"I see it now!"
All surrounding sounds became inaudible. The snorting breaths of Leska, the cheers of the crowd, even his own heartbeat—all were silenced, enveloping Leben in a sensation as if he had entered another world.
A clear consciousness spread throughout his body. In the slow-moving figure of Dullard, a small gap beneath the shield he held caught Leben's eye.
Amidst the slight movements, a tiny gap. With eyes flashing wide open inside his helmet, Leben twisted his body further and thrust the lance held in his right hand deeply.
'My lance will reach first!'
-Crash-
"Ugh!"
Fragments of the broken lance scattered, accompanied by the heavy thud of metal striking and the neighing of horses. With a short grunt from Dullard, he fell from his horse.
Leben's sharp attack grazed Dullard's shield and struck directly at one side of his torso, causing the ironclad knight, as imposing as a great castle wall, to lose balance and fall.
However, Dullard was not just a mindless iron wall. Seeing Leben, positioned lower, raise his shield high to protect his head, he hesitated for a brief moment on his galloping horse, but the decision was already made, and his deliberation was short.
Thinking, 'I'll push him off with the shield.' Dullard aimed his lance at Leben's shield. Feeling the rebounding force on his lance, he smiled.
But that smile was short-lived. As his lance made contact, Leben lowered his shield, deflecting the tip of the lance. Dullard saw this with surprised eyes. A heavy pain struck his torso. Then, everything in his vision tilted, and through the rising dust, he saw the receding back of his horse galloping away.
"Haha! We won, Leska! It's our victory!"
Raising the visor of his helmet, Leben turned back with a bright smile and laughed, his tension released.
Applause, like heavy raindrops falling from the sky, filled the arena.
"That giant fell off!"
"Splendid! Behold, the Knight of Purple Flowers!"
"Sir Knight, congratulations on your victory!"
From the stands, the thunderous applause and cheers of countless spectators echoed. In the special seats high above, the nobles watching the match applauded elegantly by tapping the backs of their hands, feeling uplifted by the victory. They observed as Leska and Leben circled the arena, responding to the crowd's cheers and congratulations.
With eyes closed, arms outstretched, and chin lifted, Leben savored the applause pouring down on him with his entire being.
The finest feast that only the victor can enjoy. In this moment, an unparalleled joy he wouldn't yield to anyone else, a taste better than any wine in the world—feeling this, Leben shouted.
"Yes! This is the feeling. The cheers that a victor receives, the voices of the ecstatic crowd—I want to feel this forever!"
The outskirts of Ves-Dinas, the new quarter. Streets filled with the excited voices of people caught up in the festive mood. The sound of a lyre played by a minstrel's fingertips rang out, mingling with the smoky aroma from restaurants grilling meat and the shouts of merchants clutching large fruits, calling out to passersby.
The streets of the big city are always noisy and crowded, but during the Grand Tournament, they were filled with even more unusual people.
Knights, followed by their squires or servants and attendants, carried flags and shields emblazoned with their crests, gathering in Ves-Dinas from all over the kingdom for their own reasons.
A tavern building stood in a corner of the new quarter area. At its entrance, heavily armed knights guarded the tavern and its surroundings.
They were on high alert, with sharp eyes and tense expressions. Some held straight longswords, others heavy-headed maces, and some wide, massive bardiches. Though their weapons varied, all wore sleeveless surcoats adorned with the same crest.
It was the crest of House Kavil, combining a bright yellow gate symbolizing a castle gate with a high wall symbolizing a castle wall.
Inside the tavern, guarded by the knights of House Kavil with their gleaming eyes, two people were in conversation.
A man with dark auburn hair sat at one end of a large table, smiling at his conversation partner seated opposite him.
Wearing a red tabard embroidered with the Kavil crest in gold thread and holding a golden goblet, this man's name was Ard Kavil.
The Lion of Weild, south of the Lion's Den. Born as the youngest fourth son of the House Kavil, lords of Karobdiff, this man of noble birth displayed dignity and grace in his appearance and demeanor, likely due to the education and upbringing he received from a very young age.
The interior of the tavern, hastily prepared as Ard Kavil's quarters, had a carpet made of fur laid over the shabby floor. Incense burners were placed around the tavern to mask the lingering smells of food and drink, emitting thin trails of smoke that filled the air with a hazy mist, obscuring visibility.
"Deverte. The Madman of the Curved Sword. You know well why I brought you here to Ves-Dinas, don't you?"
"Y-yes… I-I know very well."
The man named Deverte, sitting opposite Ard, stammered in reply. His eyes darted rapidly, his head turned constantly to survey the surroundings, and his body twitched and jerked in bizarre movements. Ard looked at him with a displeased frown.
Deverte's appearance was utterly unfamiliar to Ard, who had lived as a noble. His hair was patchy and uneven, with scars crisscrossing his face. His lips trembled, his hands never stopped moving, and he muttered to himself in a low voice—anyone could see he was not in his right mind.
Amidst his disheveled appearance, the only thing that seemed beautiful to Ard was Deverte's clear blue eyes. Though they moved quickly, occasionally they would stop and stare blankly, losing focus, and it was then that Ard's gaze lingered a bit longer.
"Yes. Since I paid a high price, you must deliver accordingly. But I won't ask you to kill anyone, so be mindful of that. If someone dies in the middle of the Vanas's city, it will cause too much trouble."
"Y-yes, yes, yes… I won't kill anyone. I won't kill anyone. Hehehe. I understand well. Rheabella might be disappointed, but it's okay. I just need to love her that much more."
Deverte replied with a creepy smile. Before Ard could ask about Rheabella, Deverte placed on the table a scabbard of a short curved sword, excessively ornate with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, topazes, diamonds, and many other gems. He rubbed his face against it as if caressing a beloved lover, revealing that Rheabella was his curved sword.
"Hmm. First, to test if you're worth the money, I'll give you a simple task. My next opponent is the Baron of House Nachel. Kill that insignificant baron's horse. If possible, cut off its head and place it in his bed—that would be even better."
"Th-the Baron Nachel's horse. Cut off its head and place it in his bed. Understood. Understood."
Upon hearing Ard's command, Deverte set down the scabbard he was holding and replied with a smile so wide it seemed his mouth would reach his ears.
"That Nachel fellow. Just a baron with a single small village as his domain, yet when I asked him to sell me his horse for this tournament…"
'I cannot sell my old friend. Moreover, I am also participating in this Grand Tournament, and without him, I would be in trouble.'
In Ard's mind, the image of Baron Nachel refusing his offer surfaced, and involuntarily, his face contorted as if he had swallowed something vile. He clenched his fist so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palm.
"A horse that doesn't meet a worthy master is worthless. Do the job well, Deverte. Deliver the message from a proposer who does not accept refusal."
"Hehehehe. Y-yes, I won't disappoint you."
With one cheek pressed against the table, Deverte looked up at Ard with wide-open blue eyes and said.
"There will be much to do as the tournament progresses. We can't just use one method to eliminate opponents… You can use poison, whisper a few words in their ears on my behalf. Hmm… It might be acceptable to injure an arm or a leg discreetly. Hahaha."
Ard laughed and spoke while watching Deverte, who had taken out a small handkerchief embroidered with flowers and was polishing the scabbard containing his precious Rheabella.
"Ah, before you start the job, I'll give you this as a gift."
Ard reached into the collar of his tabard, pulled out a small pouch, and from it, took out two small spheres. He walked over to where Deverte was sitting and placed them in front of him.
"Wh-what is this?"
Deverte carefully touched the white beads placed before him with trembling fingertips, his chin resting on the table, and looked up at Ard with only his eyes raised.
"It's candy. But the ingredients are very special. It's made by mixing sugar from Rondela Island and the juice of the Lotus tree fruit, a sacred tree from Pagos tribe. Since I gave you two, you can share them with your beloved, heh heh."
Ard chuckled softly as he spoke to Deverte. With his words 'share with your beloved.' he mixed in a sneer, curious about Deverte's reaction. He sat back down and gazed at the blue-eyed man opposite him with smiling, wrinkled eyes.
"Then… thank you. Rheabella will like it. Rheabella will love it very much. Hehehehe."
Deverte's voice, initially quiet in thanks, gradually grew louder until his eerie laughter filled the tavern hall.
-Crunch-
With his thumb and index finger, he picked up the small white candy and put it into his mouth, making a crunching sound as he bit into it.
"Ohhh! It's sweet! I've never tasted anything so sweet before."
The tingling sweetness in his mouth made Deverte's eyes widen, and he busily rolled his tongue around to savor the remaining sweetness.
"Hmm. It's a taste you can't experience even with money, so remember it well. Hahaha. Wait, no. There's still one more left. If you eat the one I just gave for Rheabella, you can taste it again."
Ard brushed back his disheveled bangs and spoke to Deverte in a playful tone.