Ch. 228
The cheers were so loud that even the host’s Amplification Magic couldn’t make his voice clear. I found myself standing up without realizing it.
“Geenie, the people behind us can’t see.”
“Ah, right.”
I craned my neck but managed to keep my butt in the seat for a while. Soon, however, the host’s voice introducing today’s main event made me spring to my feet again.
-First, the challenger!
The arena shook with the roar of the crowd. I stood among the spectators, feeling the heat, and stared intently at the entrance the host was pointing toward.
-Is there anyone who doesn’t know him? A spirited man from the distant Empire! The youngest Swordmaster alive! Elan’s proud genius, Rovenin Fedri!
Waiting always comes to an end. And only then did I realize how much I’d been waiting for him.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Rovenin as he walked into that sea of gazes.
It felt unreal.
He moved as if he were alone in a silent world.
With that detached gait, with eyes that looked at no one, he simply walked out, stepped onto the arena, stopped, and finished it all as if it were a tedious chore.
As I expected, he didn’t seem to care in the slightest about this green cheering squad. Far from being bothered or pressured, he was cutting himself off from all of us.
At least one thing was clear. He had the kind of face that said he didn’t care about anyone but himself.
-And, our pride! Our brave spear and shield. The guardian of this land. The strongest swordsman on the continent! Please welcome him with your cheers. The Shining Sword of Heidrike. Dra, Count Trenpe!
I was still standing there blankly when Ash gently pulled me down.
“Geenie, you should sit.”
Only then did I notice the complaints coming from behind us. Ash was like an angel sitting on my right shoulder, only ever saying the right things. Rai must be the devil on my left.
I suppressed the itch and sat down as calmly as I could. The match hadn’t even started yet, but my cheeks were already hot with excitement.
Though not as hot as the crowd, who were madly calling out Count Trenpe’s name as he appeared.
The arena was instantly filled with heat, and the cheers for the Count’s entrance were relentless, making my ears ring.
The Count was over sixty, but he looked like he was in his forties, as expected of someone who had trained his body all his life, and his features were fierce.
He was famous for his eccentric personality and patriotism, and known as a strict soldier with a tiger-like temper and a cruel streak.
But he was also one of those rare nobles who never laid a hand on commoners.
Maybe that was where this popularity, prickling against my skin now, came from.
The moment the two swordsmen, the stars of the day, stepped into the center of the arena and shook hands, the volume dipped a little. It was a moment that demanded respect.
“Rovenin…!”
Of course, my focus was on Rovenin rather than Trenpe.
Whether it was because I’d been staring at him so hard my eyesight had improved, or simply because my concentration had sharpened, his expressionless face gradually came into clear view.
He was still unnecessarily handsome.
With a face that made me feel angry and relieved at the same time, he was a born beauty that screamed good blood. It was annoying that he was not only a genius swordsman, but also a genius in the looks department.
“Annoying!”
“You hate him just for showing up?”
“I hate him so, so, so much, but what annoys me even more is that he’s so handsome I have to admit it!”
“…Geenie.”
There are a few types of handsome men.
The kind who are so striking you can’t help but look at them, and the opposite. Which one was he? He was the type that made you angry, yet once you looked at him, he was so unbelievably handsome you couldn’t look away.
His golden eyes, the trademark of the Elan Imperial family, were similar to Ash’s, but they were always dull and unlit, like there was an impenetrable wall there.
And that red hair he’d clearly grown out of sheer laziness.
Even from a distance, that peculiar, dead-blood-colored hair had an eerie quality you couldn’t mimic with dye. If not for an event like this, few people would dare to look straight at him.
It felt like a risk.
Rovenin, wrapped in that unpleasant silence and standing like a drawn blade, radiated a murderous air. He was the sort of person you instinctively didn’t want to get involved with.
They say the line between a fan and an anti is paper-thin.
With my sharply focused eyes, I could see a large scar across his temple that hadn’t been there before. I had no idea where he’d gotten it. Was that all the injury he’d taken? He looked far more intact than I’d hoped, which just made me angrier.
Normally, you’re supposed to feel relieved if someone isn’t badly injured, but when it was Rovenin, even the tiny bit of humanity I had evaporated.
“I guess it’s true he got hurt.”
“What? He looks fine to me.”
“His gait is heavier than usual.”
“…Where?”
The two swordsmen were slowly circling the arena, getting used to the space.
The arena was about three times larger than normal, but stepping out of bounds still worked the same way. It was also standard not to kill your opponent; whoever was injured to the point they couldn’t move would lose.
“He’s favoring his right side. His balance is a little off.”
At Ash’s words, I looked at Rovenin’s gait again, but if I could see that just by looking, I’d be a Swordmaster, not a Spirit Mage.
To my eyes, it was a perfectly balanced, flawless stride.
I couldn’t compete with a swordsman’s eye for this kind of thing. The parts we trained were different, so our dynamic vision was on completely different levels.
Proof of that was how Ash was watching the faraway arena without squinting like I was.
“Ash, who do you think will win?”
“I hope it ends without anyone getting hurt. I know that’s unlikely.”
“Then I’ll change the question. What are the chances of Rovenin winning?”
“You’re being mischievous. You know I have no choice but to cheer for the Count…”
“Ah! I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while… are you two close? You and Rovenin, I mean.”
Ash seemed briefly aware of his surroundings at my question.
But everyone else was so noisy and focused on the arena that no one cared about the quiet whispers of a couple sitting in the hallway seats.
Normally, my beauty would have drawn attention, but with my hood up to hide Rai, we were just another ordinary pair.
When I prompted him for an answer with a few pointed throat-clears, Ash reluctantly leaned toward me.
Then he whispered so close to my ear that his lips brushed it.
“I am like a friend to him.”
“If you’re friends, you’re friends. What do you mean, ‘like’?”
“I don’t know what he thinks. No one does… what goes on in his head.”
I understood immediately. The entire continent already knew Rovenin was such a free spirit that even the Emperor couldn’t control him.
The only reason I knew that was because if Rovenin were the type to listen to his superiors even a little, he wouldn’t be standing there drawing his sword right now.
There’s no way the top brass in Elan would have approved of a fight that could only bring them losses. I might be a troublemaker, but I wasn’t on his level.
“Still, a swordsman with your skills should be able to tell, right? Since you’re both swordsmen, you should have some sense of who’s stronger. Can’t you just tell me the Count is overwhelmingly stronger?”
As for me, all I knew was that both the Count and Rovenin were far stronger than average.
If they were weaker than I was, I would be able to sense it, but the two of them had long since passed the level where someone like me could measure them.
Traveling around, I’d felt that it was always the mediocre ones who made a show of their strength.
The real monsters, on the other hand, completely concealed themselves, making it impossible to get a read on them. It was like they were always holding their breath, like a beast about to pounce.
“If you look at strength alone… I think they’re equal.”
“That’s ridiculous! Rovenin lost before, didn’t he?”
“The result doesn’t always reflect the difference in strength. It also depends on the environment… or on who is calmer and more experienced. I doubt Rovenin won in this kind of setting before. On the contrary, Count Trenpe may be at a psychological disadvantage right now.”
That was a scary thing to hear.
“…Why? Trenpe’s the one who suggested this duel, right? Because he was sure he’d win.”
“That’s how the rumor goes. But the Rovenin I know is not the type who enjoys this much attention.”
“Don’t tell me…”
“Yes, maybe… I’m guessing the situation grew bigger than he intended.”
That wasn’t news I wanted. I felt my brow furrow on its own.
“It must be the other nobles who built up this elaborate show and puffed everything up. The Count is different from the others. He’s someone who will do anything for his country. Even if he doesn’t want to, even if it torments him, he’s someone who will endure it if things can be improved through his sacrifice.”
“…So Rovenin doesn’t care about the country.”
“Can’t you tell just by watching what he’s doing right now? He doesn’t value anyone’s honor. He doesn’t even care about his own reputation. That’s why he’s so carefree.”
“Damn it…”
Suddenly, the many spectators surrounding me—this sea of green—started to feel suffocating.
Before, I’d simply admired the Count’s popularity, but after hearing Ash, I realized what kind of psychological burden he was carrying.
It wasn’t the same for Rovenin, who had already lost once, to lose again, as it would be for the Count, who had to win in the name of his country, to fall.
I quietly dropped the flag I’d been waving onto the ground.
“Rovenin is someone who’s hard to describe even with the word ‘unique.’ For instance, I’ve never seen him feel shame. He’s someone who doesn’t know what embarrassment is… so he must have been happy when he lost to the Count.”
“…He must have been. Because it meant he could fight again. He only likes strong people. He doesn’t care about people he’s already beaten.”
“You know him well.”
I’d lost before. He didn’t even remember my name. I glared at the arena again, my expression sour.
The two swordsmen, now facing each other in the center, lightly touched the tips of their swords and bowed, and then a horn sounded from somewhere, announcing the start of the duel.
The horn sounded exactly nine times around the stadium, and that was the countdown.
Three, two, one. Start.
What else could I do? I clasped my hands tightly and prayed earnestly for Count Trenpe’s victory.
‘There’s so much green, I hope he doesn’t feel pressured! I’d be burdened if it were me… but…’
‘Damn it. I’m most envious of complete beings like Rovenin at times like this.’
Seen properly, this was a clash between the Count, who was fighting a battle he could never afford to lose, and a madman who would just get excited to try again if he did.
And this madman with noble blood would keep challenging him until he eventually won. Sooner or later, the Count would have to lose.
‘I can’t help it. Count!’
‘Just kill Rovenin and say it was an accident! That’s all! You can do it!’
This was the first time I’d prayed this earnestly for anything since I was kidnapped by a Dragon.