Chapter 168: 168 Knight Tournament

Chapter 168: The Knightly Tournament

The origin of this world’s New Year customs was unknown, but according to Blanchette, the tradition had existed since the early days of the Empire, carrying the meaning of bidding farewell to the old and welcoming the new.

Rulans’s birthday happened to fall on this very day, making December 28th a double celebration for the nobility of the Wushan Domain.

At five in the afternoon, before night had fully descended, the banquet had already begun.

Today, Rulans dressed with rare formality, greeting the nobles as host and raising his cup in toast.

Even the ever-critical Count Jesus now lifted his glass, offering birthday wishes.

Dressed in formal attire, Ronin naturally did not miss the gathering.

Here, beside Rulans and Blanchette, he had become the third focal point.

“Ronin, will you participate in the knightly tournament later?” asked Viscount Vittorino Denis of Spire City, who stood conversing with Ronin.

Spire City, facing the Screaming Sea, served as the port connecting Wushan Domain to the royal capital—far quicker than overland travel.

If Blanchette chose not to ride a griffin, she would arrive via Spire City.

Though Viscount Denis now bore a corpulent frame, he was once a silver-ranked professional knight, a fearsome charger on the battlefield in his youth.

“Yes, Viscount Denis,” Ronin replied, clinking his cup and taking a small sip.

“Ah, then perhaps I may congratulate you in advance!” Denis declared with theatrical flair. “The champion today will surely be you.”

As they spoke, Baron Germain, the one-armed lone wolf, approached. “Ronin, forgive my earlier rudeness due to my injury.”

On Ronin’s first journey to Mountain Village, Germain had claimed to be in pain and failed to greet him personally—not even offering lunch. It had been a grave breach of etiquette.

Germain’s reasoning had been simple: he wished to avoid appearing too close to Ronin and drawing trouble from the Hyde family.

Yet he never imagined that five months later, Ronin had transformed entirely.

“Baron Germain, I have never forgotten your gift.”

Though Germain himself had not appeared, Lady Flavia had bestowed upon Ronin gold, grain, and horses—vital aid in his early days.

He clinked cups with the man. “Perhaps tonight, I may offer you a small surprise in gratitude for that kindness.”

“Oh?” Germain raised an eyebrow, skeptical. A gift?

He and Ronin had little connection. Lake Town and Mountain Village did not border each other nor conduct business. He could not fathom what such a gift might be.

“I am truly curious to see what it might be!” Germain said.

Ronin’s gaze drifted through the crowd, landing on Baron Raisen, who chatted and toasted with the nobles, utterly unaware his golden days might be ending.

“I assure you, it will not disappoint.”

Ronin was never adept at such banquets.

Though he never remained idle, conversing with so many people was exhausting.

Fortunately, as the host Breton loudly proclaimed, “The knightly tournament begins!” the nobles’ attention turned entirely to the field.

Night had now fully fallen, yet the courtyard outside the banquet hall glowed as bright as noon under six enchanted crystal lamps.

Wushan Castle may have seemed ancient, but even a dying camel outweighs a horse—these six grand enchanted lamps alone stirred envy among many nobles.

Ronin’s eyes turned to the white-bearded elder seated beside Rulans.

The man was Rulans’s friend, head of the Wushan Arcane Academy, Honorary Count of Wushan Domain, Honorary Viscount of the Kingdom of Oduin, and administrator of the Silvra Magic Consortium in Wushan—a seventh-rank Grand Master of Earth Magic: Miloslav Ture.

It was said half of these six lamps had been his birthday gift.

Miloslav seemed to sense Ronin’s gaze—he smiled faintly, stroked his white beard, and gave a slight nod.

Ronin felt awkward. Could a Grand Master’s spiritual sense be this sharp? He’d been noticed without even looking directly.

Helpless, he could only smile and raise his cup in a distant toast.

Miloslav lifted his cup, took a sip, and murmured to Rulans beside him: “Your grandson is quite exceptional. His spirit is vibrant. His future achievements will surely rival yours.”

Rulans laughed heartily, glancing down at Ronin among the crowd.

Though his eyes brimmed with pride, his words remained humble: “This boy lacks discipline. Without perseverance, he’ll struggle even to reach Gold Rank.”

As they spoke, most nobles had migrated to the second-floor balconies and corridors, overlooking the illuminated courtyard.

Around the square, knights of the First Order had formed a perimeter, ensuring no stray energy escaped the contest.

The only rule for the knightly tournament: any professional knight under thirty, regardless of origin, may enter.

Ronin, as a participant, remained on the ground floor. He stepped to the entrance of the banquet hall and asked a nearby knight: “Gallier, will you compete?”

Gallier was a Bronze-ranked knight. If he entered, Ronin could not guarantee a certain victory.

Gallier bowed respectfully. “Lord Ronin, by regulation, I may not compete.”

“But aren’t you thirty?” Ronin frowned.

Gallier explained: “The rule specifies under thirty. Thirty itself is excluded.”

Ronin nodded in realization. “What a pity. Had you entered, you might have won the championship.”

“Thank you for your recognition!” Gallier replied, deeply grateful.

Ronin wondered if it was his imagination, but Gallier’s demeanor toward him seemed more reverent than ever.

As they spoke, the tournament began.

First to the field were two “entertaining-level” junior knights.

Though weak in power, to compete before so many nobles was an opportunity.

A strong showing might earn noble patronage—and smooth the path of their lives.

Though lacking dazzling techniques, their displays of strength, agility, and swordsmanship still drew cheers.

When the victor emerged, nobles even tossed gold coins to attendants—tips for the winner.

Nobles never stinted on pleasures that delighted them.

One match followed another. The victor’s name changed constantly. So far, one knight had won three bouts in a row.

Meanwhile, the competitors’ strength grew—from junior to intermediate, intermediate to advanced—and the spectacle became ever more dazzling.

Clashing martial arts sent forth flashes of light so brilliant they dimmed even the enchanted crystal lamps.

The nobles’ tips multiplied. A single victory now earned at least dozens of gold coins.

“Victor! Sir Rogner Ironhoof of Pasture City!”

Breton announced with exhilaration. He relished such fierce combat.

Had he not been the host, he would have joined the fray himself.

Of course, he belonged to the “entertaining-level.”

On the spacious balcony upstairs, Viscount Marvin beamed with flushed cheeks as the nobles around him toasted him, praising his fine son.

Just one more victory would make Rogner the first knight tonight to win three consecutive bouts, allowing him to step down and rest before the final championship clash.

“Lord Roning, aren’t you preparing to take the field?” Galir smiled.

Roning shook his head. He had a certain rapport with Rogner; the latter had expended considerable energy in his last fight—better to let him win this third bout and rest.

At that moment, a figure leapt from the second floor, landing squarely in the center of the arena.

“James Monson of Black Viper City comes to challenge.”

Roning raised an eyebrow. This was the first professional knight from Black Viper City to enter the field.

“They say the knights of Black Viper City are formidable. Do you know anything about this man?” Rogner asked.

Galir nodded slightly. “The Monson fief is a barony under Count Heid’s domain. Once, this land was called Needlewood Village, belonging to the Wushan fief.”

“But later, Needlewood Village was seized by the Black Gold Brotherhood. Though reclaimed several times during punitive campaigns, it was ultimately granted to them due to the Heid family’s outstanding battlefield merits.”

Roning understood.

It was common practice for nobles to bestow lands upon knights who had earned military glory.

Presumably, the lord of Monson Fief had gained Osun’s favor through such means, ascending from a knighted vassal to a true noble.

Yet, as Rogner knew, whenever the Black Gold Brotherhood was successfully subdued, one of the reclaimed territories was always granted to Count Osun.

Through this method, he had already acquired several parcels of land from Wushan Fief.

(End of Chapter)