“Oh, who do we have here? Isn’t it the disgraced Brittas knight who lost so miserably?”
“Shut that mouth of yours.”
“Typical words of a loser.”
“…It was just a mistake. Next time, I won’t lose.”
“Since when do losers get a next time?”
“Damn it! There’s still the group battle left, isn’t there?”
Keldric looked at Sir Alan and Sir Henri bickering with each other, a hint of exasperation in his eyes.
Truth be told, Sir Henri, who was gleefully teasing the defeated Sir Alan, hadn’t performed much better in their previous muddy brawl. Even if Sir Henri had stepped in, he wouldn’t have won either. The knight Alan had faced was simply that strong.
“Well, well. Quite the loud voice for someone who lost. Don’t you feel the slightest bit sorry for me or Keldric here?”
“….”
Sir Alan fell silent. As Henri’s taunts suggested, both Keldric and Henri had bet a few silver coins on Alan out of camaraderie, hoping to preserve his honor and reputation.
And Alan had returned utterly defeated.
The silver coins they wagered ended up going to those who had bet on his opponent instead.
Thankfully, it wasn’t a large sum; otherwise, it could have been an irreparable loss.
“…I’m sorry,” Alan muttered, his expression sullen, as he approached Keldric to offer his apology. Keldric awkwardly nodded in response.
“Well… it’s fine. It wasn’t a big loss anyway.”
“It’s not fine for me! You useless Brittas knight! What about my money?!”
“Ugh! I said I’m sorry!”
As Alan and Henri began squabbling again, Keldric turned his attention to the arena, where the fourth match was about to start.
“Certainly, there seem to be many skilled contenders here.”
“Indeed. Sir Alan seemed to have fought well enough, though,” Alyssa commented.
As Alyssa pointed out, Sir Alan was at least above average, perhaps even in the upper-mid tier of knights. Having won multiple tournaments in the Brittas Kingdom, his skills were well-established.
However, his opponent this time was simply too strong.
Keldric replayed the moves of the knight Alan had faced in the joust.
The knight rode his horse aggressively, with no concern for finesse. While Alan maneuvered with precision and elegance, the other knight charged headlong and thrust his lance with raw speed and power.
The result was Alan’s crushing defeat.
Keldric watched as Alan reluctantly fished out his coin pouch, his expression full of regret.
“Well, at least the opposing knight didn’t demand your warhorse.”
“That’s true…”
It was customary in tournaments for the losing knight to compensate the victor. Typically, they had three options for payment:
First, to surrender the warhorse they had ridden.
Second, to hand over their armor.
Lastly, for knights who couldn’t afford to part with either, a monetary compensation was the usual alternative.
For knights, a warhorse was far more than just a means of transportation. A well-bred and well-trained horse was a lifelong companion, a symbol of honor, and an emblem of their family’s prestige.
To lose such a horse over a single tournament loss was an unthinkable humiliation for knights, who often prided themselves on their wealth and ego.
Victorious knights, understanding this sentiment, usually refrained from taking a defeated opponent’s horse and instead settled for their armor or a cash reward.
Even for a defeated knight, honoring their opponent and accepting the results gracefully was a way to respect their dignity.
The crowd didn’t think much of it either. For a knight who claimed the glory of victory to show mercy, it was seen as a chivalrous act.
Thanks to this custom, while knights might surrender some of their armor or money as compensation, no one had yet stooped to taking another knight’s warhorse.
“Damn it. I never thought I’d have to spend money in a place like this.”
“At least they went easy on you. Stop complaining and just go hand it over.”
Keldric watched Sir Alan walk off with his coin pouch, a pitiable look in his eyes.
The amount Alan had to pay the victorious knight was a hefty dozen Floren gold coins.
For a single defeat, it was a painful expense.
Still, Keldric thought, it was better than giving up a well-bred warhorse or the armor Alan needed for future battles.
‘How much do I even have left?’
Keldric mentally tallied his current assets.
He still had the Ducato gold coins he’d brought from his family, along with a decent amount of Floren gold and Grassen silver earned from hunting a rock troll and helping Sir Herman.
Even if he lost a match, he had enough to cover the compensation. But if he were to lose twice in a row, it would leave him in dire straits.
Not that Keldric was worried about such an outcome.
“It’ll be your turn soon. Are you ready for it?”
Alan, now returned from paying his dues, asked with a weary expression. Keldric’s answer was already decided.
“I can’t say I’m completely confident, but I feel good about my chances. Trust me.”
“Haha… Even if it’s just talk, it’s reassuring. Still, I’ll need to make some money for a while.”
Alan didn’t look entirely convinced, though his greater concern seemed to be the lingering regret over the coins he’d just handed over.
“Sir Keldric, you’re my only hope now. Please, save my wallet!”
“Why not just bet on me, then?”
“What kind of madman bets their entire fortune? That’s insane!”
Henri, for his part, was slightly better. But even he lacked the boldness to stake his entire fortune on a single wager.
It was all because Keldric didn’t have a strong enough reputation yet.
No matter how big and strong Keldric looked, brute-force knights often fell early in tournaments to those with superior skill and technique.
Since Keldric had never showcased his full abilities in front of Alan or Henri, it was natural for them to doubt him.
Keldric clicked his tongue.
He couldn’t deny that he had no prior experience in jousting, but their lack of faith still stung his pride.
“Alyssa, what about you?”
“I’ve already placed my bet.”
In her hands was a pouch filled to the brim with shimmering silver coins—a collection of her entire savings.
“…I’m hesitant to say this, but are you sure about this?”
“I can’t imagine Sir Keldric losing.”
Unlike Alan or Henri, Alyssa had seen Keldric fight properly. Without hesitation, she had wagered most of her money on him.
Keldric nodded. Alyssa had likely earned that money through her tough life as a mercenary mage, scraping by with great effort.
That made it all the more important for him to meet her expectations.
Failure wasn’t an option.
“It’s about time I head down.”
“Sir Keldric, I truly hope you win.”
“Whatever happens, make sure my purse ends up overflowing.”
“Sir Keldric, I wish you the best of luck.”
With the encouragement of his companions, Keldric, holding his helmet at his side, left the stands and made his way to the waiting room.
This was Keldric’s first jousting match. No matter how skilled a person might be, it’s natural to make mistakes when experiencing something for the first time.
But Keldric was different. Having watched several jousting matches, he had already pieced together a strategy in his mind just from observing.
On his way to the waiting room, Keldric spotted a servant collecting wagers. He approached and handed over his pouch, heavy with coins.
“Is the fifth match being prepared now?”
“Ah, yes, Sir Knight. Would you like to place a wager?”
“No. I want to place a bet on the sixth match. Is that possible?”
“Yes, it is. We’re accepting bets up to the seventh match. Which noble knight in the sixth match would you like to wager on?”
“I’ll be participating in the sixth match myself. I intend to bet on me.”
The servant’s eyes widened in surprise.
The pouch Keldric handed over was hefty, but what stood out even more was his calm and collected demeanor—neither excited nor arrogant. It made him hard to read.
“Is that not allowed?”
“N-No, of course it’s allowed. Might I have the honor of knowing your name and house, Sir Knight?”
“By the grace of the heavens, I am Keldric of House Bellaf.”
Keldric of House Bellaf. The servant, literate and trained in such duties, carefully inscribed Keldric’s name onto a sheet of parchment in flowing script.
“Honorable Sir Keldric of House Bellaf. While the totals are not yet finalized, I can inform you of the current odds for your victory.”
“What’s the payout ratio?”
“Should Sir Keldric emerge victorious… the payout is… s-six times your wager.”
Six times. A substantial sum. With a single bet, Keldric stood to earn a fortune.
The odds might fluctuate once betting for the sixth match officially opened, possibly decreasing—or increasing—depending on how the match shaped up.
“Understood. Place my wager.”
“Of course. The waiting room is just over there. May the glory of victory shine upon you, Honorable Sir Keldric.”
“Thank you.”
Following the servant’s directions, Keldric headed toward the waiting room. To calm his racing heart, he took slow, deep breaths.
‘I have to decide the match with the first charge.’
He wasn’t entirely certain what would unfold, but one thing was clear—he wouldn’t go down easily.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
“The knight representing the Yellow Rapeseed Knights in the sixth match is the honorable Sir Bruno of the devout House Zaunven!”
Cheers erupted. Applause thundered through the air.
The ground, firmly compacted, began to tremble slightly under the weight of the uproar, and it wasn’t long before the cheers grew even louder.
This was because Sir Bruno of House Zaunven, the knight opposing Keldric, entered the arena.
Keldric fixed his gaze on the glittering armor of Sir Bruno beyond the latticed gate, reflecting the bright sunlight.
Through the narrow slit of his helmet, that armor was all he could see. It was all that mattered to him now.
“Sir Keldric, it’s time to prepare.”
At the servant’s words, Keldric nodded silently.
His tournament lance and armor were flawless.
The excitement in the air stirred Boreas, who snorted violently, saliva flying as he pawed the ground.
Keldric reached out and scratched the golden mane of Boreas, a gesture that always calmed his companion.
“And now, the courageous knight of the Blue Dragon Cavalry, the honorable Sir Keldric of House Bellaf!”
Finally, the gate rose. Keldric gently nudged Boreas’s flank with his foot.
“Let’s go, Boreas.”
Boreas neighed sharply in response, stepping forward with a spring in his step toward the arena.
Cheers erupted from all sides, the shadows retreating as the sunlight illuminated Keldric’s metallic helmet, gleaming brilliantly.
The cheers gradually softened as Sir Bruno, standing at the far end of the arena, lowered the visor of his helmet.
Keldric had no visor to lower. He simply gripped his lance tightly under his arm, taking his stance.
His lance, angled toward the sky, assumed an intimidating posture.
He became aware of his breathing growing heavier.
Though he had survived countless life-and-death battles, there was something uniquely nerve-wracking about today.
Perhaps it was the presence of the vast audience.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had staked nearly all he owned.
Or perhaps, it was because Keldric, too, was ultimately just a knight.
“Knights! It is time to prove your skill and valor! Fight for the honor of your house and your liege!”
With the herald’s cry, Keldric drove his heel into Boreas’s side.
Boreas, responding to the command, kicked off the ground powerfully, charging forward with saliva flying from his mouth.
The sharp sound of wind slicing past battered Keldric’s ears.
Keldric’s widened eyes focused on Sir Bruno, who charged toward him from the opposite end.
The deafening cheers faded into the distance.
In this moment, only one knight remained before him.
His legs, abdomen, arms, shoulders—every muscle in his body quivered with tension.
Boreas was no different, his ivory coat now glistening with sweat, the rippling muscles beneath undulating like waves.
The distance closed rapidly. Keldric, struggling to steady his breathing, exhaled forcefully.
Boreas, mirroring his rider, huffed like a beast, their movements perfectly synchronized as they charged forward like a single entity.
‘Now!’
Keldric’s finely honed instincts screamed at him to aim his lance.
His movements, crisp and mechanical, left no room for error. Keldric’s lance zeroed in on Sir Bruno, and Sir Bruno’s lance aimed in return.
But there is a vast difference between a roughly aimed strike and one that is perfectly aligned.
As they closed in, Keldric could see Sir Bruno’s eyes widen through his visor.
“Hah!”
CRACK!!
The lance shattered.
It didn’t merely break—it exploded into shards, scattering in all directions.
The problem didn’t end there. Sir Bruno’s body collided heavily with Keldric’s shoulder.
“Ugh?!”
Keldric’s only fault was his sheer size and mass.
Sir Bruno’s mistake was failing to be thrown off by the initial strike.
Though Keldric took a blow to the shoulder from Bruno’s lance, he countered it with his own shoulder rather than dodging.
That action became the decisive factor.
“Urgh…!”
Sir Bruno, thrown violently from his horse, tumbled across the ground several times.
The sight was somewhat unsightly, but the fact that someone could be launched through the air like a mangonel’s projectile just from a shoulder hit was baffling.
“……?”
Brushing off the shattered wooden fragments from his armor, Keldric stared blankly at Sir Bruno, who lay groaning far from his horse.
It felt like something had collided hard, but instead of dislocating Keldric’s shoulder, it was his opponent who had been hurled away.
“…The glorious victor of the sixth match is none other than Sir Keldric of the honorable House Bellaf! May the Lord grant solace to the defeated!”
As Keldric stood dumbfounded, belated cheers engulfed the arena.
Accepting the ovation with a dazed expression, Keldric suddenly broke into a beaming smile, raising his broken lance high.
“Waaahhh!”
“Sir Keldric! Sir Keldric!”
“My word! Where does that strength come from…?!”
“The knight with overwhelming power!”
Shouts of admiration, encouragement, and praise poured in from all directions.
It was all well and good; even though Sir Bruno still lay sprawled and twitching on the ground far away, unable to rise properly, Keldric decided to savor this brief, glorious moment.
With a single charge, Keldric had gained everything he desired.
‘Sweet.’
Among those rewards was an enormous prize payout.