the reins. By then, Duke Paeroa had turned his horse and stood on the opposite track. Though one couldn't be sure exactly where his gaze behind the visor was directed, it felt as if their eyes met.
Duke Paeroa's pitch-black armor had an eerie quality that made one doubt whether there was even a person inside. Like a ghostly knight risen from hell….
Having one's heart aimed at by such an existence made one's spine tingle and chest grow cold. It felt like becoming a hunted deer.