Not long after, the day of the swordsmanship tournament that set the capital of Lutecia ablaze with excitement dawned.
Only by claiming victory in this tournament could one earn the right to challenge the Royal Champion. Therefore, the immediate task Sien had to solve was to seize the championship.
All while hiding the fact that he was a ‘member of the Nightwalker Family.’
— Before long, Sien’s first opponent stood before him.
“I, Roland of Lambouillet!”
Roland. The name belonged to the knight who stood at the pinnacle of the twelve knights of Charlemagne.
However, the knight before him was not that person. He was merely the son of a mediocre noble family, named such in the hope that he would become a knight like the legend, following the tradition of this country.
“Revere God, protect the Church, serve the lord with bravery and faith, respect and protect the weak, be kind to widows and orphans, do not insult others recklessly! Despise rewards made of gold, live for honor and glory, fight for peace, protect the honor of comrades! Distance yourself from injustice and meanness, and—”
“Geez, please just stop at the first verse.”
The most ridiculous thing about a jester knight was that they didn’t realize they were a jester.
On a real battlefield where people killed for the sake of their country’s interests, things like the code of chivalry were useless. The knights of the Holy Empire, at least, knew that well. No, they knew it too well, and that was the problem.
But the naive knight before him was different.
Born into a wealthy noble family, he was a jester who never doubted that he was a ‘true knight,’ even though he was merely running on a path paved by his parents to prevent their son from falling into danger.
“I, Roland, the knight of many battles, shall ask for the name of my worthy opponent in the name of honor and pride!”
“Have you actually ever been to a war?”
“Young knight, I have experienced more battlefields than you can possibly count.”
Sien scoffed at those words, findind them absurd.
Countless battlefields. Of course, he likely hadn’t lacked experience in participating in battles. But could a game of war—where one was treated with respect as a prisoner if things went south and released after a ransom was paid—truly be called war?
“I have no name to give you,” Sien replied.
With that answer, Sien kicked off the ground.
Blades clashed. His opponent was a knight who couldn’t even use an Aura.
However, Sien did not overwhelm him immediately. If he showed too much strength, it would conversely arouse suspicion.
It was a safe bout, clashing without an Aura that could cut steel and without the worry of being wounded or bleeding inside the armor.
As long as he fought without an Aura, he had no choice but to perform *Harnischfechten*, a technique for fighting against armor by thrusting blades like stilettos into the gaps of the opponent’s plate.
However, in these ‘fair and square’ knight matches, using hidden weapons or even killing the opponent was considered a dishonorable act and resulted in disqualification.
‘Good grief, is this a fight? It’s more like playing house.’
At the same time, for the general public, even this kind of play was a sufficiently interesting stimulus.
*Crunch!*
Before long, Sien closed the distance and initiated sword wrestling, twisting the opponent’s limbs with all his might.
The range of motion of the armor did not necessarily mean the range of motion of the limbs.
“Argh! I surrender! I yield! I surrender!”
Even though not a single bone had broken yet, a truly dramatic scream echoed out.
***
Even after the first day’s matchups ended, Sien’s victory did not receive much attention. It was a relief.
Instead, the performance of a certain knight who displayed an Aura Blade from the first day of the tournament captured the people’s attention.
Unlike a real battlefield where one’s life was on the line, an Aura Blade was not a spectacle easily seen in this kind of world.
In comparison, as the rounds progressed to the sixty-four, the thirty-two, and so on, Sien never caught the public’s eye. He always fought just enough to win, and since there was nothing particularly exciting about it, they didn’t go wild for him.
“I—I surrender!”
“I yield! I have lost!”
However, as the rounds of sixteen and the quarterfinals passed, and he continued to achieve ‘victories by fighting just enough’ even in the finals, the situation changed.
This was despite the fact that his final opponent was the highly anticipated championship candidate who had captured everyone’s attention by using an Aura Blade from the first day.
“Once—once again, it is the victory of Siel Lewis, the second son of the House of Baron Lewis!”
The fake identity Isabelle had prepared for Sien echoed through the arena.
Siel Lewis, the youngest participant and the youngest winner of this swordsmanship tournament.
“Oh, truly marvelous!”
After his victory, Sien knelt before the platform where King Charles IV of the Charlemagne Kingdom sat watching the match, following the kingdom’s etiquette. As he removed his helmet and revealed his face, he thought.
‘Could I kill him like this?’
He didn’t truly intend to kill him.
It was merely a compulsive professional habit as a member of the Nightwalker Family, looking for an opportunity to kill an opponent.
‘It’s impossible.’
He could be sure of it.
The twelve knights who guarded that old, foolish King on the platform were true powerhouses that could not be compared to the jesters he had fought earlier.
Each one of them was a warrior that even the future, fully realized Sien—let alone the current one—would have to fight with his full strength.
“It is an honor to show my humble sword before Your Majesty.”
Therefore, he quietly knelt and drove his sword into the ground vertically, observing the kingdom’s etiquette.
“Truly magnificent, Sir Siel of Lewis!” the King said, looking down at Sien in the arena. “To possess such swordsmanship at such a young age! Indeed, the future of this country is bright.”
“You flatter me, Your Majesty.”
Sien bowed his head again. For a moment, a deep suspicion flickered in the eyes of the twelve knights guarding the King.
Even if the King was foolish, the knights who guarded him were not. That was the secret of how this country, the Charlemagne Kingdom, could maintain its dignity while being called the ‘Kingdom of Chivalry.’
“Now then, at this auspicious occasion where the winner of the tournament has been decided—”
It was at that moment.
“Pardon my intrusion, Your Majesty, but may I make a request?”
“His Majesty is speaking. Do not open your mouth recklessly.”
The strongest knight, guarding the King from the closest position, spoke up.
He was a knight with ‘Durandal’—the supreme holy sword and a divine-grade artifact comparable to the ‘Spear of Destiny’ in Sien’s possession—hanging at his waist.
“Oh, my dear Roland! There is no need for that. I shall gladly hear the words of this young winner.”
The King waved his hand as if the restraint from Roland, the leader of the twelve knights, was unnecessary.
“Now, let us hear it. Bold young knight.”
“—As the winner of this tournament, may I exercise the ‘Challenger’s Right’ given to me?” Sien asked. “Right now, immediately at this very spot.”
The royal-hosted swordsmanship tournament was an event held every season. And the winner of this tournament finally earned the right to challenge the Royal Champion.
“Ho, do you understand the meaning of those words?”
“Of course.”
However, even as seasons and years passed, no winner of any tournament had ever defeated the Royal Champion. No, to begin with, there were none who even tried to challenge him.
They were all killed during the match with the champion.
—That was the true purpose of this ridiculous and trivial tournament from the start.
It was to demonstrate before the people that no skilled knight could dare to face the knights of the royal family.
It was a childish show from the beginning to flaunt the power and authority of the King and the royal family.
“Ho, truly bold. Do you intend to continue the fight with ‘Sir Duchamp of the Tulips’ without even taking a rest?”
“I wish to fight right here, on this dirt, immediately,” Sien said. “Would that be possible?”
“Truly bold indeed.”
An unpleasant smirk played across the King’s face, which had been smiling benevolently.
“You must be aware that among the tournament winners since I ascended the throne, none have survived a fight with Sir Duchamp, yes?”
“I am aware.” Sien bowed his head.
“I will give you one last chance to reconsider, bold young knight. I say this because I value your talent, much like a father would.”
“Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty.”
Sien smiled calmly and bowed his head. The King also smiled.
“Yes, it has been a while since we’ve had a sacrifice in the last few years.”
Nothing was better for establishing royal dignity than flaunting military might before the people.
The best way was to take the winner of the tournament who had been culled in such a manner and cut them down. Not letting them run away with their tail between their legs from the start.
“Have Sir Duchamp prepare his armor and sword immediately!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The King gestured.
*Thump!*
Before long, the iron gates of the arena opened. A man emerged from beyond the gates.
He was a knight dressed in armor painted a reddish hue like a tulip.
Red hue? No. One realized upon looking closer.
That was neither the color of a tulip nor a dye. It was real human blood.
“Having a benevolent heart like a father, I shall ask one last time, my young son. Do you truly intend to proceed with this match immediately, without resting and without fearing even death?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Very well! Let the duel begin!”
As soon as he received the final confirmation, the King, sitting in the premium seats, shouted at the top of his lungs.
With that sound, Sien caught a glimpse of his surroundings.
A significant number of capital citizens were packed into the arena, watching Sien.
However, until just a moment ago, what they were seeing was not Sien. It was merely a jester knight named Siel Lewis.
The true appearance of Sien Nightwalker that they were about to see started now.
The assassins of the Nightwalker Family were far from quiet. They did not murder their targets in the darkness while everyone was asleep. They didn’t even vanish leisurely without leaving a trace after finishing their mission.
Because they could never gain ‘trust’ that way.
In most cases, their methods were instead excessively ostentatious and flashy.
*Clang.*
Sien unfastened the fixing rivets of the breastplate he was wearing.
To suddenly take off his armor—an unexpected murmur arose from the audience.
Although armor was meaningless in a fight between those who possessed an Aura Blade, the armor itself was a garment that symbolized a knight.
To take off one’s armor meant ‘dishonor’ beyond comparison for knights. Especially in the Charlemagne Kingdom, which worshipped chivalry like life itself, the meaning was even more profound.
Nevertheless, nothing changed.
“The thirsty man is the one who digs the well,” Sien said in a cold voice toward the knight before him, Sir Duchamp of the Tulips. “Just as one calls for divinity because they lack faith, and one calls for the morality of a knight because they lack chivalry.”
“You brat…”
Sien mocked in a cold voice. At the same time, Sir Duchamp’s movement, as he was about to kick off the ground and crush his opponent, halted for a moment.
‘What is this?’
The atmosphere, the pressure of the area, had changed.
“Your Majesty, stop the match immediately!”
The next person to realize the meaning of this was Roland, the leader of the twelve knights who was guarding the King.
“What? Stop the match? What do you mean by that!”
“That man is absolutely not the son of some minor baron’s family!” Roland continued urgently. “Stop the tournament immediately and let me capture him!”
“Have you forgotten the eyes of the people watching this tournament right now?”
However, the King roared, heedless of Roland’s words.
“Any act that causes doubt toward my authority and the dignity of the royal family is unacceptable, even if it is your advice, Sir Roland!”
“But Your Majesty—”
“Besides, don’t you also know that Sir Duchamp is a sufficiently skilled knight?”
Roland bit his lip and fell silent. It wasn’t that there hadn’t been arguments like this before. And his memory wasn’t bad enough to forget how they had ended each time.
“That boy is a greenhorn who hasn’t even reached twenty! No matter how talented he is, it is impossible for him to defeat Sir Duchamp with the achievements of that age.”
Saying so, the King sipped the wine in his hand.
He was right. At least, that would be the case in a world where common sense applied.
However, in the world where Roland fought, such common sense did not apply, and those beings outside of common sense were the true adversaries that threatened this kingdom.
He could instinctively tell right away. That young knight over there was also a being outside of such common sense.
At that moment.
“You, what exactly is your identity?” Sir Duchamp, the knight in blood-stained armor facing Sien on the sand, asked.
“A wraith come to collect a debt.”
Sien Nightwalker answered in a cold voice.