The Black Knight Swore to the Blind Saintess
Occupation: Empress of the Loreline Empire / Supreme Commissioner of the Imperial Ministry of Women
Occupation: First Prince of the Loreline Empire / Demon Worshipper
What?
The First Prince is a demon worshipper?
That was definitely not the case in the original novel.
Wait. Don't tell me.
In the novel, a demon succubus approached the fleeing Princess Evangeline and dragged her into black magic.
This was the worldline where the succubus hadn't approached Evangeline — or hadn't been able to.
So what if that succubus had approached the First Prince instead of the Princess?
Ugh, this butterfly effect.
Then again, things might actually get easier for me than I expected.
Before the matches began, the Emperor rose and delivered his address, his voice amplified by magic until it rang across the entire arena.
"I confess I am astonished to learn the Empire possesses so many talented men. Skill is, of course, paramount. Yet it is equally important that, win or lose, you carry yourselves as knights of the Empire to the very end. To any who demonstrate such bearing, a fitting reward shall be granted — victory or defeat notwithstanding. Now then, show us a magnificent contest."
"WAAAAAAH—!"
At his short and simple remarks, the citizens of the Empire roared their approval.
The caster took over the proceedings, his voice echoing through the stadium.
"Match one of the round of sixteen is about to begin!"
The bracket exploded across the giant screen:
Cascal ┐
Delpierre ┘
In the wide, oval dueling ring, the two men faced each other. The arena's announcer introduced them with theatrical flourish.
"The number one blade of the North Wind Mercenary Band — he severs his opponent's throat with the speed of the wind! Caaas~cal!"
It was the scrawny man who'd been sitting in my seat earlier.
"WAAAAAH!"
As if to repay the crowd's cheer, he twirled his daggers in a dazzling display. Right — I remembered the setting now. In this world, a knight wasn't merely a man who fought on horseback; the word described a battle machine capable of taking on a hundred alone.
"And facing him — the promising prodigy of the Imperial Knight Order! Dynamic vision sharp enough to dodge an arrow mid-flight, and overwhelming strength that wields a greatsword like a willow branch! Deeeel—pierre!"
"WAAAAAH!"
The cheers grew even louder. The Imperial Knight Order, huh. Apparently the crowd just rooted for whoever they'd bet on. Already my head was spinning thinking about how my own introduction would go.
Come to think of it, I don't see that pig anywhere.
Scanning the seated competitors, the pig beastman was nowhere to be found — so that brute must have been Dodoria Pigman. His match was next; he was probably warming up somewhere.
Between Cascal and Delpierre, the referee raised a red flag and withdrew. The duel began.
The two men charged each other with a resounding crash, and dust kicked up across the ring.
Whoa.
The admiration escaped me on its own. clang! clang! Metal rang against metal, sparks flashing within the swirling dust. As the haze slowly cleared, I could see the dagger and greatsword clashing at blinding speed — the massive greatsword carving wide arcs to intercept the daggers' rapid strikes.
Every so often Delpierre would seize an opening and swing his sword in a huge, sweeping blow, but Cascal would vanish in an afterimage, leaving nothing behind but blur.
The crowd was utterly absorbed in the match. Every so often, only the voices of the caster and the commentator drifted across the arena.
To these people, this must be their Premier League or Worlds finals.
My match is going to be boring as hell, isn't it.
I felt a pang of misplaced guilt.
In the middle of the fierce exchange, Cascal's afterimage flickered behind Delpierre and dragged a dagger across the back of his neck.
"Gghk—!"
Delpierre clutched the back of his neck and collapsed. Even through his protective enchantment, the impact must have been considerable — the greatsword slipped from his grip. He tried to rise, then crumpled to one knee, unable to get up.
The referee sprinted over, checked his condition, and waved the flag back and forth. He had surrendered.
The announcer went into hysterics.
"The wiiiinnerrrr of match one is! CAAAAASCAL!"
"WAAAAAAAH—!"
If I won in the round of sixteen, I'd have to fight that guy in the quarterfinals. It looked like a good opportunity to put the Vajra Body through its paces.
An usher came toward me. "Mr. Castollini. Please come and prepare for your match."
I followed him toward the competitors' entrance as the caster and commentator's voices washed over the arena.
"Many viewers are worried about match two."
"Indeed. A human versus a superhumanly strong beastman — on paper, it looks like a foregone conclusion."
"I did watch Mr. Castollini fight in the preliminaries."
"Oh? And how was he?"
"Frankly, at first I didn't take him seriously — the man owns a sex toy shop, after all — but he was surprisingly durable, and he fought quite well. In fact, he recently captured a demonized orc using holy magic, and was awarded the Brave Citizen's Medal for it."
"Yes, but magic is prohibited in today's match, and his opponent is the continental champion of the Beastfolk Martial Arts Tournament. Ah — it seems the competitors have finished preparing. How will this unfold? Let's find out."
Beside me, one of the tournament organizers asked with a worried face, "Mr. Castollini... are you quite certain about this? Without any armor, and..."
"Yep. More or less."
I stood there with nothing on but my bare skin and a single wooden club.
The arena announcer bellowed, "The undisputed champion of the Continental Martial Arts Tournament! Do~do~ria~ Piiiiiiig~man!"
Across the dueling ring, the pig beastman was climbing up from the opposite side.
"WAAAAAAAH—!"
A colossal cheer from the spectators. The organizer beside me gave the signal to leave the floor.
"And facing him — Pisak's Saint Dildo, Ian Castollini!"
Goddammit.
The variations on my alias just kept multiplying. I climbed into the dueling ring.
"WOOOOOOOO~~"
I could hear the cheers of a tiny handful of contrarians. Thanks a lot, folks. Seriously.
I faced Dodoria Pigman across barely ten paces of dirt. He was clutching a pork-cutlet hammer — the kind that flattened whatever it struck — in his heavily armored grip.
The caster's voice came through.
"What is that? He has no armor — just a wooden club. Has the Saint Dildo given up on the match?"
"Ah... a shame, but it appears so. To be fair, he drew a terrible bracket, facing Dodoria in the round of sixteen. That club is probably a dildo stand-in he chose as a last-ditch advertisement for his shop."
"And as he speaks that very moment—"
I quietly brought the wooden club down between my legs and stood it upright like a cock, then turned once to flash it toward the stands.
"Ahh! What is this?! A provocation? Or is he advertising his shop?!"
Boos rained down from the crowd.
"BOOOOOOO—"
The caster said coolly, "Honestly, hijacking a match everyone has been anticipating for the sake of personal shop promotion is rather poor sportsmanship."
Now I understood why home teams win in sports. With tens of thousands of people booing you, you definitely feel it weighing on your psyche.
Still, for the sake of the tiny handful of contrarians who'd bet on me, I figured I owed them at least this much of a performance.
I squared off against Dodoria Pigman. The referee stepped between us, glancing at each of us in turn with a ready-check look.
The pigman spoke. "What is this? If you're done advertising, then forfeit."
I tilted my head. "What are you talking about? Beating you is the advertisement."
He burst out laughing. "HAHAHAHAHA!"
The referee fidgeted awkwardly between us. The pigman's hand tightened around the hammer's grip.
"No matter what protective magic you have, one blow from this hammer could crack your skull open, human."
"Is that right? Then maybe go easy on me."
I gave the referee a nod. "You signed the waiver, right? Don't come back haunting me if you die."
The pig beastman nodded to the referee. The referee raised his red flag and stepped back.
The caster shouted urgently, "What — what's happening? He's not forfeiting! The match has begun!"
I brought the club up between my legs and stood it upright.
"They say pig beastmen have monstrous strength, but that their dicks are tiny. Come to think of it, our shop doesn't carry a single pig beastman dildo."
"You fucking bastard!"
He lunged at me with murderous force. In an instant, the shadow of the massive hammer fell across my face.
[Vajra Body]
I drove my fist squarely into the flat of the hammer descending toward me.
CLANG—
The sound of ringing steel. The hammer rebounded. As I caught the full-force swing of that massive hammer with nothing but my fist, the pigman's face froze in open horror.
Riding the rotational momentum of my own punch, I spun my whole body through a full turn and swung the wooden club up into his jaw with perfect precision.
CRACK! — the wooden club snapped in two.
"Urk."
The pigman, jaw struck, lost his balance and crashed down onto one knee. The hammer thudded to the ground.
I seized him by the collar of his armor. The wrought iron folded like scraps of cloth, reshaping itself to fit my hand. I lifted his massive frame effortlessly and slammed him down into the dirt on the opposite side of the ring.
THUD.
Dust billowed up. I looked down at the man with his head cratered into the ground.
"Surrender."
"Ughhh... guhhh..."
The pigman's limbs trembled violently. Still conscious, then — probably thanks to the protective magic. I hauled him up and slammed him down again.
THUD.
The fallen pigman's lips barely moved. "S... sur... render... ghhk."
Dust swirled up, hiding the referee from view.
"What was that? Can't hear you."
You did profane Her Holiness the Saintess and Her Highness the Princess, after all. The price has to be paid, doesn't it?
I began slamming him into the ground, left and right, alternating sides.
THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.
Ah, the arena fell silent, filled only with the rhythmic booming. From the stands, the spectators could presumably see nothing but a blur of afterimages through the hazy dust — and hear that sound.
I heard the referee sprinting toward me. "Ian Castollini! That's enough! Enough! STOP!"
Before the referee could reach the dust cloud, I hurled the pigman toward the stands where the First Prince sat. Dodoria Pigman sailed through the air in a long, graceful arc.
CRASH!
His armored bulk smashed straight through the outer wall of the dueling ring and was buried beneath the shattered stonework.
The dust settled slowly. I looked around the arena. Silence still gripped the stadium.
I quietly picked up the broken halves of the wooden club. The flustered announcer pulled himself together and screamed:
"Th-the wiiinnerrrr is! IAAAAAN! CASTOLLINI!"