"Runes."
Several of the more observant squires in the crowd let out gasps of surprise.
In the Age of Knights, true magi were rare, and those capable of inscribing runes onto weaponry were even rarer.
The value of such a weapon was self-evident; a single rune could exponentially increase the lethality of a blade.
Many of those who had previously lost to Wayland now wore expressions of schadenfreude.
Benno had purposefully kept his trump card hidden through the earlier rounds, likely hoping to use it to catch Wayland off-guard.
But Wayland was no ordinary knight.
The moment he saw the runes flare to life, he didn't hesitate. He leapt backward, raising his hand.
A magical circle hummed, resonating with the intricate lines of his spear.
The steady flow of magical energy felt like a match being touched to a fuse.
The air around him suddenly exploded.
Droplets of rain were sent flying backward as the pressure expanded.
Wayland didn't retreat. Instead, he lunged forward, his spear manifesting anew in his grip. He thrust the weapon, weaving a dense, shimmering web of red spear shadows.
The sounds of impact became a rapid-fire staccato.
As Wayland pressed his advance, Benno's broadsword was forced into a desperate, flashing defense. He was pushed back several meters, his face turning a deep, frustrated red as the sheer pressure of the onslaught began to overwhelm him.
The watching squires' expressions shifted from excitement to shock. While Wayland's fighting style was fundamentally different from the standard knightly arts, the sheer precision and experience he displayed were undoubtedly that of a seasoned veteran.
Wayland poured more strength into his spear and launched himself into the air.
It was an unexpected move.
Ordinarily, a combatant would capitalize on their momentum to press a grounded advantage. But while the crowd was confused, Benno's face was twisted in raw terror. He could feel it--a massive, unshakable force had locked onto him.
With a sharp cry, the mud and rain around Benno burst outward, but his feet refused to move.
'Is it quicksand again?'
He had seen Wayland's earlier match and had been on guard for that exact trick.
He looked down.
A shimmering ring of deep violet and blood-red light was holding him in place.
'What is this...?!'
Benno let out a desperate roar, pouring every ounce of his strength into his sword. Those nearby could see invisible ripples of distorted air erupting around him from the sheer intensity of his focus.
Wayland ignored his struggle and raised his spear high.
"Stab! Pierce! Spin!"
This was the pinnacle of Shadow Realm Spearmanship.
"Gae Bolg Alternativa!"
The spear vanished in an instant. It left no trail, not even a ripple in the curtain of rain.
By the time the crowd registered Benno's frantic attempt to break free, a new sound cut through the storm.
The spear had pierced through the thick, broad blade of Benno's sword without the slightest resistance. Its speed was so great that the metal hadn't even had time to shatter.
Death came to a halt exactly one centimeter from Benno's forehead.
Benno's eyes rolled upward as he stared in shock at the shimmering, razor-sharp tip of the spear hovering inches from his skin.
His lips were pale and trembling, but he couldn't find the words to speak.
The field fell into a heavy, absolute silence.
All shouting, all cheering, and even the sound of breathing seemed to vanish in an instant.
There was only the steady pitter-patter of rain striking the shaft of the spear.
Wayland released his grip. The projected spear dissolved into the air, its presence vanishing into the rain.
Benno stared at the clean hole in his broadsword. If Wayland hadn't stopped himself when he did, the spear would have pierced through the blade and continued right through his skull without slowing down.
He lowered his head and spoke with genuine humility. "I surrender."
Wayland nodded but said nothing. He turned his attention back to the judge's table.
"Exquisite spearmanship!"
The knight acting as judge broke the silence, his voice booming clearly through the rain. "Immense experience, flawless technique... you are already a knight in every sense of the word. Congratulations! You are the winner of the ninth group and have officially earned your qualification. If you are willing to pledge your loyalty to Baron Solon McKenning, you shall be knighted immediately."
A sea of envious gazes fell upon Wayland.
To be singled out and offered a direct path to knighthood immediately after a trial was a rare honor.
Most participants had to secure their qualification first and then spend years searching for a lord willing to take them into their service.
Even then, many from smaller, remote trials were rejected due to insufficient skill.
To be actively recruited meant that Wayland's talent and strength were considered exceptional. His future was undoubtedly bright.
Wayland offered a polite smile. "Please, allow me to discuss this with my family before I make such a momentous decision."
"That is only natural," the knight replied. "Baron Solon McKenning has always been known for his generosity."
'Generosity, my foot.'
'Even if you gave me a mountain of gold, I couldn't exactly take it back with me.'
'Besides, don't think I don't know the hierarchy. A Baron is the lowest rank...'
'Well, actually, a knight is the lowest. A Baron is the second lowest.'
Wayland offered a few mental retorts as he walked away.
Next was the rather tedious knighthood ceremony--a formality where the lords would officially bestow tiles upon the squires who had pledged their loyalty. It was one of the reasons the lords sponsored these trials in the first place: it ensured a steady flow of talented fighters willing to serve their houses and uphold their glory.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]