"International Knights' Tourney," final day.
In the round arena, when the horns sounded, the master of ceremonies drew out his words in a ringing voice, "Now, let us welcome Her Enlightened Ladyship!"
"Boom!" The crowd expressed its joy with cheers and applause. Duchess Anna Henrietta, the most beloved ruler in all of Toussaint's history, had come to the grounds in person.
Her coronet shone on her brow like a morning star. The dress she wore today was rather conservative, with a tight neckline, a blue-green base, and pale blue and brilliant violet stripes, embroidered with dense, even patterns of golden chrysanthemums.
After greeting the crowd, Anarietta sat upright at the center of the high platform, ready to enjoy the coming performance.
Among the thirty-two victors from yesterday's riding competition, the sixteen lower-ranked knights would present an epic mock battle for the audience and the duchess. It must be stressed that the "epic" mentioned here was being judged by Toussaint values.
Deliberately lowering his voice, the master of ceremonies put on airs, creating a bleak atmosphere. "Today, we move the battlefield to sacred antiquity. What will soon be presented before you is the historic battle that saw the elves destroyed!
"In the year 782, beneath the barren foothills of Mount Gorgon, Divethaf, who had sworn vengeance against King Ludovic, led his terrifyingly skilled, forever-youthful elven army in a fierce assault!
"And those nonhuman mercenaries and warriors destroyed vineyards without mercy, blood flowing in every corner!
"Behold! There on the field are the savage elven race!"
In the waiting room, after listening to Le Papillon's stirring introduction, Victor, fully clad in Toussaint knight's armor, sneered. "That fellow's called Le Papillon, right? Men like him ought to hang from the gallows! He has made an extremely bad start, casually fabricating history!"
Siegfried, sitting beside him, burst into laughter. "Come on! My dear Vic, this is Toussaint! Everyone knows the filthy things the first king did, and just how savage his conquest was. But do you expect this third-rate bard to publicly smear mud on his duchess's face on a day like this?"
The witcher shook his head with a bitter smile. "A king's filthy deeds are still a king's deeds, no matter how savage they were. Trying to cover them up only looks despicable! All I can say is that I'm glad I ranked first yesterday and don't have to take part in this black-and-white-reversed monkey play!"
The horns sounded all together. Dozens of muscular, bare-chested men beat clappers with wooden clubs.
The ducal guards playing the elven army had put on imagined elven mail, gaudy and stuck with bizarre feathers. Some even had war paint smeared over their faces. They looked exactly like an army of beggars.
Some of the spectators around the arena, the sort who did not read books, began cursing the characters on the field. They had completely forgotten that they themselves had once been the invaders.
In fact, elves were almost impossible to see in Beauclair because one year after the elves surrendered, Ludovic the Cold-Blooded had launched this battle beneath Mount Gorgon and slaughtered them almost to extinction.
"Gentlemen, ladies, I am honored to introduce to you the great King Ludovic's most loyal subordinates, the Tessio Legion from Nazair!"
With a rumbling sound, the iron gate opened. Sixteen knights filed out with blunted swords in hand. They would play the sharp blades in the wise king's grasp, joining this epic battle as heroes who fought the many with the few and saved innocent civilians from the evil nonhuman races.
Watching the people on the field recite their absurd lines, Victor shook his head and sighed. "In the year 781, Ludovic the Cold-Blooded defeated Toussaint's elven army. Divethaf, the last elven king, wept before the corpses of his forever-youthful brothers and sisters and declared submission to his enemy.
"Ludovic humiliated Divethaf to his heart's content. Then, one year later, in 782, while celebrating the anniversary of the elven king's surrender, he led troops to surround the foothills of Mount Gorgon and carried out a massacre, washing the nonhuman races in blood. Divethaf and his remaining people breathed their last together.
"Ludovic's methods earned him the name Cold-Blooded,"
Glancing sideways at the young man, the Rose Knight gave a wry smile. "If you don't want to get beaten up by a crowd, I suggest you lower your voice! Honorable, justice-filled witcher, close your eyes if you don't want to watch the performance!"
The ducal guards on the field were currently clashing loudly and busily with the knights. Victor stuffed his mouth with cheese bread, but he did not close his eyes.
...
Just then, Baron Palmerin de Launfal walked to the center of the waiting room with eight slips of paper in his hand. "Everyone, come here and draw your scripts. Whoever you draw is who you play. Don't complain about how many or how few lines you get!
"Today, we commemorate the Battle of Fox Hollow in 1218. Back then, the notorious villain Hallar the Brown led a group of outlaws south to raid Toussaint, only to be driven away by a group of heroic knights errant. Thus was the model established! From that day onward, knights errant became an important force guarding the duchy!
"Everyone knows that from this year onward, victory and defeat depend entirely on true ability. Though my luck was poor and I drew the short lot, so the good men are being played by those eight across from us. But playing the villains is not without advantage. At least no one expects us to win, so losing won't be too embarrassing!"
Siegfried glanced at Victor and chuckled. "This bit of history should be fine, shouldn't it? Or do you have another version again, the learned Lord Corion?"
"All history has problems! But if I went into detail, I'd just sound bitter!" After saying that, the young man followed the others forward to draw.
"Hahaha, I'm playing Silent Hannibal!" Victor looked as happy as if he had won a prize.
Siegfried, however, looked miserable. "Damn it! I'm Hallar the Brown... You shut up, don't interfere with me memorizing lines!
"Is the person who wrote these lines an idiot!? What country's bandits speak in stage-play arias?"
"Toussaint!" Palmerin answered with a laugh from the side.
...
Some time passed. The horns sounded, and the first exhibition match ended.
The master of ceremonies, Le Papillon, remained full of emotion and eloquence as he went on to introduce the two sides of the second match, "The Battle of Fox Hollow." As usual, the villains, Hallar the Brown and his men, entered first.
Standing in the middle of the arena, the audience did not have much effect on the young man. He was the champion of the Fist of Fury arena. Skellige's passion was in no way inferior to Toussaint's.
Yet while enduring the commotion of the crowd's cheers and curses, Victor suddenly remembered a film he had once seen, Gladiator. The only difference was that Toussaint was not as bloodthirsty as Rome.
And up on the high platform, beside Anarietta, Angoulême poked with her index finger. "Your Highness, the one near the corner, the one with the red-and-white umbrella emblem, that's Victor!"
The duchess smiled and patted her hand, then turned toward Vivienne on the other side. "I hear Sir Corion has won two days in a row, taking first in both archery and riding?"
Wearing a long gown of dark green and bright yellow, Lady de Tabris had only one piece of jewelry on her today, a necklace adorned with diamonds and onyx.
Her hands were folded over her lower abdomen. "Yes, Your Highness. He shoots very quickly. In my shallow experience, I have never seen anyone shoot faster than him! And his riding performance was even more outstanding. Every straw man was cut cleanly in two, and not a single flying target was missed!" the young woman said softly.
"That is indeed quite rare. Then how did he end up on Hallar the Brown's team? Do you dislike him and deliberately arranged for him to lose?"
"No. This year, I did not divide them by strength. It was entirely random drawing. All sixteen people on the field are knights. I felt there was no need to favor either side to win. Let the match contain uncertainty, and the audience will enjoy that excitement more!"
Her Enlightened Ladyship nodded. "Since you have considered it, we shall try it. You handled yesterday's riding competition very well. I have heard almost no one in court speak ill of you. In particular, adding betting was truly a stroke of genius. The income nearly reached half the expenses. I have already issued an order that it be done this way from now on."
"It is my honor, Your Highness." Vivienne lifted her skirt in thanks.
Just then, the exhibition match on the field began with Hallar the Brown shouting, "Sword in hand, follow my command!" and his other underlings yelling, "Rob the money! Rob the grain! Rob the women!" Thus the curtain rose on the battle.
...
Some time passed....
Le Papillon, sweat beading on his forehead, came before the royal seat to ask for instructions. "Your Highness... an unprecedented situation has occurred. Hallar the Brown's group has won a complete victory... What should we do?"
Her Enlightened Ladyship burst out laughing. "Then hurry up and announce the match result! There is nothing awkward about it.
"Vivienne, you were right. Those arranged performances from previous years were indeed dull. A battle with an unknown result is much more interesting. Who was Sir Corion playing?"
"Silent Hannibal, a temporary supporting role someone made up." After flipping through her notes, she quickly answered.
Anarietta laughed softly. "After today, he will not be temporary anymore. Scribe, write this down, Silent Hannibal is the strongest fighter among Hallar the Brown's villains!"
"Your will, Your Highness." The noble responsible for recording commands wrote swiftly.
...
In the year 1270, under Her Enlightened Ladyship's guidance, the new model for exhibition matches became widely popular. Through uncertain interpretations of history, it gave knights a chance to display their abilities and gave the audience room for imagination.
And in the first exhibition match after the reforms, Victor of Kaer Trolde won the Best Performance Award for his role as "Silent Hannibal" in the Battle of Fox Hollow. His silent, aloof acting and superb, fearless combat skill stirred hearts and opened a brand-new tradition for the knights' tourney!
When Sir Corion stood with sword and shield in hand and silently knocked his enemies to the ground one after another, even the most demanding spectators admired his bravery! The result afterward also proved that he was the strongest knight of 1270!
Excerpt from The Chronicle of the Knights' Tourney
...
That evening, after all the contests had ended, the caller Le Papillon shouted loudly, "Gentlemen and ladies, thank you to everyone who took part in the tourney. Happy times are always brief, but do not feel sorrow. Today's parting is for an even better meeting next time!
"Let us revel tonight until dawn appears at the edge of the sky! The camp will provide the finest wines and dishes, along with a brand-new raffle. Do not doubt it, every ticket is guaranteed to win a prize! Those with good luck may even get to taste the Lafite wine provided by the champion!"
In the center of the arena, bathed in applause and stomping feet, Vivienne, her expression cool, presented Victor with his prize. "Congratulations. This is your prize, the champion armor of the Toussaint Knights' Tourney!"
"Deeply grateful! Curse and all, did you sleep well last night?"
"Terribly. Because the bastard who cursed me actually refused me!"
He placed a gentlemanly hand to his chest and bowed. "Dear Miss Vivienne, that is my principle. If you still want it after you turn eighteen, I will gladly be at your service at any time."
"Too late, Vic! You missed last night's chance, so you deserve a lifetime of regret!" She rolled her eyes at him fiercely, turned, and left.
And so, the "International Knights' Tourney" of 1270 ended smoothly under Lady Vivienne de Tabris's direction.
...
"Tsk! You wouldn't know unless I told you. Back then, the instant Victor and Rainfarn's sword and shield clashed, that sound was louder than thunder. Even the sky trembled for it! I mean, it grew dark.
"And as the former champion, Rainfarn of Attre's fighting spirit was naturally no bluff either. That steel sword of his danced incredibly fast, like a windmill spinning! You couldn't even see it clearly!
"Unfortunately, Victor of Kaer Trolde was a cut above him. He pressed forward in Defensive Stance and opened with a Shield Bash to interrupt him, then followed with a savage Demoralizing Shout, plus Pummel and Disarm, forcing the other man to retreat again and again!
"Finally, he switched to Battle Stance, let out a Victory Roar, then used Charge, Hamstring, and Whirlwind, sending the former champion off in one set! Whoa, my tears were falling in streams as I watched. He was too strong!"
Several days after the tourney, in the Cockatrice Inn northeast of Beauclair, quite a few drinkers were still happily discussing the scenes from then. Victor, Angoulême, and Siegfried were enjoying lobster chowder.
The three of them were traveling together and would cross Theodula Pass to return north. The Rose Knight was heading northwest, crossing Temeria on his way back to Redania. The Phantom Troupe, meanwhile, would head northeast, passing through Aedirn and Kaedwen one after another before returning to Kaer Morhen to winter.
And there was also an important event awaiting them back at the School of the Wolf keep. They had to prepare the Trial of the Grasses for Angoulême, so she could change classes into a witcher with everyone's blessing.
The idle talk and laughter were bright. With her present, the atmosphere rarely turned bad. Victor and Siegfried understood each other without words and neither mentioned the details of Vizima's turmoil, especially the matters concerning Jacques' will and his attitude of facing death as if returning home. That was the deepest secret in both men's hearts.
"Then on your northbound trip through Aedirn, will you pass through Vengerberg?" the Rose Knight asked casually.
The witcher combed his hair to one side to avoid getting it in the chowder. "Of course we will! How could we not go look at the capital of Aedirn? Besides, it's also the hometown of a famous person! A certain lady with a deep connection to witchers,"
Siegfried slapped his thigh. "Hahahaha! I know who you mean, the heroine of the poem The Wolven Storm, the one who loved Geralt of Rivia, the renowned Yennefer of Vengerberg!"
"Completely correct!" The young man clapped twice.
Angoulême silently set down her spoon. "That lady was fierce and hard to get along with, but I could feel that she truly loved Uncle Geralt, and loved Ciri too. It's a pity she passed away like that."
Victor raised his eyebrows and reached out to put the spoon back into her hand. "Don't think too much. Since Geralt could come back, she must be fine too. We'll see her sooner or later!
"Hurry up and drink your soup. It won't taste good once it gets cold!"
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