Chapter 81

Chapter 81: Chapter 81

"If—just if—a truly dangerous situation arises, you don’t need any special technique. Stab your opponent in the stomach like this, twist your wrist, and then simply slash upward or sideways. The chest is protected by the ribs, so it’s too difficult for a beginner. Bones aren’t easy to cut through."

Holding a sharp dagger, Rickart demonstrated by thrusting it through the air. The Crown Prince and Bellator sat on the ground, staring blankly up at him.

"That will usually drain the strength from their body and make them collapse. After that, don’t look back. Just run."

Rickart did not know whether he should be doing this, but what he taught the Crown Prince and the prince was less swordsmanship than a method of killing. Of course, he was teaching it purely for self-defense as a last resort.

As Bellator listened to the explanation, however, he raised his hand.

"Go ahead."

"Wouldn’t the neck be more lethal?"

"When you’re startled and panicking, it isn’t easy to aim precisely for the neck. Your hands will also tremble beyond your control. If you insist on targeting the neck, it would be better to do so after cutting open the stomach as I just explained. There’s a soft spot here beneath the chin, see? Stab here, then slice sideways. There’s cartilage in the middle, so you’ll feel some resistance. Slitting the throat guarantees death, but beginners should minimize the number of movements they make."

With shocking irreverence, Rickart traced a finger across the Fifth Prince’s throat as he spoke. Bellator himself, of course, did not mind.

It was such a gruesome lesson that one had to wonder whether children should really be taught such things, but Rickart had already put these techniques into practice when he was ten.

The Crown Prince, however, did not seem particularly interested.

"But this isn’t as impressive as what you do, Ricky."

"It isn’t impressive, but it’s effective. You can’t learn to handle a large weapon properly with only a year or two of training—especially if you want to use it in a real fight."

"We shouldn’t test it, right?" Bellator asked.

"Yes. Don’t test it."

"Not even on an animal?"

"Then how are we supposed to verify that it works?"

"Honestly, neither Your Highness the Crown Prince nor Your Highness the Prince will likely ever need to use it. Still, knowing it might help if you ever find yourself in an unforeseen situation. When you’re facing death, a side of yourself you never knew existed tends to emerge. The important thing at such a moment is not to hesitate."

Even outside the imperial family, anyone of sufficiently high nobility would appoint a champion rather than personally fighting a duel or going into battle.

"That concludes today’s lesson."

"Are you going to see Auntie again?" the Crown Prince asked.

"Yes."

"I wish you would become part of our family, Ricky. You’re going to win, right?"

Rickart did not particularly want to become entangled with the imperial family, but those words pleased him. A natural smile appeared on his face.

"Of course."

Rickart returned the dagger to its original owner, Bellator, said his farewells, and left.

Once the lesson was over, the imperial knights who had been watching from a distance came and escorted the Crown Prince away.

Bellator remained behind alone, silently gazing down at his dagger. It was so extraordinarily sharp that it could slice through flesh without the slightest effort.

No one knew what he was thinking, but Bellator continued staring at the dagger for a long time.

For some reason, however, Rickart did not head directly to Irmin Castle. Instead, he went into the city, as he had commissioned a flower-themed gift for Marie.

The Imperial Palace overflowed with all kinds of treasures, and he could probably obtain anything he wanted simply by asking the Crown Prince, but he did not want to do that.

Rickart headed toward the street where precious-metal craftsmen had gathered. It belonged to the artisans’ guild, where goldsmiths, silversmiths, and jewelers collaborated to create individual works of art.

When Rickart entered one of the shops, a stern-looking man greeted him with a smile and presented him with a small wooden box. Inside was a necklace featuring a gentian flower carved from amethyst, with a sapphire set at its center.

The craftsmanship was so astonishing that the flower seemed genuinely alive. Most importantly, it would never wither.

Rickart liked it, but he was anxious because he did not know whether Marie would. Still, for the sake of the craftsman who had worked so hard on it, he forced a smile and said,

"Thank you. I like it."

"I’m glad it pleases you."

Rickart had already paid, so he took the necklace and left the shop. As he walked down the street, someone suddenly called to him.

"Young master?"

He turned around and saw a noblewoman who looked vaguely familiar, though he could not remember who she was.

"Uh..."

No matter how hard he thought, he could not immediately place her, leaving him at a loss. The beautiful noblewoman, however, smiled gently as though she understood.

"It’s me. Daisy’s mother."

"What? Oh! It’s good to see you. I never expected to run into you here."

He was glad to see her, but something felt strange. She had left her hometown as a woman with nothing to her name, yet now, judging by her appearance, she looked no different from a noblewoman.

"I’m relieved to see that you’ve been doing well. I’ve also heard about the young hero in the red cloak. But it seems you don’t actually wear a cloak."

"Haha, it depends on the occasion. I don’t wear one all the time. Is Daisy doing well too?"

"Daisy... Yes. She is probably doing well. She has become a prophesied nun serving the God of Judgment. It is a joyous occasion."

"...What?"

"No. I came here to participate."

"What? Oh, you mean..."

She suddenly seemed hesitant, and something about her behavior felt odd. Rickart frowned slightly and tilted his head.

"If possible, I think it would be better if you didn’t participate..."

"I can’t do that. I have a reason why I absolutely must win."

"Is that so...? But the Promised Day..."

What promise?

Rickart was bewildered. Before Daisy’s mother could finish, however, a middle-aged man slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Behind the man stood a bodyguard whose presence was far from ordinary. Rickart knew instinctively that the bodyguard was a Sword Master.

"Have you also come to watch the swordsmanship tournament, young master?"

Daisy’s mother appeared to be deliberately changing the subject.

The middle-aged man was none other than Emperor Claudis. He was the Crown Prince’s grandfather and the father of both Bellator and Marie.

Despite never showing so much as the tip of his nose at the Imperial Palace, he was openly strolling through the city.

"Is he your son? He’s bigger than I expected."

"No. He is someone I happened to meet some time ago."

"You dated that brat?"

As though his head was filled with nothing else, the Emperor began spouting nonsense.

"Oh, honestly! What are you talking about? He helped me when I was in trouble."

"I see. My apologies, young man."

Rickart was so dumbfounded that he forgot even to observe proper etiquette. Meanwhile, the Emperor took Daisy’s mother into a carriage and departed.

Rickart watched the carriage leave for a moment before suddenly coming to his senses and heading straight for Irmin Castle.

There was a gate through which people could enter and leave the castle, but officially, no one other than the maids was allowed to pass through it. Therefore, Rickart always had to climb up the vines.

When he reached the window, the maids were helping Marie try on a dress. She would have to appear in one on the day of the tournament.

"Huh?"

Rickart was flustered because he had not expected anyone other than Marie to be there. Then again, had the rumors not already spread everywhere?

"That’s enough. You can all leave."

Fortunately, the quick-witted maids merely giggled and left the room.

Rickart felt awkward, but he climbed through the window anyway.

Marie, dressed in white, looked like a flower in full bloom—and that was no exaggeration. The dress had, in fact, been designed specifically to create that impression.

Combined with her bright blond hair and pale skin, she was almost dazzling. He could not tear his eyes away from the blue stars shining within her large eyes.

She was already beautiful, but the light makeup made it nearly impossible for Rickart to collect himself. Marie had always worn clothes that made it easy to fight, but now...

"Don’t stare at me so intently. It’s embarrassing..."

"Huh? Oh, sorry."

"This is a little uncomfortable. I can’t move freely. But... do you like it?"

"Yeah. So much that I might die if I keep looking."

Marie gave a quiet laugh. Far from displeased, she was deeply moved. She thought it was wonderful that he was incapable of lying.

"Oh, right. I came to give you this."

Rickart took out the wooden box. He could probably have presented it more romantically, but he felt as though he might forget if he did not give it to her immediately.

"What is it?"

"Open it."

The moment Marie opened the box, her heart seemed to stop, and she found herself unable to speak. It was partly because the necklace was beautiful, but more than that, because of the meaning behind the gift. In truth, it would not have mattered what the gift was.

"Do you like it?"

This time, Rickart was the one who asked. Marie’s heart was so full, however, that she truly could not answer.

"Sit down. I’ll put it on for you."

Rickart and Marie sat beside each other on the bed. Rickart placed the necklace around her neck while Marie lifted her hair out of the way.

The length was perfect, and it suited her beautifully—not that there was anything that would not have suited her.

Marie examined her reflection in a brass mirror, though the metal could not fully capture the necklace’s colors.

"Now that everyone seems to know about us, I wonder whether there’s any point in holding the tournament."

Marie burst out laughing at Rickart’s remark. Only then did the tightness in her chest begin to ease.

"Exactly. Can’t we just stay like this?"

In truth, people participated in the tournament for the honor of themselves and their factions, for land, or to elevate their social standing. Rickart was the only person participating for something like love.

"I’d like that too, but it would probably be better if we could be together legitimately."

"Phew... Yeah..."

Marie drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The truth was, she despised the circumstances of her birth.

She had never once received love from her mother, and she had yet to even meet her father. Yet on the day of the tournament, she would have to pretend to be an honored imperial princess.

She had lived most of her life as an illegitimate child and had been formally acknowledged for only two or three years. To her, becoming a member of the imperial family felt more repulsive than glorious.

But none of that mattered anymore.

He was beside her. He loved her, and she loved him.

She wanted to give him everything right then and there, but she could not. There was an old belief that if a man knew a woman before reaching adulthood, his fighting ability would decline.

It was a tradition and folk belief that had been passed down since the ancient days of tribal society.

Marie could not calm her pounding heart. Reality felt like a lie, as though she were breathing inside a fantasy.

She was so happy that she found herself almost grateful for all the unhappiness she had endured.

People sought God when they were desperate, but they also sought Him when they were overwhelmed with joy.

Thank you, God. Thank you for allowing me to be born into this world, for being alive, and for being able to love.

Then Marie noticed Ricky, her sword resting against the wall, and finally began to calm down.

"Ricky."

"If things go wrong, let’s kill them all and run away."

Rickart chuckled. He had taken it as a joke.

"I’m not running away."

As the day of the tournament approached, more and more contestants withdrew. In the end, only six of the skilled fighters who had been staying at the Imperial Palace remained, including Rickart.

Those who had withdrawn would simply enjoy the rest of their luxurious stay, watch the tournament, and then leave.

However, hundreds of contestants had been competing in preliminary matches for several months already. Of those, only two had survived to participate in the swordsmanship tournament.

The tournament would consist of eight contestants in total. It would follow a knockout format, so winning only three matches would make someone the champion.

But those three victories would not come easily. When two people of similar ability fought, no one could say with certainty who would live and who would die in even a single duel.

More importantly, even the winner was likely to suffer severe injuries. Anyone unable to continue competing would be eliminated.

The day of the tournament arrived.

The broad, rectangular wooden arena looked as though it had been hastily constructed. Its seating was elevated so the spectators could look down upon the fighting ground.

It could not accommodate a large crowd, so most of those seated inside were nobles and wealthy citizens. However, the arena was almost entirely open on both sides, allowing commoners outside to watch to some extent.

Consequently, people had gathered around the arena like clouds. Even the trees were so crowded that there was no room left among their branches. Some watched from the hill where the castle stood, though it was difficult to imagine they could see anything from such a distance.

The preliminary matches had essentially been a festival of blood, and the city’s excitement had reached its peak.

Hundreds of swordsmen from across the Empire had fought duels and died in this arena. No matter how much dirt was spread over the ground and cleared away, it was impossible to remove every trace of blood.

The eight duelists wore designated red and blue garments so they could easily be distinguished from a distance. Coincidentally, Rickart had been assigned red.

In the center of the stands sat the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, the Crown Prince, the imperial princes and princesses, and even the Emperor’s mistresses. Marie, the prize awarded to the champion, sat alone on the opposite side from them.

Ridiculously enough, the seats closest to the Emperor were occupied not by members of the imperial family, but by his mistresses.

Of the Emperor’s champions, two had departed for the battlefield. Only one of the Emperor’s personal guards and Hellauman were present.

Hellauman had effectively been retired for some time. Since he was still alive and healthy despite being over a hundred years old, his rare public appearance was a spectacle in and of itself.

For some reason, he seemed delighted. He repeatedly roared with laughter as he shook hands and exchanged greetings with the surrounding nobles.

He was in such a good mood because he had already accomplished half of a certain objective.

That objective was none other than the deaths of hundreds of swordsmen during the preliminary matches.

Moreover, swordsmen had not died only in the preliminaries. Many had also been assassinated under cover of the chaos.

Using the tournament as a pretext to purge those who were unfriendly toward the imperial family—and to cultivate those with potential—was precisely what he had wanted. He did not care about the others who had been caught up in the scheme and killed.

Furthermore, Rickart and Marie got along well, so he considered that another fortunate development. It would have been irritating if they hated each other instead.

To ordinary people, it was merely a festive season filled with entertainment. To the imperial family, it was a kind of spectacle concealing political objectives. A successful festival also naturally increased public support for the imperial family.

So what if the Emperor was a libertine? It wasn’t as though he had harmed anyone. As long as it was entertaining, who cared? Long live His Majesty the Emperor!

The excited atmosphere naturally transformed even the people’s opinions.

The leaves had not yet begun to fall, but they were ripening into shades of yellow and red.

It was also the harvest season—a time of abundance. Laughter, excitement, and merriment easily concealed the sinister schemes beneath them.

The Emperor, however, apparently knew no shame. Even in the presence of his mother and children, he was completely occupied with embracing and kissing his mistresses.

This was Marie’s first time seeing her father, and the shock left her utterly dazed.

That man is my father? The Emperor?

The Crown Prince and the other princes lowered their heads with gloomy expressions. The Crown Prince buried his face in his great-grandmother’s arms, desperately trying not to look at his father’s disgraceful behavior.

What an incredible family.

Even Hellauman, who had been laughing heartily, stiffened when he saw the Emperor.

You’d think he would have contracted some venereal disease and died by now...

"Ahem! Hm! Hm! Ahem! Hrrm!"

Only after clearing his throat loudly several times did he finally manage to attract the Emperor’s attention.

"Let us begin."

"It hasn’t started yet? Hurry up and begin."

At the Emperor’s dismissive gesture, several trumpeters sounded their instruments simultaneously.

Ba-ba-bam! Ba-bam-bam, ba-ba-bam!

As arranged beforehand, the duelists dressed in blue and red emerged from opposite sides of the arena. Rickart was among them. The contestants formed a line before the Emperor.

Standing before the Emperor, Rickart turned his head and looked at Marie, seated directly across the arena.

Just as a smile began to spread across his face, the herald standing by the railing unfurled a scroll and shouted loudly,

"Contestants! Kneel and pay homage to His Majesty the Emperor, the pinnacle of all humanity!"

The eight contestants lowered themselves onto one knee before the disgraceful Emperor. He waved his hand as though telling them that was enough, so they rose almost as soon as they had knelt.

Watching them, the herald shouted again. He had clearly been chosen for the position because of his truly thunderous voice.

"Hear me, people! Since ancient times, our ancestors have believed in a single truth! Victory! The victor takes everything, and the defeated lose everything! This merciless truth alone is the justice ordained by God! The victor is justice! Thus, honoring and refining the martial arts is a virtue! His Majesty the Emperor has arranged this swordsmanship tournament to encourage that virtue! People, follow the example of the victor! But you who are defeated, do not despair! God’s mercy awaits the courageous! If you refuse to flee, take up your weapons, and die fighting, then a place in heaven shall await you!"

Whether the declaration was right or wrong, it certainly reflected the spirit of the age. Perhaps the minor wars, petty disputes, and constant bloodshed all arose from beliefs like these.

"Contestants, hear me! Swords, axes, maces, clubs, and spears—all weapons of close combat are permitted! However, cowardly bows and crossbows are forbidden! Furthermore, no one may interfere in this sacred contest! Anyone who attacks from afar or defiles the contest with wicked magic shall be hunted down and subjected to the most horrifying punishment! After death, they shall fall into hell and suffer for all eternity!"

After reading the entire proclamation, the herald rolled up the scroll and shouted,

"Contestants, proceed to your respective waiting areas and prepare yourselves for an honorable death!"

Rickart headed toward the waiting area with the other contestants dressed in red.

For a moment, he casually glanced at the contestants in blue heading in the opposite direction. Neither they nor Rickart appeared to harbor any personal animosity toward one another.

The waiting area was merely a temporary tent. Its thick fabric prevented the contestants from watching the other matches.

The wind blew, making the tent flutter slightly. When the herald called a contestant’s name, one man picked up his weapon and left the waiting area.

A moment later, the herald shouted,

"Let the match begiiiiin!"

A roar erupted from the crowd, seemingly shaking both heaven and earth.

The noise was so tremendous that even Rickart flinched in surprise. He could not understand why this was something worth getting so excited about.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Before thousands of spectators from every social class, a match fought at the risk of life and death—no, a show—unfolded.

It was a show in which one person died and the other survived, though even the survivor might be crippled if he was unlucky.

The first match did not last as long as expected. Cries of "Oh!" and "Whoa!" rang out, and shortly afterward, the man who had gone out returned.

But he did not return alone. An attendant supported him as he walked. His calf had been cut so deeply that the flesh hung loose, and blood poured from the wound. It appeared impossible for him to continue competing.

That meant someone would advance to the next round without having to fight.

The attendants poured a potion onto the wound and administered emergency treatment, but it did not look as though a day or two would be enough for the muscle to heal completely.

All the contestants were seasoned veterans who had endured countless hardships. However, this seemed to be their first duel to the death before thousands of spectators, so they repeatedly took deep breaths and tried to calm their excitement.

Rickart was no exception. He did not mind facing a contest, but when he considered the circumstances and thought of Marie, it was impossible not to feel nervous.

Please, heart. Just calm down.

At that moment, the herald’s resonant cry rang out.

"From Stormherz! Third son of House Kaldevern! A member of the Beringen Guild! Rickart of the Red Cloooooak!"

The instant Rickart heard that cry, his entire body became perfectly calm, as if by magic.

He seized his weapon, sprang to his feet, swept aside the tent flap, and strode into the arena.

A deafening roar that seemed to press down upon his entire body poured over him.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!

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