The Black Knight Swore to the Blind Saintess

"Hyung-nim! Thank you! I won fifty times my bet thanks to you!"

From far away in the stands, Digo, the brothel boss, was shouting at me.

Don't call me hyung-nim... You clearly look older than I am.

I made my way back to my seat, leaving behind the modest cheers of Team Underdog.

From his seat on the far side, Sieg raised a double thumbs-up in my direction.

I nodded back with a smile.

Next to me, the female knight Mika Bern rose from her seat.

"Good luck," I told her.

"Thank you."

Her low voice was quite charming.

She left to prepare for the next duel, and I plopped down into my seat as Participant No. 1, Cascal, shot a sidelong glance my way.

"You were hiding your strength, weren't you?"

"Less hiding it, more never needing to use it."

"Have you ever considered working as a mercenary?"

"A mercenary?"

"Of course, you'd have to grind it out as the rookie at first. But the pay would be better than at that shop of yours."

That shop of yours, huh. This bastard.

"You don't intend to withdraw from the tournament, do you, Cascal?"

"Hahaha. Now, what was your name again... Well, never mind. Mr. Dildo, you still don't understand that strength isn't everything in a fight. Though I suppose that's the difference between a mercenary and a civilian."

"Is that so? Then do show me that difference shortly."

He said nothing, only curling the corners of his mouth upward.

I didn't need a status window to read Cascal's thoughts plain as day.

In the distance, Dodoria Pigman was being carried out on a stretcher.

Mika Bern won her match in the third bout that followed.

I don't know much about swordsmanship, but the movement of her blade was smooth and elegant—like watching a sword dance, if anything.

Bouts four through seven passed without incident.

Then came the eighth and final match of the round of sixteen.

At last, the red-haired Sieg took the stage.

"WAAAAAAAH—!"

As expected.

A deafening roar of cheers.

When he swung his sword once, the ground split open, and the match had to be temporarily suspended.

Before the match could even resume, his opponent forfeited.

And so the last match of the round of sixteen ended just like that.

Really?

Wasn't my match the most entertaining one?

"After a short break, we will proceed directly to the quarterfinals!"

At the announcer's words, the crowd stirred and surged.

The people of this world must be thoroughly pickled in duel dopamine.

Otherwise, who holds the quarterfinals immediately after the round of sixteen?

Toward the end of the break, a member of the operations staff came over to me.

"Mr. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Cascal. Mr. Castollini. Please prepare for your match."

The quarterfinal bracket appeared on the display board.

Picking up my wooden club—its handle now split down the middle—I asked the staff member, "If a weapon broke in the previous match, do I get a new one?"

He scratched his head. "Ah... probably?"

Beside us, Cascal protested. "That's ridiculous. You choose your weapon once and use it to the end. Besides, wasn't it your own lack of skill that damaged it?"

I turned to Cascal. "So you're telling me to fight bare-handed?"

He lifted his chin arrogantly. "Weren't you the one so confident, Mr. Dildo?"

The staff member, flustered, stepped between us. "I'll go find out. Please wait just a moment, gentlemen."

He hurried off somewhere.

Maybe I should have picked a sword.

But if I chose a sword and something went wrong, I might end up killing an innocent person.

Plus, of all the weapons, the wooden club was the one that looked the most like a dildo.

How do I put this—my identity, maybe?

The crowd had certain expectations of my character, and somehow I wanted to live up to them.

The staff member came running back with a troubled expression. "Well... they said no. Apparently you can only use the weapon you originally chose."

Cascal crossed his arms and snorted with laughter. "Aren't you the strong one? People will consider this a fair match between us, Mr. Dildo."

I scratched my neck. "I'm only doing this because I'm worried about you. Wouldn't it be humiliating to lose to an unarmed man? Mr. Onahole?"

"...What did you just say?"

His eyes bulged at the provocation.

"You'll be dragged down there and mercilessly ravished by me—which makes you my onahole, doesn't it?"

"You little shit, I've been wanting to put you down since earlier!"

He rested his hand on his dagger sheath, taking a stance as if ready to lunge at me.

The staff member recklessly wedged himself between us. "Whoa, whoa! You mustn't fight here. Both of you, please head down to the arena immediately."

We made our separate ways to the entrances.

The caster and commentator's conversation echoed down into the underground passage.

"It seems there's some kind of problem."

"Ah, you see, Mr. Castollini's weapon broke in his previous match. What happens now? Does he fight bare-handed?"

"Yes, unfortunately. The rules state that no weapon other than the one originally chosen may be used."

In my hand was the handleless wooden club.

Come to think of it, this looks even more like a dildo now.

The tournament guide gestured to me. "Mr. Castollini, you may go up now."

Having done this once before, it already felt familiar.

As I entered the dueling arena, Cascal was approaching from the opposite side. We faced each other with the referee between us.

"WAAAAAAAH—!"

The cheers from the stands were enough to deafen.

"CASCAL! CASCAL! CASCAL!"

"DILDO KING! DILDO KING! DILDO KING!"

The chants for each side collided like competing waves.

This time, quite a few people had apparently placed bets on me as well.

"And so, the clash between blinding speed and monstrous strength is upon us! What are your thoughts?"

"As is well known, Cascal's years as a mercenary have honed his combat technique to a fine edge. Even in his previous match against Delpierre, he never stopped targeting the vital points, and that's how he ultimately seized victory."

"Yes, and on the other hand, Castollini ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠possesses incredible, monstrous strength—enough to defeat Pigman—but he is an ordinary man with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠zero combat experience. On top of that, his chosen weapon is broken. So, how will this unfold?!"

The referee looked between the two of us. "Are you both ready?"

Cascal drew his daggers with a sickly smile. "Boy, I've decided I will win this tournament, no matter what. So I won't hold anything back—if you end up half-crippled, don't blame me."

"And why exactly must you win? It doesn't seem like it's simply for the title."

"That's none of your concern."

Cascal of the Wind.

This guy appears in the novel.

A deranged mercenary whose sole joy in life is rape.

In the original story, he pretends to help Princess Evangeline as she flees, then tries to assault her the moment she lets her guard down—and fails.

That failure is what plants a deep distrust of men in the princess, driving her to delve further into Black Magic.

From the moment he entered the waiting room, this man had one and only one goal in mind.

"If your goal is to become the Saintess's knight—a girl old enough to be your daughter—and rape her..."

I raised my handleless wooden club and pointed it at him.

"Then this wooden dildo shall deliver your judgment."

"You get funnier the longer I look at you."

Cascal bared the ugly face he'd been hiding all this time.

I nodded to the referee, who stepped back and waved the red flag.

"Begin!"

The instant the announcer's declaration rang out, Cascal's figure vanished from before my eyes.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

He appeared before me in the blink of an eye and drew his dagger across my neck.

"Welcome."

I seized him by the hair.

His hair was exactly the right length for grabbing.

"Kgh—!"

Startled, he whirled both daggers around like lightning, slashing mercilessly at my abdomen, my arms, my thighs where the arteries ran.

I stared at him in silence.

Seeing my body completely unmarked, Cascal's pupils trembled in disbelief.

Refusing to give up, he alternated his two daggers, stabbing furiously at my abdomen again and again.

I could feel the coated protective magic flaking away, layer by layer.

He felt it too.

The speed of his two frantically stabbing arms began to slow.

Cascal looked up at me with eyes full of despair.

"Are you going to surrender?" I asked.

"..."

"Should I make you like that pig from earlier? Or will you surrender?"

"I... surr—"

The moment his mouth opened, I shoved the wooden club into it.

"AAAAGH!"

He snatched at the club with lightning speed, but it was useless. An overwhelming, monstrous force drove the wood deeper into his mouth.

"GAAEEEK!"

A scream echoed through the arena.

Shattered teeth burst out from inside his mouth as the wood kept forcing its way in. His jaw stretched open to its absolute limit.

"AAAEECK!!!"

Tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes.

Cascal fell to his knees, letting go of the club and clutching my thigh instead, his face a mask of desperate begging.

"You said you'd show me the difference between a mercenary and a civilian. You're certainly exceptional at dropping to your knees, I'll give you that."

"AAAEEEECK!"

The referee was running toward us. If he asked Cascal for his intention to surrender and Cascal nodded, the match would be over.

I released the hair I'd been gripping and punted him squarely in the crotch.

"GAAEEEEK!"

He flew in a perfectly straight line and slammed into the wall.

CRUNCH!

I brushed off my ankle lightly. I could feel the protective magic at the tip of my foot shattering.

Cascal, the wooden club still stuffed in his mouth, had eyes rolled completely white.

His wall-slapped body slid limply down and crumpled to the floor.

He'll be a eunuch at minimum, I'd say.

The referee rushed over to check on Cascal, then waved his flag.

The announcer roared: "The winneeeeeeer is! Iannnn Castooooolliniiiii!"

Cheers erupted across the arena.

I slipped out of the arena after that match, pleading that I wasn't feeling well.

Once the quarterfinals ended, the crowds would pour out in a flood, and I had no desire to get swarmed by people needlessly.

"Mr. Castollini, one moment, please!"

Damn. Too late already?

An orc and a dwarf I'd never seen before came running toward me.

"We enjoyed the match very much, sir. Might we trouble you for an autograph?" The dwarf held out a quill and a piece of paper.

I looked back and forth between the two of them in silence.

Beside her stood a hulking orc, shyly clasping his hands together.

Instead of taking the paper the dwarf offered, I reached out and cupped both of their cheeks in my hands.

Stretching their cheeks out long and slow, I said, "Let's go home."

The orc and the dwarf stared at each other with wide, stunned eyes.