Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 7 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Proving One’s Power 

A strained air filled the audience chamber. Soldiers stood on both flanks of the red carpet extending from the entrance to the throne, standing still. Behind them stood civil officials and military officers on both sides. Many of them were also nobles with titles. 

The officials were clad in lavish silk garments, coated in silver and golden threads that had gemstones inlaid in them, as if to stand as symbols of their authority. Perhaps the only reason this outfit didn’t come across as too gaudy was because of the noble blood running through their veins... Despite the fate of their country hanging on a thread, they still put in effort to maintain their dignity, as empty of a gesture as it may be. 

This was just as true for the officers as it was for the knights. They were of course clad in armor, and wore their sheathed swords. But their armor had elaborate designs made at the hands of master craftsmen. The swords they carried didn’t look like weapons to be used on the battlefield, and more like works of art to be admired. 

I guess looking too seedy would just lower the troops’ morale... I guess that’s the kind of people I’ll have to contend with... 

While acknowledging their choice of decor to some extent, Ryoma internally heaved a sigh. Based on his experience since being summoned to this world, nobles that wrapped themselves in expensive clothing to prove their station were the most dangerous and worthless people of all — regardless of how skilled or incompetent they were. 

“Please, do come forward.” A chamberlain standing beside him whispered into his ear, prompting Ryoma to step up to the throne. 

Well, would you look at that... 

The audience room was lined with knights and nobles, and they all wore assorted expressions. Excitement, expectation, disappointment, exasperation, mocking. Those were the main five emotions that seemed to fill this large audience chamber. Roughly 30% of those emotions were excitement and expectation, with disappointment, exasperation and mocking making up the other 70% percent. 

I guess they were expecting reinforcements but got a nameless brat like me instead. Makes sense they’d be pessimistic. A masochistic thought crossed Ryoma’s mind. 

But even so, he calmly observed his surroundings, taking in all manner of information. 

There’s... more of them than I expected. I guess that’s just the gap in experience between Lupis, who only just took to the throne, and a ruler who has held on to the throne for thirty years. 

It was a palace where many plots and intentions intersected and acted against one another, but the fact that people were here meant that Julianus I still held influence. If he was an inexperienced monarch like Lupis, the nobles, with their penchant for self-preservation, would have long since fled the palace. Just like none of the aristocrats gathered under Lupis when the civil war broke out. 

Unlike knights, that typically didn’t have territories and simply worked for wages under employers, nobles had land of their own. Some were more or less affluent than others, but they all had independent influence, making them a powerful group. 

As such, even if during peace times they allow for a centralized authoritarian rule under the king, should the king’s ability to rule be cast into doubt, the nobles immediately turned to self-preservation. And in that regard, since this didn’t happen here, it stood as proof that Xarooda still had hope as a kingdom. 

Of course, there could be traitors in hiding, and most people were adopting a wait-and-see approach. But the fact that people were willing to wait showed that they still believed Xarooda had a chance to emerge victorious. Even if that chance was merely a few percent, the possibility bound the nobles’ hearts, forbidding them from leaving the palace. 

Had they sensed defeat was imminent, the nobles would plunge to keep themselves paid while paying little to no mind to what others might think of them. And that would be when that kingdom truly comes to an end. 

This really must be their last chance... Whoever realized this read the situation well. Was it Lupis or Meltina? No... Maybe it was Count Bergstone... Whichever it was, though, it’s pretty ironic. 

The pressure from Myest surely contributed, but in the end it was Rhoadseria’s leadership that decided to send reinforcements to Xarooda despite the risks. And while they were blind to the trouble plaguing their own country, they aptly picked up on their neighbor’s circumstances. 

Ryoma stifled the smile attempting to creep to his lips. And it was then that he sensed it. Cold gazes bearing down on him as he approached the throne. 

This isn’t scorn or evaluation... This is closer to anger and bloodlust. 

Ryoma turned his eyes to the source of those gazes. 

Must be them... Looks like they don’t like me too much. 

He fixed his gaze on the ones who glared at him, standing near the throne. They were all people he’d never met before, and yet, the dark gazes they cast at him couldn’t be summed up as mocking or scornful. They were full of clear enmity. Their outfits were more lavish than those around them, implying they were of fairly high station. And given their position in the room, they likely possessed quite a bit of power and authority... 

The truth of the matter was that one’s social standing didn’t always equal their effective power and influence. Some dukes held titles that were merely nominal and offered no real influence, while there were barons that were closely trusted by the king and appointed to important positions. 

But the group eyeing Ryoma with enmity had both positions and power. 

Tch... This is gonna be annoying. Why can’t anything go smoothly for once...?! 

It happened during the Rhoadserian civil war and it looked set to happen now as well, but somehow it seemed Ryoma was fated to always have the most influential and powerful of nobles stand in opposition to him. 

That gorilla guy isn’t here, though... Grahalt, I think he was called...? 

Restraining the urge to sigh at his lack of luck, Ryoma looked around for Grahalt. His position was what interested him the most at the moment, and that would be made clear by seeing his position in this audience chamber. But Ryoma couldn’t spot his face among the knights. He then turned his gaze to the empty throne, finding Grahalt standing to the left of the throne. Despite standing near the king, he was still clad in armor and carrying a sword, like the rest of the knights. 

Well, wow... I guess the king must really trust him. 

Grahalt stood, as if showing off his large physique, like a shield guarding the throne. 

Since he’s so close to the king... His attitude earlier must have been someone’s suggestion. Though I guess I can’t disregard the possibility of him coming up with the idea on his own, but the most prime suspect would be Helena, I suppose... 

Those standing closest to the throne were those that had more influence and a higher standing, but standing next to the throne was different. Standing and influence weren’t enough to allow for that — one needed to be trusted by the king. The royal guard — the protectors of the king — were both the sword and shield of the monarch. The fact that the king let someone stand at his side stood as proof of the great trust he harbored toward that person. 

By comparison, it was like how Lupis trusted Meltina and Mikhail. And such a person was sent to the capital’s outskirts to greet Ryoma. There was little to no chance Julianus I would know of someone like Ryoma on any practical level. If he possessed an information network to know closely of Ryoma, Xarooda would never have been placed in such a position of inferiority. 

Someone must have advised the king — for some purpose, of course. 

But even if it was Helena’s idea, it would have come to naught unless he had the tolerance to accept it... Julianus I... I shouldn’t underestimate him. 

Ryoma kneeled before the empty throne and waited nervously for the arrival of the so-called mediocre king... 

“You’ve done well to come here from afar.” A serene voice eventually spoke from above Ryoma’s head, from the direction of the throne. 

“Yes, your Majesty!” 

“Come, no need to stand on ceremony. Show me the face of Rhoadseria’s young hero. You are not of Xarooda’s nobility, so you may be at ease.” 

Ryoma raised his head, fixing his gaze on an old man with a white, bushy beard. He wore a red silk mantle, and resting on his head was a crown lined with glittering diamonds. Deep wrinkles were etched into his serene face, and he looked upon Ryoma with blue eyes. 

He was by no means a largely built man. It was hard to tell since he was seated on the throne, but he looked to be of about medium build. But the atmosphere he gave was, without a doubt, that of a monarch. 

“I greet you after your long journey. I am the King of the Kingdom of Xarooda, Johann Julianus I.” 

He had the bloodline of a long, uninterrupted royal line, and the definite achievement of having retained his rule for decades. The two mingled together, creating an odd sort of pressure that bore down on Ryoma. 

Well, damn... If they call Julianus I a mediocre king, I guess you can’t trust rumors after all... 

True, his reign didn’t have many accomplishments of note, and the man himself didn’t seem to excel or be exceedingly bad at anything. But the fact remained that he’d been able to retain the land he’d inherited in a world of constant warfare, and that was perhaps all the proof Ryoma needed to know that he was no mediocre or average man. 

“Hmm, Lady Helena did tell me of you ahead of time but... Yes, I see,” Julianus I said, a slight smile on his lips. 

So it was Helena’s idea, after all... 

The king’s words confirmed Ryoma’s suspicion. There was a deep connection between Helena and Xarooda’s king. 

“Right now, my country is besieged by the Empire of O’ltormea, and has been driven to the point of no recourse,” Julianus I said. 

Ryoma nodded wordlessly. 

“However, now that we have reinforcements from Rhoadseria and Myest, we may have a chance at retaking our land. What say you? Have we a chance?” the king asked probingly. 

“If I may, Your Majesty, I ask that you give me time before I answer that question.” Ryoma shook his head. 

Ryoma’s response caused everyone present to stir and begin whispering to one another. Now that Rhoadseria and Myest had dispatched their reinforcements, now would have been the time to risk it all and go on the offensive. That was what most of the people present in this audience chamber were looking forward to. 

But Ryoma advised against recklessly throwing themselves into battle. He arrived in this country to win the war against O’ltormea, and easing the people’s anxiety or flaring up their morale was secondary to him. 

“Oho... You think now is not the time?” 

“I won’t say that it isn’t, but I won’t say that it is, either. I believe the correct course of action is that I first carefully examine the information we have, get a grasp on the situation, and give you a more informed answer then.” 

The nobles’ whispering grew more intense, and the enmity directed at Ryoma grew in intensity. Was it out of sheer animosity, or perhaps because of some kind of reason...? 

“I see... That is quite cautious of you.” 

“There is a fine line between bravery and recklessness, Your Majesty.” 

All of the people in the room were overtaken by the fact Ryoma spoke to the king as squarely as he did. His eyes looked back into the strong gaze directed at him from the throne. It was a sharp gaze, as if the man had been trying to see through his heart. 

The commotion suddenly died out, and silence settled over the audience chamber. 

His eyes are unwavering... Julianus I felt strong will burning in Ryoma’s eyes. 

All he saw there was the might of steel incarnated into the shape of a man. 

What kind of life must one lead to bear these eyes at such a young age...? 

Julianus I knew two other people with the same kind of eyes as this young man gazing intently back at him. One of them was the deceased General Belares, Xarooda’s Guardian Deity. The other was Rhoadseria’s Ivory Goddess of War, Helena Steiner. They harbored a certain light within them. They were confident of that light, and it showed in their eyes. 

“Very well... I wish for you to lend me your strength, alongside Lady Helena,” Julianus I said, the intensity in his questioning gaze making way for the serenity he showed earlier. 

“I will do everything in my humble abilities to ensure Xarooda’s victory.” Ryoma bowed his head quietly as he promised triumph to the king. 

“Hmm. We expect much of you...” 

Julianus I’s words made the air in the audience chamber relax. The reinforcements sent by Rhoadseria were accepted. But some people weren’t so happy to greet them. When Julianus I approved of Ryoma’s response with a smile, one man broke past the royal guard’s restraint and stepped before the throne. 

“Wait, Your Majesty!” 

Julianus I glanced in the man’s direction and ordered the knights trying to pull him back to let go. 

“What is it, Count Schwartzheim?” The king regarded the man kneeling before his throne with a somewhat amused expression, resting his chin on his hands as he gave him permission to speak. 

The man — Count Schwartzheim — was clad in silk clothes decorated with golden strings and inlaid with gemstones. Apparently, he was fairly influential within the palace. The fact that he was even given permission to speak after bursting through the royal guard was proof of his position. 

He was a man in his forties, with blond hair that was combed back and had a bulging, round gut. But his shoulders were wider than his 170 centimeters of height suggested, and his forearms were as thick as logs. It was clear he wasn’t just an influential noble. 

“If I may, I would like to say something, even though it may earn me your ire, Your Majesty,” he said with his head bowed down. 

As he spoke, the gazes directed at Ryoma by the nobles beside him grew sharper. Hatred, anger, envy, loathing. Emotions that were far too vivid for one to normally direct at a man they had met the first time. 

What’s these guys’ problem...? 

Anyone would be taken aback by having a stranger regard them with blatant hatred, but Ryoma tried to suppress his confusion. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness in this audience chamber, where those on his side were intermingled with his foes. 

Of course, he could make himself intentionally look weak to make other people underestimate him, but right now Ryoma needed Xarooda’s nobles to absolutely be in awe of him. And as such, he took care to maintain his expression as hard as he could. 

“If you have any opinion on my decisions, speak your mind.” 

“I believe that this man, Mikoshiba, lacks the strength you expect of him, Your Majesty. I believe it would be best if he takes his soldiers and returns to his country.” 

It was such a provocative, shameless statement, everyone present in this audience chamber couldn’t help but begin to murmur. 

“Ohoh. You tell me to send Lord Mikoshiba and his reinforcements away after the long journey they made to come here?” Julianus I asked. 

“I do, indeed.” Count Schwartzheim nodded, not showing any sign of shame or remorse. 

“Count Schwartzheim...” Julianus I began, his voice pleasant and almost amused. “You realize the meaning of what you say here, yes? Do you intend to drive a wedge between our country and Rhoadseria?” 

Indeed, sending Ryoma away now would be a terrible diplomatic move, but that went without saying. 

“That is a concern I am aware of, yes. But Your Majesty, you can only say that because you have not seen the so-called reinforcements this man brought with him.” Count Schwartzheim said, silencing the tumult filling the room. 

“Lady Helena tells me they are all selected elites.” 

“If General Helena Steiner truly told you that, Your Majesty, then I am sad to say that she has greatly misled you. I have seen his forces, and they number a mere three hundred. Not only that, but they are mostly made up of commoner girls who are barely of age, if at all. I cannot see what good they will bring us on the battlefield. At worst, they will be snatched away by the enemy, lowering our army’s morale. And besides, after a year of holding the line, our forces have no abundance of supplies to spare. Since they are useless in battle, I posit that they ought to turn around and return to Rhoadseria.” 

Count Schwartzheim’s voice echoed through the audience chamber. Rhoadseria’s reinforcements were made up by the 2,500 knights led by Helena and the three hundred brought by Ryoma, for a total of 2,800 soldiers. Even with Helena, for all her acclaim, serving as their commander, the simple fact of the matter was that their forces were far smaller than the ten thousand elites dispatched by Myest. 

While Count Schwartzheim’s attitude was exceedingly rude considering he was speaking to a man who had come to their aid from afar, his stance wasn’t mistaken altogether. A weak ally can be a much larger liability than a powerful enemy, and war depends on how one breaks the hearts of man. 

Indeed, sometimes one need only claim the life of the general leading the battlefield, and other times one must defeat every single soldier the enemy has. But when properly examining things, the reason a general’s defeat can conclude a war stems from the fact that a leader’s death forces the soldiers’ hearts to break under the weight of reality. A war is decided when one side’s soldiers and their general begin fearing for their life and become aware of their defeat. 

Oh... So he knows how war works. This man isn’t stupid. 

He had a well-reasoned, logical reason to say what he did. Ryoma was honestly impressed with the man kneeling beside him. He looked like a haughty fool, but first impressions were deceiving. And with those prejudices gone, Ryoma began seeing this man’s true intentions. 

There are two options here. He’s either serious, or he’s trying to deceive... If he’s serious, this man is trustworthy and reliable. But if he’s deceiving the king here, this man is one hell of a villain. 

Ryoma silently gazed into Count Schwartzheim’s face as he shouted. As if trying to peer into his heart... 

The problems he pointed out were understandable. If one were to just look at the surface, Ryoma’s three hundred soldiers weren’t worth anything, especially since most of his soldiers were commoner girls. 

Had his army consisted of robust men, perhaps the Count wouldn’t have raised his voice so much. One wouldn’t normally send an army of such conscripts out on such a mission, but given Rhoadseria’s troubles, one might feel inclined to swallow their anger. 

It was understandable that since they were recovering from a civil war, they wouldn’t have many soldiers to send abroad... To that end, Count Schwartzheim was appreciative of the fact that Rhoadseria went to the trouble of sending 2,500 knights under Helena’s skilled, experienced command. 

But that wasn’t the case with Ryoma and his soldiers. An army of soldiers that didn’t look to be of any use on the battlefield, led by a young noble with little to no merit to his name. 

Bringing this rabble and calling them reinforcements... This is an insult to Xarooda! 

That anger flared up in his heart. From Count Schwartzheim’s perspective, Ryoma dressed up commoners as soldiers and tried to pass them off as an army. 

“I appreciate their coming here and offering their help, but we haven’t much leisure. I know not what your intentions were in bringing this army here, but I will be frank — it is nothing more than a nuisance to us! They may only be three hundred, but we have no provisions to offer to your soldiers!” 

His shouts echoed through the audience chamber. Indeed, one wouldn’t waste precious supplies on useless soldiers. 

“Count Schwartzheim, are you not taking this too far?” Grahalt tried to rebuke him for his outburst. 

Grahalt had leveled the same accusation against Ryoma before, but that was in an informal setting. Saying everything that he did during an audience, while everyone is listening in, was excessive. But right now, that basic level of consideration was beyond the Count. 

“What are you saying, Captain Henschel? To begin with, what were you thinking? I heard you were sent to greet this man at the capital’s outskirts. If you knew ahead of time, why did you not tell His Majesty of it? You should have driven this man back before he ever came to this audience!” 

His argument was sound and beyond refuting. Xarooda needed reinforcements — not needless baggage. With that in mind, Grahalt should have forced this army to go back. While this might not have held true for all the other nobles, Count Schwartzheim was willing to risk everything for the continued existence of Xarooda and its royal family. Julianus I may have been mocked as a mediocre king by the other countries, but in count Schwartzheim’s eyes, he was a worthy ruler to serve. 

His Majesty is by no means mediocre. He has overcome countless crises in this violent world, and retained the country respectfully! 

That emotion spurred the Count forward. And yet, Julianus I had no intention of accepting his counsel. 

“Hmm, I understand your misgivings, Count Schwartzheim...” Julianus I said with a smile, stroking his beard as he spoke. “However, I have no intention of asking Lord Mikoshiba to leave.” 

His unwavering words echoed through the audience chamber, making everyone present murmur once again. 

“Why?! Why not?!” Count Schwartzheim drew near the throne, his face red with anger. 

“Desist, Count Schwartzheim! You are bordering on irreverence!” Grahalt’s massive frame pushed the Count back. 

“Dammit! Let go of me!” Count Schwartzheim struggled to get out of Grahalt’s grasp, his face flushed with emotion. “Your Majesty, why?!” 

“Henschel, it is fine. Let go of him,” Julianus I said calmly. 

The tone of the king’s voice made Count Schwartzheim realize the meaning of what he just did. Lunging at the throne in anger could easily be taken for treason. 

“M-My apologies, Your Majesty... I...” Count Schwartzheim fell to his knees as if shrinking in place, but Julianus I gestured for him to rise. 

“It is fine. As I’ve said, your misgivings are clear to me...” he said, and then shifted his quiet, amused eyes to Ryoma, who stood at the side. “What say you? I believe everyone present shares Count Schwartzheim’s doubts. As bothersome as it might seem to you, would you demonstrate your strength, and the strength of your soldiers?” 

Having kept his mouth shut as he watched everything unfold so far, Ryoma parted his lips to speak. 

“Are you asking me to fight someone?” he asked. 

Julianus I’s lips curled in a slightly vicious, provocative smile. 

Oh, I see... It’s a bit annoying to have been led by the nose, but whatever. I’d have needed to do this sooner or later. I should probably just be happy things are proceeding faster... 

He didn’t come all this way just to reinforce Xarooda’s defense. Now that he had secured control over the Wortenia Peninsula, he needed fame to make his next strides. And gaining that fame was, for all intents and purposes, his primary objective here. 

Obtaining that reputation would require a sacrifice. The more blood flows, the louder Ryoma Mikoshiba’s name will echo throughout the western continent. 

“Indeed. Or are Count Schwartzheim’s doubts based in fact?” 

“Not at all. My army’s soldiers will prove their strength before you all.” 

“Then it is decided. We can hold the challenge as early as tonight.” 

At the sound of those words, Ryoma’s expression contorted. It was the smile of a carnivore, licking his lips at the sight of prey. But with his face bowed down before the throne, no one in the audience chamber could see the vicious grin that overtook Ryoma’s features...

The maneuvering grounds were lit up by bonfires as a large number of nobles and royals gathered in this area, which was usually populated only by soldiers. 

“They all have time on their hands, don’t they?” Ryoma scoffed, glancing at the curious onlookers gathered around to watch.” 

“You can’t blame them,” Helena chided him, standing at his side. “You won’t find a spectacle like this in the middle of a war. And it’s not just them. I’m curious to see how this turns out, too.” 

They hadn’t met much since the Rhoadserian civil war ended, but there wasn’t so much as a hint of alienation or awkwardness between them. To anyone looking at them from the side, they were like the very image of a kind grandmother and her grandson. 

“I swear, Lady Helena, you make it look like this has nothing to do with you...” Ryoma shrugged with a sardonic smile. 

Helena simply smiled peacefully. 

“Why, of course,” she said. “This is a chance to see your strength, and the might of your soldiers. In that regard, this is not my problem.” 

“That’s fine, but Xarooda looks pretty serious about this...” Ryoma said, turning his gaze to the group on the opposite side of the maneuvering grounds. 

A contest in the presence of the king was about to take place, between the Xaroodian Monarch’s Guard and Baron Mikoshiba’s soldiers. Normally, both sides would have the weapons they’re allowed to use limited, so as to prevent any ill-will from getting in the way of the match. 

This time, however, their opponent insisted that their match should be closer to true battle, and as such no limitations were placed on weapons. They were clad in plate armor and armed with drawn spears. The dull glint of their blades made it clear that the battle ahead of them was no training match. 

“Knowing you, I do believe you have a chance of winning, but don’t be careless. Xarooda is known to have a spear and a shield to ward off their foes, and they are without a doubt that spear... And they’re perfectly intent on killing you and your soldiers, yes?” 

At some point, the smile had vanished from Helena’s lips. In its place was a will of steel. The expression she wore gave the impression that it was she who was about to set out on the battlefield. 

“You don’t have to worry so much. Do you think I’d take a fight I didn’t know I could win?” Ryoma said, directing a teasing glance at her. 

Helena sighed and shook her head. 

“This isn’t a joke. I know you, of course, and I know you single-handedly bested Kael Iruna, one of the leading swordsmen in Rhoadseria. You might be fine, but I don’t know about those children. It’s not too late, Ryoma. I know you have trained mercenaries among your soldiers. Have them take their place... And if you can’t withdraw, let me handle it. I’ll come up with something.” 

Ryoma simply smiled and kept silent at her suggestion. Helena was only the general of the reinforcements, and even she couldn’t quell this situation now that it’s gone this far. Even with her connection with Julianus I, she didn’t exert that much influence on the nobles and knights of Xarooda. At worst, it could even drive Rhoadseria’s already hard position further down. 

But even while knowing that, Helena couldn’t simply stand by and say nothing without confirming this with Ryoma. Her eyes turned to the group standing behind them. And all she could see was young soldiers. They couldn’t even be called inexperienced, they were just young. And there weren’t just boys there, but girls too. 

Of course, the way they held and serviced their weapons matched that of an experienced mercenary, but when things came to a real clashing of blades things could prove to be all too different. 

Across many battlefields, Helena had seen the bodies of young children. Conscripted commoner soldiers, young sons of distinguished knight families. The reaper descended to greet everyone equally on the battlefield — regardless of their social status or their age. That was inescapable reality. 

And so, Helena did not wish to have to see the bodies of children strewn anywhere but the battlefield. 

In the end, this is just in the name of my own self-satisfaction... The guilty thought crossed Helena’s mind. 

And that thought could not have been unrelated to the fact that she had lost her own daughter in a power struggle. 

“We will now begin the match,” the old noble that served as referee exclaimed, his voice silencing all the whispering. “Baron Ryoma Mikoshiba of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria, and Captain of the Xaroodian Monarch’s Guard, Sir Orson Greed. Both of you, approach the center of the grounds.” 

“Oh, they’re calling for me... I’ll be back soon,” Ryoma said with a smirk. 

The match was a group battle of five against five. Count Schwartzheim wanted to see their ability in group battle over their personal martial prowess. It seemed the Count didn’t much like Ryoma. And since Grahalt didn’t report the truth of Ryoma’s troops to Julianus I, he insisted that Ryoma match up against the Monarch’s Guard and not the royal guard. From his perspective, Grahalt and his royal guard might throw the match intentionally. 

“I’ll be fine. Oh, why not place a bet over who’ll win? You could make a fortune. Actually, I’ve already placed my bets... Oh, but keep it a secret,” Ryoma whispered to Helena, and then wordlessly motioned with his hand for the soldiers to step forward. 

Gambling...? My word, this boy... 

Apparently, Ryoma was gambling behind the scenes with Xarooda’s nobles. It felt quite audacious given the survival of the kingdom was hanging in the balance, but foolish people were never in short supply, no matter where one went. That said, even Helena had to admit that this was perhaps unavoidable; people couldn’t last for long without an outlet for constant stress. 

He’s not one to change his mind just by my words... But still, where does that confidence come from? 

Helena couldn’t help but ask herself that question upon seeing Ryoma’s confident smile. Why was he so sure he would win this match? An onlooker gambling might appear disrespectful, but Helena couldn’t quite fault them for doing that. But Ryoma gambling on himself only came across as exceedingly brazen. 

Does he have some reason to believe he’d win...? 

Ryoma boasted an intellect and ingenuity with an edge like a blade of ice. It was a sharpness Helena knew all too well, because it was thanks to it that she achieved the vengeance she sought for so many years... 

Two conflicting emotions clashed within Helena’s heart. Her warrior’s heart longed to see the skill the soldiers Ryoma raised possessed. But her mother’s side ached at the prospect of seeing children die. Both of the things she told Ryoma earlier were her honest feelings. 

I believe in you, Ryoma... Helena thought as she gazed at Ryoma’s back with both expectation and grief. 

“Now then, are both sides ready?” the aging, white-haired man chosen as referee asked Ryoma and Greed. 

This old man often boasted of his days of youth and the heroics he once performed, and so nominated himself to serve as referee. In truth, though, he was less of a referee and more of the facilitator and host of the duel, as well as witness. Once the battle began, an old man like him would be powerless to stop a fully armed knight. 

Having a referee in form only was perhaps the nobles’ attempt at keeping up the appearance of a fair match. In truth, they could only see what was to come as a one-sided slaughter, and this was their attempt at making it feel less gruesome. 

“Of course,” Greed replied curtly with a nod, directing a gaze of cold scorn at Ryoma. 

It was evident he was displeased with this battle. His gaze seemed to wonder why the Monarch’s Guard, the spear of the kingdom, had to fight a group of children. Most of the people in these maneuvering grounds cared little for who wins or loses. This was a battle between burly, fully-armed knights and a band of children. The latter were armed with sturdy leather armor and real weapons, but the difference in their physiques was stark. 

Modern martial arts divided matches into weight classes, since the grim reality was that superior weight and size made one stronger. Judo often stressed that flexibility is stronger than muscle, but the truth was that in most cases, the bigger and stronger trumped the smaller and weaker. 

Greed, of course, knew nothing of modern martial arts, but even across different worlds people thought of the same things. This was, for all intents and purposes, a match he was set to win. And since his victory was a foregone conclusion, going to the trouble of fighting felt like a waste of his time. 

Still, he knew better than to simply let that thought show. This was a match done before the eyes of the Xaroodian king, Julianus I. As displeased as he was, he couldn’t afford to appear unmotivated before the king. 

“Yes, we’re ready whenever,” Ryoma replied with a smile so calm it made Greed’s well-shaped eyebrows twitch. 

“Very well. Both sides step forward, then... May you bear no ill will toward one another, regardless of the results of this battle! Understood?” The referee spurred Ryoma and Greed to step forward. 

Apparently, he wanted them to shake hands before the battle. 

“To a fair fight,” Ryoma said, reaching out his right hand to Greed. 

The man, however, simply scoffed at Ryoma mockingly, turned around and walked away. 

“H-Hey now, Captain Greed, where are you off to?” The old noble raised his voice in surprise at Greed’s attitude. 

Whatever his reasons were, his actions were in defiance of decorum and politeness. 

“My apologies, but I have no intent of making friends with an opponent before a match... I will take any rebuking later,” Greed spat out with his back turned and approached his subordinates. 

“What a bother. Looks like he hates me,” Ryoma muttered, moving his extended right hand to scratch his cheek awkwardly. 

His expression, however, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. 

“That Greed... It seems he’s excited before the match. Do not think ill of him, Sir Mikoshiba.” 

“Yes, that makes sense given his position,” Ryoma told the old noble comfortingly. “Besides, I can see how he’d be unhappy about being ordered to be our opponent all of a sudden. You needn’t worry about it, old man.” 

He then turned around with a composed smile and walked back. In truth, Ryoma couldn’t care less about Greed’s attitude. After all, he was nothing more than prey brought before him. 

“Now, the feast begins... I hope you at least put up a good show.” A soft whisper escaped Ryoma’s lips. 

Silence fell over the maneuvering grounds. Kevin could barely make out the sound of faint breathing from around him. They were in a place that was nearly a hundred meters in size. Standing around it were countless nobles and high-ranking knights. There were no seats like the coliseum in Rome — only exposed ground and pebbles. 

This place is big... We’d be at a disadvantage in a normal fight... Kevin thought, his eyes turned toward the knights standing fifty meters away, waiting for the signal to begin. 

A battle started by appraising the difference in strength between one’s side and the opponent. The quote from Sun Tzu’s Art of War, ‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles,’ was by no means an exaggeration. It was a natural course of action for those preparing to set out into battle. 

And so, as he always did, Kevin observed the five knights lined up on the opposite side of them. He was still in his mid-teens — the height of adolescence — and compared to him they stood 170 centimeters tall, with their bodies bulky and wide. In terms of pure physique, the match seemed decided. 

The same held true for their equipment. The knights wore heavy steel armor, and their heads were covered by helmets. The spears in their hands were three meters long. By comparison, Kevin and his friends were only protected by the leather armor granted to them by Ryoma and an iron shield. 

Of course, this armor — made from the skin of monsters stacked over each other — was by no means greatly inferior to steel armor. But this leather armor stressed mobility, and as a result the metal armor, which had its joints protected as well, certainly offered greater defense. Picking light armor that favors mobility wasn’t a mistake in Xarooda’s mountainous terrain, but in a direct clash of brute strength, it did place them at a disadvantage. 

Kevin was well aware of how his lips were dry from suspense. His pulse was beating like a drum in his ears, and his hips felt like they were tingling. It felt like an insect was skittering across them — an insect called terror. The most familiar emotion of all that always seemed to creep in before a fight. 

Kevin licked his dry lips as he gripped his personal iron sword tight, glancing at his comrades. Their expressions were as tight as his. 

They all feel the same way... But who can blame us? This is just our second time, after all... 

They were overcome with terror before a match to the death. The fear of having their lives taken from them was gripping their hearts — as did the fear of taking their enemies’ lives. Even when they fought the pirates — a battle that had a meaning of vengeance to these children — they were still shaken by terror. 

But Kevin didn’t deny the fear. He converted it into strength. Fear was by no means weakness, and he knew that it could in fact be made into power. It had been months, and Kevin had survived countless battles against the monsters infesting the Wortenia Peninsula. He was part of the force sent out on the voyages through the rough seas to Myspos. Fear was his closest ally, his weapon to survive. 

Don’t think. Our side is weaker... If we hesitate, they’ll kill us without a second thought. 

This was only a match on paper, but what lay ahead of them was a true battle with their lives on the line. The victor would be decided when one side dies or when the referee decides they have no will to fight. There were no rounds or points, only the question of which side was defeated. 

If one were to quantify the knights’ strength as one hundred, Kevin and his comrades were only a sixty, or seventy at best. If one were to ask which is stronger and which is weak, Kevin’s group would be deemed weak. 

But strength and weakness weren’t always what decided the outcome. 

It’s the same as always. We just need to fight the way the instructors taught us... So we can survive this. 

Life in the Wortenia Peninsula had already made Kevin’s body into that of an animal in human form. All he needed to do was have that body act in accordance to his will, and let that terror suppress all sense of reasoning and ethics within him. 

“Let’s do this. The same as always...” A small whisper escaped Kevin’s lips, and his comrades nodded wordlessly. 

Kevin’s fear had sublimated into bloodlust that coursed through his body. The prana they’d gained from killing Wortenia’s monsters surged like a violent stream from the chakras in their perinea, flowing into his muladhara chakra and granting their bodies superhuman strength. Their fighting spirit had drawn to its limits like a bow’s string... 

“Begin!” The old referee’s voice tore through the silence. 

“Leon and Rina, go right. Annette, go to my left. Melissa! Match my timing!” 

After officially being admitted as soldiers, they were organized into platoons of five. Kevin’s platoon had since overcome countless trials, ingraining those tactics into their bodies. At Kevin’s signal, he and three others sprang into action like arrows from a bow. 

Of course, their speed was within human limits. The four went around from both sides, drawing arcs as they did. The only one to stay behind and face the knights was Melissa. 

“What? In the end, they’re scurrying around like the brats they are...” one of the knights scoffed mockingly. “Idiots. Splitting up only solidifies your defeat.” 

They were surprised to see them sprint forward as soon as the signal was given, but even lumped together, a group of children incapable of thaumaturgy weren’t a threat. They were only clad in light armor, so it was clear who would win in a direct clash. That was the knights’ common perception, at least. 

The children’s only chance at victory hinged on the five of them acting as one to form a firm defense and wait for a chance to strike. 

“Hey... The captain said not to hold back on them, but... I can’t say I like this. Let’s just finish them off quickly,” the platoon leader said. 

The others nodded and gripped their spears tightly. They wouldn’t shirk murder if those were their orders, but they didn’t enjoy killing. 

At the very least, we can make sure they go without any pain... 

It likely only came across as petty hypocrisy, but those were their true feelings. The knights held up their lances as they watched the children charge toward them. They had no intent of using martial thaumaturgy. But they would pay a steep price for that decision... 

“Melissa, do it!” Kevin’s shout echoed through the maneuvering grounds. 

The moment he did, the children’s movement speed accelerated, and they covered the twenty meters between them and the soldiers in a moment. 

“Raging wind, breath of the spirits, abide by my prayer and cloak the earth!” Melissa, who stayed behind, began chanting. 

“Wh-What?! Verbal thaumaturgy?!” 

“No good, defend yourselves!” 

Upon seeing Melissa begin her chant, the knights hurriedly flowed prana into their chakras and they held up their spear handles to shield themselves. Normally, the defensive spells applied to their shields would protect them, but since they underestimated their foe, they neglected to activate them. Even so, their martial thaumaturgy would have normally been enough to bolster their defenses. 

At least normally... 

Melissa concluded her chant and strained her body like a bow. 

“Wave Wind!” 

She then swung her hand down like an underhand throw, skimming it just barely above the ground before raising it up into the sky. The spell she had just used was considered a low level verbal thaumaturgy spell. It wasn’t usually lethal, and all it did was release a wave of wind across a large area. It only unleashed wind without compressing it, and so it was easy to acquire. 

But the trade off for that ease, of course, was that it lacked the force to be useful in combat. In terms of how it felt, it was like a mildly strong gust of wind that would at most make one shield their face with a hand. 

The knights knew what spell she used, and so they simply snickered in disdain. But they didn’t know that her aim was elsewhere. The gale grazed the ground as it pushed toward the knights, kicking up dust into the air — forming a curtain of sand and sediment. 

“Shit! My eyes!” 

The smoke and sediment in the wind blocked the knights’ line of sight. Their faces were covered by full-face helmets that already limited their field of vision, leaving them powerless to resist. And as they stood there blinded, Kevin and the three other children’s swords swung down on them. 

Kevin and the others cast aside all notions of stealth, exposing the increased physical strength afforded to them by their martial thaumaturgy. 

“What?! This is impossible! How can brats like them use martial thaumaturgy?!” 

“Who the hell are they?!” 

The soldiers exclaimed as they swung their spears in resistance. 

But as the knights were stricken with surprise, they swung their weapons clumsily, without any sign of the refined, trained thrusts they usually showed. And to Kevin and the others, who had survived time after time against savage monsters, an opponent that launched clumsy attacks that lacked any trace of bloodlust was the same as a sitting duck. 

Kevin dodged the spear thrust by moving away and swung down his sword at the knight’s fingers gripping the handle. As well-armored as the knight may have been, due to the human anatomy, jointed areas like the fingers had to be lightly armored. If one were to completely cover their fingers with metal boards, they wouldn’t be able to grip anything. 

“Gaaaaah! The little shit just— Aaah, my fingeeers!” 

Kevin’s blade cut along the spear’s handle, chopping off the knight’s fingers. Normally, the knight wouldn’t raise his voice in such a pathetic scream, but he was completely unprepared for this. 

“What the hell is going on, aren’t these just brats?!” one of the knights whispered in shock as he watched his comrade squat down in pain. 

They looked all too defenseless considering they were in the middle of combat. And the enemies bearing down on them weren’t foolish enough to ignore such a clear opening. Kevin slashed with all his might at the dumbstruck knight, aiming at his knee’s joint. The sensation of a dry twig snapping reverberated through Kevin’s hand. 

Things wouldn’t end with just that, though. As the soldier squatted in place in an attempt to suppress the pain, Annette bolted behind him and swung her sword at his defenseless head. The blade swept diagonally over his helmet. Had Ryoma not instructed them ahead of time to not kill their opponents needlessly, Annette would have surely severed his head. Still, her strength was still heightened by martial thaumaturgy, and so the blow had enough strength to knock the robust soldier unconscious. And indeed, the soldier took the blow and crumbled to the ground limply. 

“I see. So that’s why. That’s why he was so confident...” Helena, who was watching the match with Julianus I and Grahalt, muttered in surprise. 

The exchange playing out before their eyes made the level and quality of soldiers Ryoma had raised clear to see. 

“Impossible... How are children capable of thaumaturgy? That’s impossible, they’re commoners,” Grahalt muttered, his expression dumbfounded. 

“Grahalt, the facts are aligned before our eyes,” Helena glared at him coldly. “Admit it. You wouldn’t want me to doubt your worthiness as captain of the royal guard.” 

Grahalt went red in shame. A man who couldn’t admit the reality before his eyes wasn’t worthy of commanding others. 

“M-My apologies, my conduct was shameful... Please, forgive me.” Grahalt bowed his head hurriedly. 

“Hmm, so all the soldiers he brought are on the level of the ones fighting out there. In which case... They’re a force to be reckoned with,” Julianus I whispered softly, stroking his white beard. 

“Your Majesty, you don’t mean every one of those three hundred soldiers...?!” Grahalt shook his head in disbelief. 

His assumption wasn’t wrong — by the standards of this world, Ryoma’s territory should have been limited in the amount of soldiers it could support. Grahalt himself thought that Schwartzheim’s estimate was correct. Rumors of the Wortenia Peninsula reached Xarooda as well, and they knew that this undeveloped land would not return any profit. And without taxes, one couldn’t maintain an army. 

“And yet, we have no basis to assume that those soldiers are the select few that possess such skill,” Julianus I said, his lips curled up in interest. “Putting aside how they acquired thaumaturgy as commoners, if those five could learn it, there is no reason why the rest of them would not be able to. Does it not make sense to assume that all three hundred of Sir Mikoshiba’s soldiers have gained that power? Of course, this could be a bluff, meant to fool us into thinking they’re all that skilled.” 

The king watched the match unfold not with the eyes of a kind old man, but the keen eyes of an eagle that had detected its prey. 

“That’s absurd... This can’t be happening...” Orson Greed couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

He was a brave soldier who had fought on the battlefield since his youth, but now that whisper escaped his lips. He’d noticed that at some point, his clenched fist was dripping with sweat. Xarooda was praised as a military power that had kept the Empire of O’ltormea in check for many years, and the Monarch’s Guard was made up of the most elite of its soldiers. The soldiers elected for the match were also the most certified members of the Monarch’s Guard. 

Of course, Orson didn’t send out his most skilled men because he thought the reinforcement forces were inferior, but they were all highly-talented and extremely experienced soldiers. He was confident that they would be more than a match against any army capable of holding its ground in the western continent. 

But those mighty soldiers he took so much pride in were being brought to their knees by the assault of these young, teenaged beasts. 

“This can’t be... How did commoner children acquire thaumaturgy at such an age...?” one of the people watching the fight uttered, to which those around him hummed in agreement. 

That surprise was to be expected. Anyone could acquire thaumaturgy given enough training, but commoners rarely had the chance to learn it. There were two methods of gaining thaumaturgy. The first was to steal the lives of many other living creatures until the prana in one’s body naturally reached their chakras, or to be taught by a teacher who had gained thaumaturgy already. 

Such a teacher wasn’t easy to find, though. The biggest reason for that was the costs involved with learning thaumaturgy. As a whole, thaumaturgy was a powerful weapon, shield, and a healing art that was, for all intents and purposes, a status symbol. Not every single person to have learned thaumaturgy was a noble, of course, but all nobles had to have learned how to use it. 

At the core of that thought was the influence of the elitist belief that those who had gained thaumaturgy were chosen by the gods, and so such a precious technique could not be taught easily. And putting aside the question of the gods’ involvement in the matter, realistically those who gained thaumaturgy needed not live in want of employment. Commoners could work for the royal house as knights, and should their service in war be distinguished enough, they could even rise to the nobility. 

Even if they didn’t elect to become knights in service of the crown, they could become adventurers or mercenaries, earning enough to lead a wealthy life. Thaumaturgy was a technique that could allow one to earn money easily, and could change a man’s life altogether. And something that valuable could not be allowed to be acquired that easily. 

If a commoner were to seek out a thaumaturgy teacher, they would be hard pressed to find one unless they happened to be related to one. And even if they did find one, any teacher would require a large sum of money for their services. In some cases teachers did take interest in a student due to their potential, but those were fortunate exceptions that rarely happened. 

And so, most commoners that acquired thaumaturgy inevitably only did so through the first method; they became adventurers or mercenaries, and acquired enough prana through fighting to naturally force their chakras into operation. 

But unlike everyone else in the audience, who were shocked at the very idea of the children using thaumaturgy, Greed aptly noticed something Kevin and the other children had in common that the others couldn’t pick up on. 

How can this be... They’re using thaumaturgy perfectly at such an age... But the way they’re organized, though... That takes a great deal of training and experience in live combat... 

Thaumaturgy was a powerful technique, and so wielding it could be difficult. And knights had a tendency to overestimate the strength afforded to them by martial thaumaturgy and challenge their enemies alone. The sight of a lone knight being beaten down by multiple soldiers wasn’t in fact all that unusual. 

The amount of prana the human body could contain differed from person to person, but no one could possess infinite amounts of it. Same as how a car consumes gasoline to move, thaumaturgy consumed prana to grant superhuman powers to its users, and if one were to run out of prana, they’d be incapable of using those powers. 

And without thaumaturgy, a knight was only slightly stronger than a commoner. And so, even the knights — which were lauded as one-man armies — couldn’t hope to win and return alive by charging into the enemy’s lines alone. 

And yet, there were always those among the knights who would still recklessly charge forward, and the reason for that was that thaumaturgy was simply that powerful of a technique. It had a way of enticing those who used it. 

But Kevin and the other children not only gained the power of thaumaturgy and wielded it handily, they kept fighting as a single unit, covering for each other. While the Xaroodian Monarch’s Guard’s knights’ stamina was being slowly and surely whittled away, the children watched keenly for the chance to deliver the finishing blow. 

This is bad... At this rate, the children will win by pushing them down with sheer numbers. I have to stop this battle here... 

Greed’s hands were shaking uncontrollably as he watched the battle clearly tilt in favor of the children. In terms of individual skill and ability, the Xaroodian knights were superior. But their carelessness made them vulnerable to a surprise attack. One of them had his fingers severed, rendering him incapable of holding weapons. Another was beaten over the head and knocked unconscious. 

The match was already decided. 

Kevin’s group acted in perfect coordination, and the number difference of five to three would allow them to overcome that difference in skill and strength. 

But... Giving in now would mean surrendering to these children... 

The fact that Annette’s blow only knocked the knight out without killing him meant the children weren’t intent on killing their opponents. But still, they didn’t hesitate to maim them — as could be seen by the first knight’s severed fingers. 

So he told them to stop short of killing them... Blast them to hell... The nerve of them. 

Now that the match was all but decided, he knew that his first priority was to make sure his soldier’s bodies remained intact. But Greed knew what losing this match meant, and so he couldn’t forfeit the match to keep his men safe. 

“Your Majesty...” Greed’s gaze turned to the one man who could break this deadlock. 

“Melissa! We don’t need the big move. Listen, just keep the enemy pinned down and exhaust them, same as always! Annette, cover for me. We can finish them off once they’re completely out of steam!” 

Kevin shouted instructions in fast succession while keeping his sword fixed in the direction of the knight before him. Their initial surprise attack left two of Xarooda’s knights out of commission, and the two forces backed off and glared at one another. The knights assumed a defensive formation around their comrade which had been knocked out by Annette. 

At this point, they no longer underestimated the children as mere commoners. They tried to rely on their plate armor’s defenses as they probed for an avenue of attack. Meanwhile, Kevin’s group of five was gradually cornering their opponents using a tactic of cautious and repeated hit-and-away attacks. 

“Captain, at this rate we’ll lose!” one of the knights shouted as he desperately pushed back another savage attack by Kevin’s group. “We don’t have a choice, we have to charge them and hope to take out as many of them as we can before we fall!” 

The captain remained silent. The same thought had crossed his mind. 

He’s right. If we’re going to win this at all, it’ll have to be now... 

Each of the children’s blows was light, but their attacks were many and swift. The knights were being tossed about and their stamina was diminishing, and while they could stay on the defensive, there was a limit how long that would last. 

That left them with two options. They could either gallantly admit their defeat, or die an honorable death embracing their knight’s honor... 

They knew well enough that since this wasn’t a true battlefield, admitting defeat could guarantee their survival. But even if this wasn’t of their will, this was a match where they were expected to kill their opponents. Not one of them thought to rely on the format of the match to survive just because they’d ended up being on the losing side. 

Doing so would be all too pathetic of them. And even if no one else knew of it, their own hearts would know. And making that choice would also run Xarooda’s reputation as a military power into the ground, making them the laughingstock of their neighbors. 

“Let’s do it!” the captain shouted. 

One of the knights, who had blocked a slash from Leon’s sword, nodded in understanding. The captain couldn’t tell his expression behind the helmet, but he somehow knew that the pure smile of a man resolved to die was on his lips. 

Forgive me, all of you... We pulled the short straw... But while we may not be able to win, we shall not walk away from this as losers. 

Even if the accolades of victory will not come to them, this was a match to the death. The captain was overcome with guilt for involving his men in such a meaningless battle. And yet, they couldn’t tarnish Xarooda’s name. They would retain their knightly honor even if it would cost them their lives, or they will have truly lost all their means of stopping O’ltormea’s invasion. 

But just as the knights had prepared to throw themselves headfirst into a suicidal charge, Grahalt burst into the arena between them with his sword drawn and held up. And as he did, Julianus I’s voice echoed through the maneuvering grounds. 

“Enough! That’s enough.” 

The cheers and jeering coming from the audience died down at once, and silence settled over the area. Grahalt stood imposingly between Kevin’s group and the knights as Julianus I rose from his throne and looked down at them. The audience’s stares wandered restlessly between the two sides of the battle. 

“Y-Your Majesty, what are you saying?!” The old referee’s shout tore through the silence, his face flushed red. “The match is not yet decided!” 

“Nay, letting this go on any further is pointless,” Julianus I said. “Any more fighting would simply result in casualties, and that would only create a rift between our two sides. Sir Mikoshiba’s soldiers fought toe-to-toe with our knights. Is that not all we need to know?” 

Considering why this match was even suggested to begin with, Julianus I’s judgment was correct. Normally, soldiers that came to aid their neighbor should not need to prove themselves by putting their lives on the line in a match to the death. 

But the reactions of the nobles and knights watching over this fight were mixed. Some nodded in agreement, while others bemoaned that losing to such children is shameful. But the most dissatisfied of all was the old noble that served as referee. 

“Your Majesty, this will injure the pride of Xarooda’s knights! Is it not so, Captain Greed?!” The old noble shouted, turning to Greed for support. 

Ryoma furrowed his brows. This behavior was a far cry from the neutral stance a referee was expected to have. 

“No,” Greed shook his head. “My apologies, but I too think that letting this battle go on any longer would be pointless.” 

“What?!” the old noble exclaimed in outrage. “And you call yourself the captain of the glorious Monarch’s Guard?! Be ashamed of yourself!” 

Greed’s shoulders shook at the sound of that shout. He wasn’t satisfied with this, either. But while he wouldn’t hesitate to order his subordinates to die if this was a battle for the fate of the country, he couldn’t do it in a duel like this one. 

“Enough, stop it,” Julianus I said sharply. “This is my order as king. This match ends in a draw. No one wins, and no one loses. All of you are to regard the outcome as such... Sir Mikoshiba, is this agreeable?” 

At those words, all eyes in the room turned to Ryoma, who pushed his way through the audience. 

“Of course,” Ryoma said, bending to one knee. “That you have allowed my men to spar with Xarooda’s skilled knights is a great honor to us. We only hope that our strength can be of temporary aid to you, Your Majesty.” 

“Hmm. I believe that after seeing this match, no one would look down on your soldiers as an unnecessary burden anymore. I ask that you stay, and lend this country your services... There are no objections, yes?” Julianus I declared and looked around sharply. 

No one could argue against such a clear declaration from the king. Everyone fell silent, bottling up any discontent and grumbling. 

Looks like everything ended pretty much as I planned it... I feel bad for Helena since she gambled on our victory, but she’ll have to forgive me for that one. 

Ryoma gambled on his own victory to stress that this match was done in earnest, and Helena was caught up in it, but Ryoma assumed the match would end in a draw. Or, if nothing else, Ryoma didn’t intend for this match to end in a victory by slaying the knights. 

This old man’s pretty impressive, though... If this is the kind of person the other countries call a mediocre king, it just goes to show rumors aren’t worth anything. 

Ryoma’s initial plan had him suggest the match to Julianus I, but the king had made his decision before that happened. That meant that Julianus I knew what the Xaroodian knights losing to Ryoma’s soldiers would mean. And without even revealing that, he had the battle end in a draw. 

It was an impressive display of slyness. The other countries were either terrible judges of character, or he’d kept his fangs hidden from view for many, many years... 

Yeah, Lupis is no match for him... And the old man noticed it, too. 

He’d noticed the presence of the venomous stinger that had been injected into his country. 

With his head still hung down, Ryoma snuck glances around. The first person his gaze fell on was the old noble that served as referee. Ryoma didn’t know if he spoke like he did because the responsibility he was given as referee spurred him to do so, but one needed a great deal of nerve to argue back directly against the king. But the words he said carried one of two meanings. 

Now then... What reason did he have to argue against his king? 

Those were either innocent words spoken out of true love for the country, or words borne of malice... 

Ryoma’s lips curled up in a cruel smile.