The Trial - 2
Philip tilted his head, his voice carrying that same lazy, mocking drawl.
“So why did you do it?”
“This is the fourth time you’ve asked me that, Your Majesty.”
By custom, the spouse of a monarch in other continental kingdoms was treated with equal dignity, but in Zylan—where only queens could ascend the throne—such equality was impossible. That was why a clear hierarchy existed between Philip and Marion: king and Prince Consort.
Despite Marion’s courteous tone, Philip continued speaking with an attitude that went beyond casual and bordered on outright rude.
“No, I’m asking because it seems like you already understand what it means to fight that Richard. So tell me—why exactly did you challenge him?”
Both Rio and Richard thought Philip was giving Marion advice, but the reality was different. With an expression of deadly seriousness that seemed impossible for this world, he was simply teasing Marion with frivolous jokes.
“Last week you held your temper so well, I thought you’d do the same this time. Please stop it.”
“A man who was thrilled at the prospect of becoming king, and a woman who turned into one and is now so irritated she could burst—are those the same person?”
Marion flinched and pointed at Kelly. He couldn’t comprehend how the man had the nerve to say such things in front of others. She spoke quietly.
“There are people listening, Your Majesty. Please lower your voice.”
But instead of apologizing or acknowledging her concern, Philip simply brushed it aside with a single dismissive remark—that no one could hear them anyway—and kept talking.
“And you can’t even tell the difference? If you truly wanted to resolve the situation peacefully, you should have used your head a little more.”
“Yes. Everything Your Majesty says is correct. But what can we do now that things have come to this? Instead of teasing me, could you perhaps offer some advice on how I might save this life of mine and survive?”
“Haven’t you been beaten enough by Richard these past six days?”
Marion answered, “Yesterday doesn’t count.”
Even as she grumbled, she felt a spark of joy at the thought that she might finally receive the secret to facing Richard. But once again, what came out of Philip’s mouth was another pointless jest.
“Perhaps you enjoy getting beaten?”
Marion finally gave up and decided to fight fire with fire.
“Have you never fought our sovereign, who has been a prince since the age of fourteen? Don’t you know any tricks for winning?”
“Who knows? I wouldn’t. Not when I’ve never won even once.”
She cursed Philip inwardly. Are you really that proud of breaking a twelve-year-old’s leg, you halfwit?
As if he had read her thoughts, Philip protested.
“But you’ve fought Ricky many times yourself, haven’t you? There’s no clever way to snatch victory from that Richard. Why not just give up and restore Ricky’s honor right now?”
“What an excellent suggestion.”
“If that won’t work, then I suppose there’s nothing left but to cling to her skirts and beg pitifully.”
“Haah.”
She thought to herself once more. What a completely useless captive king.
Hubert let out a long sigh.
He could not understand why those two—husband and wife, though certainly not in any normal sense—seemed so desperate to devour each other. As someone who had sworn to marry God, it was a mystery he would never solve.
He turned to Richard one last time.
“Is there truly no other way to restore the damaged honor except through this Trial by Combat?”
Richard shook his head firmly.
“There isn’t.”
Hubert sighed again and spoke in a low voice.
In the name of the Zylan Church and the Archbishop of Clondel, I hereby declare the commencement of the Trial by Combat between Her Majesty Queen Richelle of Zylan, Kelly Evergreen as defendant, and His Highness Prince Consort Marion of Zylan as her champion.
Richard and Marion, the two combatants, drew their swords from their scabbards and walked toward the center of the hastily prepared ring.
“May the one who lost honor regain it. May the one framed be cleared. May the straight sword weigh truth like the scales of justice.”
The moment Hubert finished speaking, both duelists charged at each other simultaneously.
Marion closed the distance in half-steps exactly as Richard had taught her, using her superior height to press him. She knew all too well how ‘inconvenient’ a simple-looking women’s day dress could be. A light dress was only convenient when one behaved like a proper lady. It was utterly unsuited for raising a sword overhead, blocking a low strike from that stance, leaping backward to dodge a thrust, or pivoting to counter a flanking step.
“Brother!”
“Your Majesty!”
Everyone watching the duel from the garden cried out in shock. It was only natural, since even Marion herself—the one launching the attack—was stunned.
Rio, Hubert, and Kelly all screamed at the same time. Only two people remained calm.
Philip, on the contrary, looked disappointed.
Sorry to Ricky, but if she dies here, it would be a gain for my country.
Not a chance, Philip.
Richard answered him with a glance before turning his gaze back to Marion.
Marion seemed surprised by her own strike. Richard felt a pang of bitterness.
Damn it. Did I train her too well?
Marion’s attack had been genuinely sharp, striking precisely at Richard’s weaknesses. She knew how to use her advantages in height and reach. Moreover, she understood Richard’s vulnerabilities better than most men ever could.
This clothing is too uncomfortable.
First, the range of arm movement was severely restricted. Both upper-body offense and defense felt awkward, and transitioning into a low stance took far longer than expected. The sleeves were stiff, and the deep neckline of the bodice threatened to expose everything with the slightest motion. The waist was the same. To call this ‘loosely fitted’ was laughable. The corseting was so rigid that any deep bending at the waist was nearly impossible.
But moving her legs was even worse than her arms or waist. The irregular shifting of the chemise and skirt hems sometimes hindered leg movement, only to suddenly release his legs completely. In short, it was impossible to predict how the fabric would behave.
“You look like you’re having fun.”
“Y-yes? Ah, no, of course not. Haha.”
Marion spoke awkwardly. But the corners of her mouth were practically reaching her ears.
Richard felt irritated with her, but he quickly gathered himself and smiled back. To get so cocky over an attack like that, while panting so heavily. She still had a long way to go.
Thinking that, he called out to Hubert.
“Arbiter.”
“Yes?”
“I must ask—surely I am not expected to fight while also worrying about keeping my clothing orderly, am I?”
Richard’s skirt had been torn at the hem by Marion’s low strike, revealing the chemise beneath. Hubert looked back and forth between the plaintiff and defendant. The scene was not all that different from before the duel began. Rio and Kelly were pale with terror, while Philip was grinning from ear to ear.
Hubert sighed and answered.
“Of course not. This is a Trial by Combat. Such concerns would be unreasonable.”
“Understood.”
Richard smiled fiercely. He asked Marion for permission, then drove his longsword into the ground before him. Without the slightest hesitation, he grabbed the hem of his skirt and lifted it high.
“Kyaa! Your Majesty!”
“Your Majesty, what are you doing?”
“B-Brother?”
“Ricky! Isn’t that a bit much!”
This time even Philip cried out in astonishment.
Richard’s pale white thighs gleamed dazzlingly under the sunlight. It was both fortunate and unfortunate. He had not lifted his skirt and bared his thighs to seduce anyone. He simply tied the ends of the skirt and chemise tightly at his right hip, then twisted his waist to check the fit. To him, it seemed adequate.
But he could not know that from behind, the curve of his backside was slightly visible. Those of lower status dared not point it out, and those of equal rank had no desire to inform him. He remained blissfully unaware.
And Richard’s outrageous behavior did not end there.
He tore off both sleeves of the Zylan-style dress. His shoulders were now completely exposed and defenseless. The fabric of the bodice lost its support and hung limply downward. He tossed the torn sleeves aside, separated the front and back panels, and tied the two separate pieces of cloth over his left shoulder.
“Brother! No matter how inconvenient the clothing is, that kind of attire is…!”
“Enough. It displeases me to hear even you commenting on my dress.”
Richard’s fighting spirit had now extended into irritation at Rio. Rio knew very well that whenever his brother showed this side of himself, he would easily perceive anyone nearby as an enemy. He apologized politely and retreated behind the ring’s fence.
“I apologize, Your Majesty. I spoke out of turn. I had no intention of defying Your Majesty’s will.”
“Then it is fine.”
Richard spoke lightly and picked up the longsword he had planted in the ground. He raised it high in an upper stance for Marion to see, then executed a diagonal slash, shifting his footwork into a right-handed guard position. His movements were far lighter than when he had been properly dressed, and not much worse than when wearing men’s clothing.
“I didn’t realize that was why you asked about the clothing.”
“Thank you for permitting it, Arbiter.”
I am grateful to Your Majesty as well, though…
Hubert swallowed the words he dared not speak aloud. He announced the continuation of the duel, and Richard called out to Marion.
“Prince Consort Marion?”
Marion was still breathing somewhat heavily, though it didn’t seem to be from physical exertion. She answered.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“I yielded the first strike to you earlier. May I take the offensive this time?”
“O-of course, Your Majesty.”
“Good.”
Richard smiled cruelly and charged at Marion. He moved lightly on the balls of his feet, throwing his weight forward. As he swung his sword upward in a powerful rising slash, Marion panicked and retreated. The most crucial factor in deciding victory with the sword was momentum. Technique came second.
Overwhelmed by that momentum, Marion stepped back—and that was the end.
Richard closed in tight. Having only learned mid-range swordplay at half-step distance until now, she had no experience with close-quarters combat where elbows nearly touched. She was completely helpless against a situation where a firmly locked longsword suddenly struck at her outer shoulder and waist while kicks flew in.
“Ugh!”
She had to create distance somehow. But she had never learned how to control the gap between herself and an opponent. Whenever she awkwardly stepped back, Richard matched her exactly and continued his assault. Her head and shoulders became successive targets for his strikes. Her scalp split open. A blow landed on her shoulder.
“Agh!”
She screamed. Thanks to the training she had received, she managed not to let her sword separate completely from his. Had she done so, his full-powered downward or diagonal cuts might have shattered her skull entirely. Simply holding onto his blade was the best defense she could muster.
Of course, it was nowhere near enough. Merely blocking would only prevent immediate death. To survive, she had to move. That was what “the best defense is a good offense” truly meant.
To do so, she forcefully dropped her center of gravity low. It was an instinctive action.
“Hmm?”
When Marion bent her knees deeply, Richard let out a small sound of admiration. But she did not properly register it. She was moving solely on the obsessive compulsion to counterattack.
She lowered her center of gravity sharply while slamming her sword downward. Richard’s raw strength was terrifyingly powerful, but could it truly overcome the force of an opponent nearly a head taller putting her full weight behind the blow?
Marion had not consciously calculated that. Yet the fundamentals of swordsmanship her training had drilled into her body made her act that way. Unbeknownst to her—and to Richard—when she lowered her weight and stepped deeply with her right foot, that foot landed squarely on the long hem of Richard’s skirt.
Richard tried to slip outside her reach to escape the pressure of her height and reach, but his left foot caught in his own hem. He spun half a circle in the air and fell. Marion, whose pivot foot had collapsed under the powerful force, fell on top of him.
“Kyaa!”
“Brother!”
When Richard screamed from beneath Marion, Rio rushed into the ring. Normally Hubert should have stopped Rio from interfering, but Rio’s momentum was nothing like usual. He roughly shoved Marion aside as if throwing her off and examined Richard’s condition.
“A-are you all right, Brother?”
“I… I…?”
He first rolled the prone Richard onto his back. The wig styled in an updo had come off, and the makeup was almost entirely smeared away by dirt. The sight of the bruised eye and the split, bleeding lip made Rio feel as if his heart would tear apart. Even setting aside the exposed corset and chemise on the upper body and the torn bodice, the skirt was in tatters just like the night before when Jihan had threatened him. Torn in several places by Marion’s strikes, and now ripped straight down the center by the weight of a tall man, Richard’s white legs were completely exposed.
“Marion! What have you done!”
“I-I’m sorry, Your Highness the Prince.”
Rio shouted at Marion with a terrifying expression.
“Apologize to His Majesty, not to me. Now!”
He had never shown such a face before. Seeing it, Marion felt her heart sink. In his expression, she saw Richard himself.
“I-I’m sorry, Your Highness the Prince, and Your Majesty. I made a mistake and nearly injured Your Majesty’s august person. I have committed a grave offense. I beg you to forgive me with your boundless mercy.”
She knelt on one knee before Richard, who was leaning against Rio’s leg, and begged for forgiveness.
Richard wore a dazed expression. He opened his mouth as if he could not understand what she was saying.
“Did I… Did I lose?”