WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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Chapter 89: 14. The King's Silence (7)

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* * *

Unlike the shocking opening match, the duels that followed proceeded without much incident.

The great nobles of the capital might belong to different factions, but go back three branches of the family tree and they were relatives. The web of blood ties was more fearsome than school or regional connections, layered over countless years of history.

Besides, most nobles participating in this tournament either supported the Crown Prince or were opportunists considering a switch to his faction.

Any decent loyalist should have opposed the tournament from the start. If the Princess herself was willing to put herself on the market to preserve royal authority, they ought to be weeping and prostrating themselves at her feet.

As a result, every participant maintained a suitably noble style of dueling. Even if they lost, they had to display their dignity before the citizens, so the matches were safe enough while still offering a reasonable spectacle.

Then an outsider appeared.

* * *

[Lady Edelplat Coenwulf of the Kallion Privy Council enters!]

The crowd fell silent.

It was different from Ivan's case. The lack of cheers for him had come from the audience not knowing who the participant was.

There was not a single citizen who did not know the name Edelplat Coenwulf.

Generally, citizens were more enthusiastic about knights than mages. Magic was distant from ordinary life, and its structures and principles of activation were difficult to grasp. A knight's military achievements, on the other hand, were instinctively understood.

That was why citizens did not remember Kallion's heroes. Most elves were mages.

But Edelplat was different. One-Eyed Adel. A valiant warrior who had faced one of the Seven Dragon Generals during the war, lost an eye, and saved an entire legion.

That one feat alone was enough to make the hearts of countless citizens race. On top of that, there was something inspiring about an elf, proud as they were, striding through the world with a single sword in hand.

So the citizens stayed silent.

Why was an elf, and a female elf at that, participating in this tournament?

The strongest elf, suddenly?

[Looks like no one's happy to see me. I'm used to it.]

Edelplat stepped onto the platform, looked around, and spoke with laughter in her voice.

She had not raised her visor.

It was an extremely rude act. Not because anyone needed to verify whether the person inside the helmet was really her. Beolgreen had vouched for her, and Krasilov had accepted her. If she turned out not to be Edelplat, it would be a diplomatic disaster.

Showing one's face was closer to an acknowledgment of the royal family's authority. It was a matter of courtesy.

[Are you planning to keep me standing here?]

The audience stirred at Coenwulf's words. How rude! How dare an elf act this way here! Noises carrying roughly that meaning followed.

Soon, a knight walked out from the opposite side.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Coenwulf. I have long heard of your renown..."

[Stop.]

"What did you say...?"

[I said stop talking. Human. Do not introduce yourself, and do not state your views. Your three-inch tongue isn't enough to leave an impression on me.]

Coenwulf ignored both the announcer and her opponent's introduction, then drew her sword.

There was no starting signal in the tournament. Once two people stood on the dueling ground, they were already prepared to begin.

Coenwulf tilted her sword and pointed it at her opponent. It was a casual gesture, neither especially disrespectful nor polite.

[Come. Leave your name with me through your skill.]

"You insolent...!!"

Every participant standing here was a great noble. A great noble of Krasilov should not be treated this way anywhere in the Allied Kingdoms.

That was common sense. The common sense of the social system humans had created.

But it was not the elves' common sense. Especially not Edelplat's.

In war, the nobility flowing through one's blood did not guarantee one's life.

Even a great noble with vast estates and endless wealth would die if a sword pierced their chest because they lacked skill.

What made a person worth remembering was not the age of their bloodline, but one thing alone, their individual ability.

Besides, no matter how old a human noble house was, how could it compare to the great houses of the Elven Privy Council?

-Sshing...

Her sword slid smoothly through the air.

The tip settled without the slightest tremor, as though there was no need to move at all.

Coenwulf did not even twitch.

"This... insult... I will demand an explanation from your entire elven race!!"

The opposing knight charged with heavy steps, like an enraged boar. In truth, the charge of a trained knight was stronger than a boar's even without a mount.

The weight of full plate armor, destructive mana rushing through the veins, and swordsmanship trained for a lifetime. The instant all of that combined, the distribution of force in the knight's swing reached perfection.

-Kiiing!!

Along the descending blade, Coenwulf's stationary sword swept gently across it and dropped.

-Claang!!

That was enough. It perfectly guided the force in her opponent's sword away and knocked it aside.

The sword, which had not moved even an inch, pointed forward again without a tremor.

The back of the knight's neck now rested against its tip. It had been a strike that perfectly judged the direction of the opponent's approach and even the moment they would stop.

"I... I have lost."

[That was too disappointing a fight to leave an impression. Pick up your sword if you wish. I'll give you a second chance.]

"Do not insult me any further...!!"

[Mockery is ridicule directed at someone who isn't far below you. Human. What I'm doing should be called education, shouldn't it?]

"You elves...!!"

The opponent shouted furiously, turned around, and left.

The audience remained silent. The stands were too far away, and the crowd's eyes were not sharp enough to understand what had just happened.

It looked as though the two had exchanged a single strike. Then one sword flew away, and the defeated knight abruptly conceded and left the arena.

In the silence, Edelplat descended from the platform, walking briskly with the same lively stride as before.

* * *

Then she found Ivan sitting deep in the corridor.

Both wore armor, their visors still lowered, yet they were clearly looking at each other.

[John.]

"Adel."

The two stopped outside sword range and quietly greeted each other.

[You're the same as ever.]

"You've gotten dull."

Adel's armor rattled at Ivan's words.

[Dull? Me?]

"Your swordsmanship used to be more splendid than that. As far as I remember."

[Did it not occur to you that my opponent wasn't worthy of it?]

"Didn't you say swordsmanship was an art one displayed to oneself, not to an opponent? Holding back your sword aura according to your opponent doesn't suit you."

[How do you know that belief didn't change over the past ten years?]

"...Enough wordplay. I can't speak in circles. Adel, answer me. What's your purpose?"

Ivan asked quietly.

"What does Beolgreen want in this country? Why did he send you specifically?"

[Well, now I'm curious about yours. What's your purpose?]

"Victory."

[Mine, if I had to put it simply, is interference.]

Adel answered in a playful voice.

[Beolgreen's purpose is none of my concern. I don't know why he sent me or what he was thinking. But I received only one request. Interfere with the victory of others. What about you?]

"I received only one order. Win until the end. The purpose and reason behind an order are none of my concern."

[Interesting. Don't forget those words later.]

[I hope that resolve of yours doesn't waver when you meet me up there.]

Adel chuckled and walked away down the corridor.

Ivan watched her back for a long time. Her gait, stride length, physical responsiveness, and even her "senses."

A superhuman's senses could infer the body beneath armor. Yet the information he could gain from a superhuman like her, whose mastery of physical ability was unmatched, was limited.

Concealing her condition would be far too easy for her. And did that not mean she had become weak enough to need to hide it?

Until ten years ago, she had never hidden her presence at any moment. That was the kind of woman she was. Always laughing loudly and brilliantly, then sometimes sinking into solemn silence. Impossible to predict.

A master.

A master of the sword. A woman believed to have reached the pinnacle of every form of swordsmanship, every technique performed with all four limbs.

A madwoman who had lived for centuries wielding nothing but a sword. Elven swordsmanship was divided into before her and after her.

If someone like that had become weak enough to hide her physical senses from others...

'Has she gotten dull?'

Perhaps her dementia had progressed further than he thought.

No matter how advanced elven medicine was, it seemed even they could not defeat Alzheimer's. With that, he could safely lower his assessment of the threat posed by older elves by a considerable degree.

There were not many notable young elves, and the elders of the Privy Council who supported Kallion's national power were mostly old.

In any case, it was not bad news. If the most likely winner of the tournament was in that condition, perhaps he could aim for victory head-on.

* * *

Over the following days, the tournament continued as though walking a tightrope somewhere between the crowd's shock and anger.

[The winner is Ivan Petrovich Yermof of House Yermof!!]

-Wow...

-Whoa...

A madman who crushed every opponent within two exchanges, then dropped his own weapon when they lost theirs and marched over to start punching them.

Ivan the Face Breaker. They said he was the third son of some unheard-of rural estate.

Simple and brutish. That was the nobles' assessment. His swordsmanship had no subtlety, no honor, not even respect.

It was a judgment commonly voiced by the nobles he had smashed with his fists.

And there was one more.

[The winner is Lady Edelplat Coenwulf of the Kallion Privy Council!!]

-Boooooo!!!

-Go back to your nest, elf!!!

[Ahahaha!! Come up here anytime if you need a lesson, everyone!]

Edelplat waved cheerfully at the crowd's boos, then strolled away.

The knights who faced her fell into two groups. Those who pointed out the elf's rudeness, and young knights who wanted to cross swords with a legendary hero and earn her acknowledgment.

Those spirited young knights sometimes failed to contain their youthful vigor, visited Lady Coenwulf's lodgings to seek friendship, got thoroughly beaten, and were thrown out.

By then, the nobles had begun to catch on.

-This is a scheme.

Anyone who could not recognize that much ought to return their noble title. An unknown frontier noble was suddenly dominating a tournament that had not even sent invitations to provincial nobles.

It was not that a wandering knight had happened to visit Pritchenkaya and entered with youthful enthusiasm.

It was that Elizaveta had recruited a skilled knight and put him forward to keep the nobles in check.

And the elf had likely noticed Elizaveta's scheme in advance through some "elven" method and come to interfere.

"Then why not make the two fight each other first?"

Duke Sheletif said it as though tossing out an idle thought, stroking his beard.

"If the Princess wants to keep us in check, and the elf wants to interfere with the Princess, isn't this something like a love letter from those pointy-ears to us?"

"Isn't that a little rough for a love letter?"

"They're elves. It can't be helped."

Everyone present agreed at once. Well, they were elves.

"Unless the elves offer their hand to us first, there is no reason for us to bow first. Make those two fight, and one of them will inevitably be eliminated."

There were no draws in this tournament. The prize was the Princess.

"And judging by his behavior, won't this fellow named Ivan at least give that pointed-ear bitch a good cut? Hmm? We didn't lose for lack of skill, so that man must be fairly capable with a sword. Has anyone looked into House Yermof?"

"Yes, Your Grace. It is one of the northern noble houses that sprang up after the war. There are rumors that its third son enjoys hunting and is rather skilled with a sword."

"If they were ennobled after the war, it must have been some mercenary's battlefield promotion. Give him suitable rewards and provide him with equipment. Even if that lowborn loses to the elf and the Princess abandons him, make sure he can crawl beneath us."

It was reasonable. There was no way some nameless nobody could defeat the strongest elf.

So they would support his equipment, ensuring that he could inflict even minor damage on Edelplat. At the same time, they would earn the lowborn's goodwill.

Defeated mercenaries were always discarded. The Princess was not the sort of woman to value defeated soldiers. That lowborn would surely be abandoned, and then he might remember the nobles' kindness.

He might know something from serving under the Princess, and even if he did not, bringing a knight of that skill into their fold would still be profitable.

"But Your Grace, what if that lowborn somehow defeats Lady Coenwulf?"

Then the elves, who had implicitly proposed an alliance with the nobles by sending a dueling representative, would look rather foolish.

And if the third son of Viscount Yermof won like this, would the prize not be out of reach?

The elves were not mad enough to send a female representative to marry the Princess, so an elven victory could become a new opportunity for the nobles.

But if this knight named Ivan won, the nobles would become nothing more than extras in the tournament.

At that question, Duke Sheletif burst into laughter.

"Would a rat defeat a lion just because you put a sword in its paws? Hahaha! That fellow will definitely lose. What matters is minimizing our losses."

On the fifth day of the tournament, every knight who had to face Ivan and Edelplat withdrew.

At last, with only four participants remaining, Ivan came face-to-face with Edelplat.

* * *

Isabelle sat in the stands, gnawing hard on her thumb.

It was not a particularly good habit, but her anxiety was understandable.

Yuri gently patted her shoulder.

"Uncle Pavel."

"Yes?"

"Is Mister going to lose?"

"No."

Pavel had also served in the Royal Guard. He had even been its captain. Naturally, he knew Edelplat.

So he too had guessed that Edelplat was no longer in the condition she had once been.

Ivan, on the other hand, still displayed the ability he had possessed in his prime. After all, it had only been four years since he had cut down one of the Seven Dragon Generals.

The skill Ivan had steadily refined since then was not lower than it had been in those days. If anything, it was greater.

So...

"He'll win."

"Pfft?!"

"???"

Yuri, who had been listening, suddenly sprayed the drink she had been drinking onto the floor and began coughing.

Pavel started patting Yuri's back.

"But if Mister wins, he's really going to marry Her Highness the Princess!"

"Are you trying to cheer for him or curse him?"

"I don't know! I don't want to see Mister lose, but if he wins, I think I'll be really pissed off."

"Isn't it a little late for puberty?"

"No, it isn't! Mister always calls me a puberty kid!"

"You... just leave."

Pavel cursed himself for having to guard these children at close range.

This was not why he had quit the rebel army.

[Lady Edelplat Coenwulf of the Kallion Privy Council enters!!]

-Boooooo!!!

So he decided to add his voice to the boos aimed at Edelplat.

"Boooooo!!"

That old hag could not possibly hear him from here, right? Would she even recognize him?

He was one of the people enjoying this tournament the most.

If the captain won, well, he would become the Princess's consort and could no longer serve as captain, so Pavel's promotion was assured.

If the captain lost, he could say something like, "Well, even so, Coenwulf was always going to be tough, right? Ha, I should've been there, you know? The Dragon-Slaying Spear. One hit from this, and Einar and Edelplat would both go down together."

Huh?

That meant no matter who won, he was the one who lost the least.

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Footnotes:

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