“Damn it. I didn’t expect the tournament to be this intense.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
Sir Alan gazed at the arena with a regretful expression.
The knights of the Yellow Canola team had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of Sir Ortwin’s Green Woodpecker team, resulting in their elimination from the tournament in droves.
Consequently, Sir Alan had to taste bitter defeat on the morning of the sixth day of the tournament.
He could no longer step onto the arena, which left Keldric as the sole contender still standing on the sixth day. The burden on Keldric grew heavier as a result.
Keldric stroked his chin, lost in deep thought. From his perspective, Sir Ortwin was undoubtedly a polished knight.
The empire, home to countless knightly families, also hosted a myriad of swordsmanship styles. The technique employed by Sir Ortwin seemed to blend the common southern imperial swordsmanship with the unique traditions of his family’s style.
If the weapon in use were limited to one-handed or two-handed swords, the foundational structure would remain unchanged.
Variations in combat methods stemmed from how much a family’s unique swordsmanship was integrated.
As for Keldric, all he had learned was the practical and unrefined two-handed swordsmanship taught by Sir Volpen.
He had only been taught the basic stances for one-handed swordsmanship or other weapon techniques. He had no secret family sword techniques to speak of.
Thus, Keldric had to rely solely on his practical two-handed swordsmanship, backed by his overwhelming strength and stamina, as well as his innate combat instincts.
So far, that had been enough to crush all his opponents and advance. But when it came to Sir Ortwin, Keldric wasn’t confident he could find an answer.
“The glorious winner of this match is the honorable Sir Ortwin of the renowned Ligenbrun family! May the gods comfort the defeated!”
“Waaaah!!”
Cheers rained down, snapping Keldric out of his thoughts.
Standing in the center of the arena, Sir Ortwin raised his sword high, basking in the crowd’s acclaim. Opposite him stood a knight bowing his head low in acknowledgment of his defeat.
Keldric studied the defeated knight. Scratches marred the knight’s armor. Sir Ortwin’s swordsmanship seemed to blend finesse with a certain degree of practicality.
Compared to the two-handed swordsmanship taught by Sir Volpen, Sir Ortwin might hold the advantage.
Sir Volpen’s two-handed swordsmanship was designed for the battlefield, where its power truly shone. It was originally developed for situations where one faced multiple opponents at once, making it highly practical in real combat.
Because of that, Keldric was better suited to fighting ten average mercenaries at once than a single well-trained knight. He could fight without thinking, and the mercenaries would inevitably fall to the ground.
But when it came to knights, it was a different story. Duels between knights often assumed one-on-one scenarios with few variables, making pure skill the deciding factor.
Sir Ortwin was a knight who had built his reputation around tournaments. His swordsmanship and fighting style were undoubtedly optimized for such events.
“Sir Keldric, shouldn’t you head down now?”
“Yeah, I should.”
Keldric focused his attention on the nameless knights entering the arena.
They had made it this far because they were in the same group as Sir Ortwin or Keldric. That alone was a prestigious opportunity.
But Keldric thought differently. Since it had come to this, he envisioned staying alive until the very end and claiming victory.
Sir Ortwin was the biggest obstacle in achieving that goal.
“Ah, the honorable Sir Keldric of the noble Belaf family. Will you be placing your bets today as well?”
“Yes.”
“You are scheduled for the match after next. Your opponent is—”
“I’ll bet on myself.”
“Ah, understood. It will be arranged accordingly.”
And Keldric was the type to find a way around obstacles, searching and searching for a solution until, if no path existed, he would simply break through.
He had the strength to do so, and no reason not to.
Stretching his stiff body, Keldric slowly picked up his shield and mace.
The sunlight pouring down onto the arena was dazzling. The cheers of the crowd never failed to make his heart race.
As his opponent stepped into the arena, Keldric also advanced, his feet moving steadily toward the rising gate.
Only a few steps remained until victory in this glorious tournament. Having come this far, Keldric felt he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he saw it through to the very end.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
The knights who faced Keldric didn’t last more than five minutes before collapsing under the force of his mace.
Among them were knights from the same Blue Dragon Cavalry team as Keldric. However, at this stage of the tournament, only individual matches mattered, rendering such affiliations irrelevant.
Many knights, driven by pride and ambition, eagerly challenged Keldric, shouting for glorious victory.
Half of them ended up surrendering after being struck by his mace, while the other half were carried off with injuries after fighting to the bitter end.
Keldric’s winning streak was unstoppable. Although his armor occasionally bore scratches, he hadn’t faced any real danger.
“Unbeatable knight! Unbeatable knight!”
“Sir Keldric, the mighty! Truly, he wields the strength blessed by the gods!”
The crowd chanting Keldric’s name grew in number. Even when he returned to his seat in the stands, he felt awkward under the barrage of gazes fixed on him.
“It’s a bit overwhelming.”
“What do you mean, overwhelming, sir? Damn it, if I were in your position…”
“How would the cowardly knight of Britas manage that?”
“Shut your mouth, sir!”
Keldric watched Sir Henri and Sir Alan bickering, shaking his head at their antics. Turning his gaze back to the arena, he noticed the next match had already concluded.
Once again, standing victorious in the arena was Sir Ortwin.
The sixth day of the tournament, which had started that morning, pressed onward toward its final matches with hardly a moment to catch one’s breath except for brief breaks.
Keldric wasn’t the only one who had fought matches since morning, but he observed that Sir Ortwin didn’t seem to be in perfect condition.
Scratches marred his transitional armor and helmet, while his chest and shoulders rose and fell a little faster than usual. It was clear that Sir Ortwin was gradually tiring.
Yet, Keldric didn’t see how he could capitalize on this. Sir Ortwin would recover his stamina after even a short break, leaving little room for Keldric to exploit.
“…?”
As Keldric carefully observed Sir Ortwin raising his sword high, something caught his attention, causing his eyes to widen.
“Is his chestplate uncomfortable?”
It wasn’t something Keldric could confirm from this distance, but he noticed small inconsistencies in Sir Ortwin’s movements and breathing.
As the tournament reached its climax, the frequency of matches involving Keldric and Sir Ortwin increased.
While fewer knights remained, meaning fewer matches should have been scheduled, this phase focused on weeding out the last competitors to prepare for the finals.
It wasn’t impossible that Sir Ortwin’s multiple matches had begun to wear him down. However, Keldric couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that there was more to it than simple fatigue.
“Alyssa.”
“Yes, Sir Keldric.”
“About Sir Ortwin… Doesn’t he seem a little strange?”
“What… about Sir Ortwin?”
“Yes.”
Hearing Keldric’s whispered question, Alyssa carefully observed Sir Ortwin in the arena. His noticeably rising and falling shoulders and chest were classic signs of exhaustion.
“Could it be that he’s just tired?”
“Is that how it looks to you?”
“Yes. Do you see something different?”
“No, but to be this exhausted already…”
Wearing heavy armor and fighting multiple times? It was understandable to grow tired. Even Keldric, after finishing a tournament and returning to the inn, would collapse into bed as if fainting from exhaustion.
However, one should not underestimate the stamina of a knight. Sir Ortwin’s gasping seemed like more than mere fatigue.
“…It’s nothing.”
Keldric shook his head, tucked his helmet under his arm, and stood up. It was time to prepare for the final match.
There were only three knights left standing, including Keldric.
If Keldric could defeat the unknown knight he had barely advanced against earlier, he would face Sir Ortwin in the final match.
“Sir Keldric, claim the glorious victory in my stead. And while you’re at it, feel free to knock Sir Ortwin down a peg.”
“I’m not sure it will go as planned.”
“Hah! Just don’t shake hands with him. You might catch bad luck from a defeated man.”
As he descended toward the arena, Keldric brushed off the doubt he had felt earlier.
Whatever the case, the important thing was to reach the final match.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
After smashing his first opponent and even collecting some money from the defeated knight, Keldric immediately prepared for the final match.
The last event was a jousting match. It was a clever choice by the tournament organizers to open with jousting to draw massive crowds and then cap off the tournament with the same event to ignite their excitement one final time.
“Sir Keldric, here it is.”
“Thank you.”
A servant handed Keldric the wooden lance used in tournament matches.
Boreas, Keldric’s steed with a shimmering golden mane, approached and snorted vigorously.
“Easy there. Stay calm and composed.”
As usual, Keldric scratched Boreas’s mane with clawed fingers. The horse shook its head from side to side, making a pleased sound as if enjoying the gesture.
After a moment of bonding, it was time to mount up. Keldric stopped scratching, swung himself into the saddle, and took a firm seat.
“Let’s go, Boreas.”
The thunderous cheers of the crowd drowned out Boreas’s snorts.
“We now begin the glorious final match of the tournament! St. Venancio shall hold this victory as a testament to honor and faith!”
The booming voice of Bishop Kuno echoed across the arena, now bathed in the glow of the setting sun. The roaring applause from the spectators filled the air.
“In this final match, we have the honorable and devout Sir Ortwin of the noble house of Regenbrunn!”
The cheers grew even louder. Keldric allowed a slight tension to settle in. It heightened his senses, sharpening his focus.
“And facing him, the honorable knight, Sir Keldric of the Bellaf family, who has proven his courage through adversity!”
The gate creaked open, and Keldric urged Boreas forward at a steady pace.
The arena, glowing with the deep hues of twilight, pulsed with heat and energy. Keldric steadied his breathing and donned his helmet. Ahead, Sir Ortwin also lowered the visor of his own helmet while sitting astride his pure white steed.
Keldric recalled the rhythm of the jousting matches from earlier in the tournament. While his jousting experience was still limited, he had fully adapted to the sport after only a few bouts.
His lance was securely braced under his arm. With the lance angled skyward, Keldric and Sir Ortwin faced each other across the arena, separated by a sturdy barrier of rope.
“The final match begins! May these brave knights fight for faith and honor! May the blessings of the divine be upon us all!”
“May the gods bless us!”
Bishop Kuno’s proclamation signaled that there was no turning back now.
Keldric spurred Boreas forward. Sir Ortwin gave his own white steed a signal, and they surged ahead.
In terms of speed and horsemanship, Sir Ortwin clearly had the edge. Keldric, aware of this advantage, had already formulated a strategy to risk minor injuries in exchange for a decisive strike.
Boreas’s powerful legs pounded the ground, the landscape blurring past. The distance between the two knights closed rapidly.
Keldric adjusted his lance, aiming it squarely. That was when something unusual happened.
“…What?”
Sir Ortwin’s body began to sway unsteadily, and his lance wobbled precariously as it pointed toward Keldric.
This was entirely uncharacteristic of a knight known for his flawless connection with his horse.
However, there was no way to pause the match now. Keldric steadied his lance under his arm and braced himself.
**Crack!**
The price of Sir Ortwin’s unsteady lance was steep.
Ortwin’s lance grazed Keldric’s shoulder before missing completely. In contrast, Keldric’s stable lance struck Ortwin’s chest with full force.
The lance shattered as Ortwin was thrown from his horse and hit the ground with a resounding thud.
At that moment, Keldric was certain—something was wrong with Sir Ortwin.
“The… the victor is—!”
“Wait! Stop!”
In the tense silence that followed, Keldric shouted urgently at Bishop Kuno before dismounting from Boreas in haste.
Ortwin lay motionless, occasionally twitching but showing no signs of being in good condition.
“Sir Ortwin, are you all right?”
“Guh… huhhh…”
“…Sir Ortwin?”
Keldric turned Ortwin onto his back and removed his helmet.
“What in the…”
Ortwin’s condition was dire. Blood trickled steadily from his ears, his eyes rolled back, and his entire body trembled uncontrollably.
“Someone, bring a stretcher! Now!”
“Run! Quickly!”
Keldric stared blankly at Sir Ortwin as he was carried away on the stretcher, his thoughts distant. Slowly, his gaze fell to his own hands, now stained with blood.
The blood was so dark it appeared nearly black, but under the faint glint of the sunset, it shimmered faintly with a teal, oil-like sheen.
As Keldric looked closer at the blood pooled in his palm, his eyes widened in shock.
Something small was squirming.
At first, it seemed like leeches, or perhaps thin, thread-like worms. They were minuscule, but there were at least a dozen of them, wriggling like tiny tadpoles in the blood.
“…Poison?”
He couldn’t be sure. But there was one thing Keldric knew he couldn’t ignore.
Someone had interfered with the Bogenberg Tournament.