Chapter 81

Chapter 81

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"If, and I mean truly if, an emergency situation occurs, you don't need any special techniques. Just stab your opponent in the stomach like this, twist your wrist, and then simply slash either upward or to the side. The chest area is difficult for beginners because of the ribs; cutting through bone isn't easy."

Rickart demonstrated by stabbing the air with a sharp dagger. The Crown Prince and Bellator sat on the ground, staring up at him blankly.

"When you do that, most people lose their strength and collapse. After that, don't even look back—just run away."

Rickart wasn't sure if this was appropriate, but he was teaching the Crown Prince and the Prince killing techniques rather than formal swordsmanship. Of course, it was strictly for self-defense in a worst-case scenario.

Bellator, who had been listening intently, raised his hand.

"Speak," Rickart said.

"Isn't the neck more fatal?"

"When you're panicked and startled, it's not easy to aim accurately at the neck. Besides, your hands will likely be shaking beyond your control. If you're determined to go for the neck, it's better to do it after slashing the stomach as I just described. Here, see this soft part under the jaw? Stab there and then saw to the side. You'll feel a bit of resistance because of the cartilage in the middle. Slitting the throat guarantees death, but when you're a beginner, it's better to keep your movements to a minimum."

Rickart spoke while irreverently tracing his finger across the 5th Prince's neck. The Prince himself didn't seem to mind.

It was a chilling lesson, to the point where one might wonder if it was okay to teach such things to children, but Rickart had already put these techniques into practice by the age of ten.

The Crown Prince, however, just seemed bored.

"But this isn't cool like you, Ricky."

"It may not be cool, but it's effective. Mastering a long weapon isn't something that can be done in a year or two of practice, especially if you intend to use it in real combat."

"We can't test it, right?" Bellator asked.

"No, do not test it."

"Not even on animals?"

"No."

"Then how do we verify it?"

"To be honest, Your Highness and the Prince likely won't ever have to use this. Still, knowing it might help if you ever find yourself in an unforeseen situation. When a desperate moment strikes, a side of yourself you never knew existed tends to emerge. In such moments, the most important thing is not to hesitate."

Even if they weren't the Imperial family, a Great Noble would typically field a champion; they rarely had to engage in duels or fights themselves.

"That will be all for today's lesson."

"Are you going to see my aunt again?" the Crown Prince asked.

"Yes."

"I wish Ricky could become part of our family. You're going to win, right?"

Rickart had no desire to be entangled with the Imperial family, but those words made him feel good. A natural smile touched his lips.

"Of course."

Rickart returned the dagger to its original owner, Bellator, offered a polite greeting, and left.

As the lesson concluded, the Imperial Knights watching from a distance came to take the Crown Prince away.

Bellator remained alone, staring down at his dagger. It was an extremely sharp weapon, capable of slicing through skin with no effort at all. He stared at it for a long time, lost in thought.

Meanwhile, for some reason, Rickart did not head straight to Irmin Castle but instead went toward the city. He had ordered a gift for Marie.

The Imperial Palace was overflowing with treasures, and he could have received anything if he asked the Crown Prince, but he didn't want to do that.

Rickart headed to the street where the jewelers were gathered—the Jewelers' Guild, where goldsmiths, silversmiths, and gem cutters collaborated to create a single masterpiece.

When Rickart entered a shop, a stern-looking man smiled and brought out a small wooden box. Inside was a necklace featuring a gentian flower carved from amethyst, with a sapphire embedded in its center.

The craftsmanship was so incredible that the flower looked as if it were alive, but the important thing was that it would never wither.

Rickart was pleased with it, but he felt anxious, not knowing if Marie would like it. He forced a smile for the jeweler who had worked so hard.

"Thank you. I like it."

"I'm glad to hear that, sir."

Since the payment had already been made, Rickart took the necklace and left the shop. As he was walking down the street, someone suddenly called out to him.

"Young Master?"

He turned around and saw a noblewoman who looked somehow familiar, though he couldn't quite place her.

"Uh..."

He felt embarrassed because no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't remember who she was. However, the beautiful lady smiled softly, as if understanding.

"It's me. Daisy's mother."

"Oh! Ah, it's good to see you. I didn't expect to run into you here."

While he was glad to see her, Rickart felt something was strange. When she had left her hometown, she was a woman who had nothing, but now, outwardly, she looked no different from a noblewoman.

"It's a relief to see you're doing well. I've heard about the boy hero in the red cloak. But you're not actually wearing a cloak now?"

"Haha, it depends on the occasion. I don't wear it all the time. Is Daisy doing well too?"

"Daisy... Yes. She's likely doing well. She has become a Prophetic Nun for the God of Condemnation. It's a joyous thing."

"...Excuse me?"

Daisy's mother seemed to intentionally change the subject.

"Did you come to watch the swordsmanship tournament as well, Young Master?"

"No. I came to participate."

"What? Ah, that..."

She suddenly seemed to hesitate, and her demeanor turned strange. Rickart furrowed his brow slightly and tilted his head.

"If possible, it would be better if you didn't participate..."

"I can't do that. I have a reason why I must win."

"Is that so... But the Day of Promise is..."

What promise? Rickart was puzzled. But Daisy's mother couldn't finish her sentence. A middle-aged man had placed his arm around her shoulders.

Behind the man stood a guard with an extraordinary aura. Rickart recognized it instinctively—that guard was a Sword Master.

The middle-aged man was none other than Emperor Claudius himself. He was the Crown Prince's grandfather and the father of both Bellator and Marie.

He hadn't shown his face at all in the Imperial Palace, yet here he was, strolling through the city as if it were perfectly normal.

"Is this your son? He's bigger than I thought."

"No, he's someone I had a brief connection with in the past."

"You dated him?"

The Emperor made an unpleasant comment, as if that was all he had on his mind.

"Oh, goodness, what are you saying? He's the one who helped me when I was in trouble."

"I see. Pardon us, young man."

Rickart was so flabbergasted that he forgot to show proper etiquette. In the meantime, the Emperor took Daisy's mother into a carriage and drove away.

Rickart watched the carriage depart for a moment before snapping out of it and heading straight for Irmin Castle.

The castle had gates that could be used, but since officially no one but the maids could pass through, Rickart always had to climb up using the vines.

When he reached the window, the maids were trying a dress on Marie. She had to wear it on the day of the tournament.

"Oh?"

"Oh?"

Rickart was flustered, not expecting anyone else to be there besides Marie. 'Wait, hasn't the rumor already spread everywhere anyway?'

"That's enough, you all can leave," Marie said.

Fortunately, the quick-witted maids simply giggled and made themselves scarce.

Rickart felt awkward but climbed through the window anyway.

In any case, Marie in her white dress truly looked like a flower—to be honest, he wasn't lying. The dress had been designed specifically for that effect.

With her bright blonde hair and white skin, she was dazzling. He couldn't take his eyes off the blue stars in her large eyes.

She was already beautiful, but with light makeup, Rickart found it hard to keep his composure. Marie had always worn clothes that were convenient for fighting.

"Don't stare so hard. It's embarrassing..."

"Oh? Ah, sorry."

"This is a bit suffocating. I can't move as I please. But, uh, do you like it?"

"Yes. So much I might die if I keep looking."

Marie chuckled. But she didn't feel bad; she felt touched. She thought it was wonderful that he was a man who couldn't lie.

"Ah, right, I came to give you this."

Rickart brought out the wooden box. He could have given it to her more romantically, but he felt like he might forget if he didn't do it now.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

When she opened the box, Marie's heart seemed to stop for a moment, and she was left speechless. It wasn't just because the necklace was beautiful, but because of the meaning behind the gift. Therefore, it didn't matter what the gift was.

"Do you like it?"

This time, it was Rickart who asked. But Marie was so overwhelmed that she truly couldn't speak.

"Sit down. I'll put it on for you."

Rickart and Marie sat side by side on the bed. Rickart looped the necklace around her neck, and Marie lifted her hair for him.

Once the necklace was on, the length was perfect, and it suited her exceptionally well. Not that anything wouldn't suit her.

Marie looked at herself in the brass mirror, but the brass couldn't capture all the colors.

"Anyway, it seems the rumors are all out, so I don't know if the tournament even has a point anymore," Rickart said.

Marie burst out laughing. Only then did her heavy heart seem to lighten a bit.

"Right? Shouldn't we just leave like this?"

In reality, people participated in the tournament for the honor of their group, land, and social advancement. Rickart was the only one participating for something like love.

"I'd like to do that too, but I think it's better if we're joined legitimately."

"Sigh... Right..."

Marie spoke as she took a deep breath. In truth, she loathed her own origins.

Her mother had never once shown her love, and she had still never even seen her father. Yet, on the day of the tournament, she had to play the part of a respected Imperial Princess.

She had lived most of her life as an illegitimate child and had only been officially recognized for two or three years. To her, being a member of the Imperial family was more disgusting than glorious.

But now, none of that mattered. Because he was by her side. Because he liked her. Because she liked him.

In her heart, she wanted to give him everything right now, but she couldn't. This was because of the belief that if a man knew a woman before reaching adulthood, his combat power would decrease.

It was a tradition and folklore that had been passed down since ancient times, from the days of tribal society.

Marie found it difficult to calm her racing heart. Reality felt like a lie, as if she were breathing inside a fantasy.

She wondered if it was okay to be this happy, to the point where she felt grateful for all her past misfortunes.

Human beings seek God when they are desperate, but they also seek God when they are overwhelmed with joy. 'O God, thank you. Thank you for letting me be born into this world, for being alive, and for being able to love.'

Then, Marie saw her sword, 'Ricky,' leaning against the wall, and she finally began to calm down.

"Ricky."

"Hmm?"

"If things go wrong, let's just kill everyone and run away."

Rickart chuckled, taking it as a joke.

"I'm not running away."

As the day of the tournament approached, some participants gave up. In the end, only six of the skilled individuals who had stayed in the Imperial Palace remained, including Rickart.

Those who gave up simply enjoyed a luxurious life for a while before staying just to watch the tournament.

However, hundreds of people had already gone through the preliminaries months ago, and only two of them had survived to the end to participate in the swordsmanship tournament.

The tournament would proceed in a bracket format with a total of eight participants; winning just three times would mean victory.

But those three victories would not be easy. When people of similar skill levels clashed, even a single duel could not guarantee survival.

Above all, even if one won, they were likely to sustain serious injuries, and if they couldn't continue the match, they would be disqualified.

The day of the tournament arrived. The broad, rectangular wooden arena, which seemed to have been hastily constructed, was designed to be overlooked from a high vantage point.

Since it couldn't accommodate many people, those seated in the arena were mostly nobles and wealthy individuals. However, the sides of the arena were essentially wide open, allowing commoners to watch from the outside to some extent.

Consequently, people were gathered like clouds around the arena. Even the trees were so full of people that there was no space left, and some even watched from the hill where the castle stood, wondering if anything could even be seen from there.

The preliminaries themselves had been nothing short of a festival of blood, so the city's excitement had reached its peak.

In this very arena, hundreds of swordsmen from all over the Empire had fought and died. No matter how much they covered the ground with dirt and cleaned up, not all the bloodstains could be removed.

The eight duelists were each dressed in designated red or blue clothing to make them easily distinguishable from a distance. Coincidentally, Rickart was in red.

In the middle of the spectator stands were the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, the Crown Prince, the Princesses, and even the Emperor's mistresses. Marie, the prize of the victory, sat alone and isolated on the opposite side.

Strangely, the seats closest to the Emperor were occupied by his mistresses rather than the Imperial family.

The Emperor's champions, excluding the two who had left for the battlefield, included one of the Emperor's close bodyguards and Helauman.

Helauman had essentially been retired for some time, but as a man who remained healthy past the age of a hundred, his appearance after so long was a sight to behold.

He seemed tremendously cheerful, laughing continuously as he shook hands and greeted the surrounding nobles.

His good mood stemmed from the fact that he had half-achieved his underlying goal. That goal was none other than the death of hundreds of swordsmen during the preliminaries.

The swordsmen had not only died in the preliminaries; many had also been assassinated under the cover of the chaos.

His desire was to use the tournament as a pretext to reduce the number of those hostile to the Imperial family and to cultivate someone useful. He didn't care about the others who were swept away and killed in the process.

Furthermore, since Rickart and Marie were on good terms, he considered it a job well done. It would have been annoying if they had hated each other.

To the general public, it was just a festival filled with things to see, but from the Imperial family's perspective, it was a kind of show with hidden political motives. Moreover, a successful festival was a way to increase support for the Imperial family.

'So what if the Emperor is a debauchee? He hasn't really caused us any harm, has he? As long as it's fun. Long live His Majesty the Emperor.' The excited atmosphere naturally changed even the people's thoughts.

The leaves had not yet fallen, but it was the season when the tree leaves were ripening into yellow and red.

It was also the harvest season—a time of abundance. Laughter, excitement, and joy easily masked the sinister plans.

However, the Emperor seemed to have no sense of shame, as he was busy fawning over his mistresses right in front of his mother and children.

Marie was seeing her father for the first time now, and she was so shocked that she felt dazed. 'That man is my father? The Emperor?'

The Crown Prince and the Princes sat with their heads bowed in gloom. The Crown Prince buried his face in his great-grandmother's lap, trying his best not to see his father's pathetic behavior.

It was an incredible family.

Even Helauman, who had been laughing heartedly, hardened his expression after seeing the Emperor's behavior. 'He deserves to die of a venereal disease, really...'

"Ahem! Hmph! Hmph! Hrmm! Ahem!"

It was only after he cleared his throat loudly several times that he finally managed to draw the Emperor's attention.

"Let us begin," Helauman said.

"Have we not started yet? Start already."

As the Emperor spoke with a wave of his hand, several trumpeters blew their horns all at once.

Bbampabbara-! Bbambbambbam Bbampabbara-!

Following the prepared sequence, the duelists, dressed in blue and red, walked out from the opposite side of the arena. Rickart was among them, and the duelists stood in a line before the Emperor.

Rickart stood before the Emperor, turned his head, and looked at Marie, who was in the spectator stands directly opposite him.

By the time a smile began to spread across his face, the herald near the railing unfurled a scroll and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Participants! Kneel and show your respect to His Majesty the Emperor, the pinnacle of all mankind!"

The eight participants knelt on one knee toward the pathetic Emperor. When the Emperor waved his hand as if to say 'enough,' the participants stood up almost as soon as they had knelt.

Seeing this, the herald shouted again. His voice was truly thunderous, as expected of someone chosen for the role.

"Listen, people! Since ancient times, our ancestors have believed in but one truth! That truth is victory! The victor takes all, and the loser loses all! This harsh truth is the only justice ordained by God! He who triumphs is justice! Thus, it is a virtue to revere and hone one's martial arts! His Majesty the Emperor is holding this swordsmanship tournament to encourage this! Let the people follow the example of the victor! But to him who is defeated—do not grieve! God shows mercy to the brave! If you do not flee and die with a weapon in your hand, a heaven has been prepared for you!"

Whether those words were right or wrong, they reflected the spirit of the age. Small wars, petty disputes, and swordfights might have originated from such concepts.

"Listen, participants! Swords, axes, maces, clubs, spears—all melee weapons are permitted! However, cowardly bows and crossbows are forbidden! And no one may interfere with this sacred match! Those who snipe from afar or defile the match with wicked magic will be hunted down and subjected to the most terrible punishments, and in death, will fall into hell to suffer eternal torment!"

After reading the entire proclamation, the herald rolled it up and shouted.

"Participants, go to your respective waiting areas and prepare for a glorious death!"

With that, Rickart headed to the waiting area along with those dressed in red.

He briefly glanced at the people in blue heading in the opposite direction. Neither they nor Rickart seemed to harbor any personal feelings.

The waiting area was a temporary tent. Shielded by the thick fabric, they could not see the other matches.

The wind blew, causing the tent to flutter slightly, and when the herald called out a participant's name, a man took up his weapon and left the waiting area.

A moment later, the herald's voice rang out.

"Match, begin!"

At that moment, the thunderous cheers of the crowd erupted, seemingly shaking the heavens and the earth.

The noise was so loud that even Rickart was momentarily startled. He couldn't understand why people were so excited by this.

Waaaaaaah!

Under the eyes of thousands of people, regardless of rank, a match—no, a show—of life and death unfolded.

One person would die, one would live, and if they were unlucky, they might live but be crippled. That was the nature of the show.

The first match didn't take as long as expected. "Oh!" and "Wow!" could be heard, and a short while later, the man who had gone out returned.

But he wasn't alone. He returned leaning on a staff member for support. His calf was slashed so deeply that blood was gushing out. It seemed he could no longer continue the tournament.

That meant someone would win by default in the next round.

The staff members poured potions and performed emergency treatment, but it looked like it would take more than a day or two for the muscles to fully reattach.

The participants were all people who had been through many battles, but since this was their first life-or-death duel in front of thousands, they all kept taking deep breaths, trying to calm their excitement.

Rickart was the same. He didn't mind the competition itself, but considering the current situation and Marie, he couldn't help but feel nervous. 'Please, heart, just stay still.'

It was then. The herald's thunderous shout was heard.

"From Stormhearts! Third son of the Caldebern Family! Belonging to the Beringen Guild! Rickart of the Red Cloak!"

Upon hearing that shout, Rickart felt his body miraculously calm down. He picked up his weapon, stood up from his seat, flung back the tent flap, and stepped into the arena.

The cheers, which seemed to weigh down his entire body, poured over Rickart.

Waaaaaaah!