Kasumireaz’s title as Captain of the Guard was not for show.
Thanks to him, the chaos in the stands settled.
At the end of a blistering lecture in which physical intimidation accounted for eighty percent of the language, the knights were ordered to keep a certain distance from the musician, and at last peace returned to Masumi’s immediate surroundings.
She hurriedly opened the paper bag and checked the still-warm contents.
Then, at the sheer deliciousness of the bread she stuffed into her mouth, Masumi could only be moved to tears.
“It’s soaking into my very organs…!”
It was not just bread.
Inside the thinly baked dough was fragrant roasted meat. The flavor was light yet assertive, something close to free-range chicken. The flesh was firm and springy, and the sauce clinging to it carried a perfectly balanced spicy kick that made her want to keep eating.
There were other things in the bag as well: a long skewer of pork-like chunks of meat, and boiled herb-seasoned sausage. It was an aggressively carnivorous selection, but she had no complaints whatsoever. She had been so suddenly hungry she thought she might collapse. If anything, a feast of meat was welcome.
They really were right when they said an army marches on its stomach. Supplies mattered. Fasting was bad, absolutely not.
Below them, the jousting matches had already begun.
The newly invested knights, still fresh from their ceremony, hurled themselves into each other head-on, young voices seething with heat.
Each time they exchanged a blow, they pulled apart. Facing one another, circling to test, then charging again to clash wooden lances.
After a brief moment, one was knocked clean off his horse.
Startled by the impact, the horse reared, kicking up its hind legs. The fallen knight did not even try to dodge. He simply curled up and covered his head. The one who had won soothed the excited riderless horse, and he did it with one hand.
They were both newcomers, yet their composure could not have been more different.
Calmed by the rein, the horse swished its tail broadly from side to side. Its legs still stamped the earth restlessly, but it no longer looked ready to bolt. A referee knight bearing a deep blue flag declared the victory for the knight controlling both horses.
Cheers swelled.
“This individual match… a duel, is it decided by knocking the other off their horse?”
Intrigued, Masumi asked Kasumireaz.
Beside her, as she had turned into a carnivore, he did nothing but drink.
“That’s right.”
“Then why does everyone move the same way?”
If the goal was simply to unhorse the opponent, it felt like they should be grappling more violently.
But she had yet to see varied tactics. Several bouts had already played out, and all of them were the same: a straight-line collision. If the match did not end, they separated, then charged again just the same.
“In an actual battle, they wouldn’t be this well-mannered. That’s true.”
“So this is, what, some kind of etiquette?”
“Less etiquette, and more… If there are no other factors to distract you, a frontal clash produces the result most faithful to pure ability. That’s the more accurate way to put it.”
Tilting his silver cup, Kasumireaz offered his knowledge.
A real battlefield was full of uncertainties. Whether the opponent was a magical beast or a mage, no one knew from where, or in what form, an attack might come.
Defense and offense could switch in an instant. And when that happened, a knight’s strength was not judged solely by swordsmanship and magic, but by judgment, experience, and the like.
But an arena was different.
On that ground stood only yourself and your opponent. No help came for either side. Only the training you had accumulated until this day would be tested.
And what gathered that training into a single point was the very thrust she was watching now, a strike meant to decide everything in one blow.
Could you aim precisely for the center of the opponent’s shield, or their throat, and land your hit all the same?
Easy to say, difficult to do.
You were not striking a wooden dummy. The opponent moved, tried to evade, and launched attacks in return. Could you draw them in to the very last instant and read their line? Could you overcome fear?
That nerve, that courage, was what the duel tested.
“This match shows individual qualities most clearly. Look.”
Kasumireaz pointed toward a nearby section of seats.
That corner was divided off from the others by red drapes. Inside sat people who, on closer look, were all well dressed.
“Who are they?”
“Nobles of Vestofa, and members of wealthy merchant houses.”
“The upper class, then. Huh. They come to watch too.”
“They’re looking for a future son-in-law. Or an adopted heir.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Masumi’s hand paused mid-bite.
For a moment, she braced herself at the idea of human trafficking, some hidden darkness of society. But the explanation that followed eased her tension.
The jousting tournament lasted seven days.
The first three were individual matches. Exactly what she was watching now: single combat, a duel.
And on this first day in particular, the tournament consisted of matches between the newly invested knights themselves. It was a showcase, a clash of rookies. “Rookies” though they were, to the knightly orders it was the best chance to measure both present strength and raw potential at once.
To the audience, it was a place to predict who would rise fastest.
If a knight was strong and capable, a noble house head believed he could protect their inherited wealth. If they had a son, perhaps it would be fine. But if they had only a daughter, then they began early, deciding who might be suited to become the future head by marrying in.
If there was no child at all, adoption was an option.
In a world where many died young, a sturdy knight was valued for that alone.
“This isn’t an auction house. Aren’t they being a little too blatant?”
“It’s not as if there’s no advantage for our side.”
“Really?”
“Turn it around and it means even someone born a commoner has a chance to become a noble.”
Not everyone who became a knight was a noble.
Even someone born a commoner, or in poverty, could climb, if they were strong. The knightly orders were that kind of place, Kasumireaz said.
The ease with which he stated it was something Masumi could not quite grasp.
She knew, as knowledge, that class societies had existed.
But Masumi had lived in a world without social rank. Their hunger for advancement was simply too different. She could not immediately sympathize, but neither did she have the conviction to reject it outright.
How much did either of them really know about the other?
The question rose suddenly, and she could not reply at once.
For Masumi, this was an unknown world.
Whether it was somewhere on Earth or some other dimension entirely, the reality remained that the customs and culture were visibly different.
She was no longer a child who could force her own standards onto whatever she did not understand.
And in exchange for learning restraint, she had acquired the habit of keeping her distance.
“…I see.”
That background produced nothing more than a lukewarm response.
In the corner of her eye, Kasumireaz looked as though he wanted to say something, but Masumi chose to pretend she hadn’t noticed.
“From tomorrow on, you should be able to enjoy it a little more.”
Kasumireaz’s remark came out of nowhere.
Masumi had been following the matches with her eyes while devoting ninety percent of her focus to chewing, and the almost apologetic line made her knit her brows. Because she had eaten in silence, he must have assumed she wasn’t interested.
But she had nearly finished, so she wiped her mouth at a natural pause.
“What’s different from today?”
“On the second and third days, veteran knights will appear. Compared to the rookies, their options are broader.”
Magic would be permitted, which meant the spectacle would be flashier and the movements more varied.
So that was why the brackets were separated.
Those who had only just obtained battle-worthy magic yesterday or today, and those who trained daily. She had heard not everyone could use techniques like Ark’s, but even so, if things went wrong, it could become irreparable.
“After the individual matches?”
Probably team battles, Masumi guessed as she prompted him. Kasumireaz set his silver cup aside.
“The fourth and fifth days are team jousts.”
“Figured.”
“And the winners of the individual and team events are given the right to challenge the upper ranks on the final day.”
Masumi blinked.
“So winning doesn’t mean it’s over?”
“Precisely because of that, you could say, it becomes as lively as it does every year.”
That “challenge” was, in other words, the carrot dangling before them.
If it was called a challenge, then the field was likely still jousting. But what interested Masumi was who exactly those “upper ranks” were.
“Upper ranks means someone stronger than the winner, right? But the strongest is supposed to win.”
The logic contradicted itself. In response to her point, Kasumireaz shrugged.
“If they competed in the same bracket, the outcome would be obvious. So the upper ranks don’t enter the main matches.”
“So they challenge even though they know they’ll lose?”
If she took his words at face value, the gap in ability was so great that the upper ranks didn’t participate at all, instead occupying an extra-stage position.
Wasn’t that pointless?
Perhaps reading what she meant, Kasumireaz gave a wry smile.
“It’s less about winning and losing, and more about testing yourself. Think of it as a demonstration match.”
“Men really love that kind of thing.”
Such a simple way of thinking. That sort of man would happily run off to be beaten, she was sure.
She wanted no part of it herself, but watching it was not unpleasant. They looked like they were having fun. So energetic, she thought, and found herself smiling.
Whether out of boredom or consideration, Kasumireaz talked more than she would have expected.
His tone was flat, but through it Masumi could glimpse the face of this country, Albarique, and once she opened the lid, it turned out to be genuinely useful.
One impression floated to the surface.
A people who loved festival frenzy, and were bluntly straightforward.
Why did that image form? Kasumireaz was speaking seriously, but because he was serious, he gave every detail without filtering out the unnecessary ones.
For example, the team joust he had just mentioned.
His initial explanation was perfectly earnest. It went like this:
“Participants split into two sides, each with a commander. Victory conditions are either knocking the enemy commander from their horse, or taking the flag planted at the deepest point of the enemy camp.
“And it really gets the crowd going.
“The highlight is the clash between orders: the knights stationed here at Vestofa, against the Fourth Order that accompanied Ark from the imperial capital.
“The garrison knights stake their pride as provincial knights and fight with everything they have. The Fourth Order responds, proud, so as not to stain the name of Ark, their supreme commander.
“The clash of the pride of provincial and central knightly orders, that is the team joust.”
Up to that point, it was fine.
Masumi even admired it. It sounded exactly like the sort of promotional line you’d hear: “A match neither side can afford to lose.” It was almost painfully cool, the very image the word “knight” carried.
But the explanation that followed ruined it. It went like this:
“…Though we say such gallant things, the audience seats are full every year of wagers on which side will win.
“Gambling is not officially permitted in the Albarique Empire. However, at present it is overlooked. Once a year, a festival. Win or lose, no hard feelings. As long as they don’t start brawls, the authorities are tolerant.”
Kasumireaz delivered that content with a straight face.
Was that really okay?
Masumi couldn’t help blurting it out.
But Kasumireaz tilted his head, looking as though he didn’t understand what was wrong. Masumi explained: didn’t it injure the knights’ pride, being turned into betting material?
The answer was a simple, “Not particularly,” followed by, “Being regarded with affection isn’t a bad thing.”
Hearing Kasumireaz, who looked like the model honor student, say that made it impossible for Masumi to tell whether this was extreme tolerance or extreme carelessness. She could only reply, “S-sure.”
“The sixth day changes things slightly.”
“What do they do?”
This time, Masumi answered with an eager tone, expecting another entertainingly earnest explanation.
Kasumireaz, apparently unaware, continued at the same steady pace. He did not seem the type to embellish. Which only made it funnier that he was this amusing without trying.
“It isn’t a match. It’s an event.”
It was called Quadrijis, commonly shortened to “Quad,” he prefaced, and then began the explanation, the serious part.
“On this day, the knights do not draw their longswords.
“They lift polished greatshields and compete in horsemanship. And they push courtesy to the forefront, displaying refined movement that rivals high society.
“Will it really hold the audience’s interest, without the wildness of combat?
“Surprisingly, it does.
“Until the day before, the main audience consists of men: nobles, merchant-house heads and their attendants, men placing bets. The final day is the same, even more so, because they can see the strongest knights up close. It is, in every sense, a man’s festival.
“But the sixth day alone is different.
“Quadrijis draws the largest number of female spectators.
“In particular, young unmarried women come in droves. There are two reasons. First, it isn’t bloody. Second, they can see knights in glittering formal dress up close.
“Any reason is fine. It is the perfect opportunity for people of all kinds to learn what knights are.”
Up to that point, it was good.
It made sense: not just blood-stirring clashes, but also another side of knighthood. If it deepened understanding of the profession, it was an excellent event. Masumi could agree with that sincerely, and even admired the thought put into the structure.
But then the weather shifted. The additional explanation began, the unfortunate part.
“The flood of women means they’re coming to judge potential husbands.
“In the duels, helmets are worn, and faces can’t be seen well. In the team matches, helmets are worn too, and it’s too chaotic to even tell who’s who. But in Quad, they wear formal dress without helmets, and compete in the precision and elegance of their movement.
“The latter is particularly important. The impression made here has a major effect on how relationships develop afterward.
“It’s the so-called uniform effect. Even if a man’s face is ordinary, he gets a chance at a turnaround. In proper attire, demonstrating excellent horsemanship makes him look fifty percent better. In other words, it becomes easier to win women’s favor. For young men in a male-dominated environment with few encounters, it is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
“As if to support that, the night brings a banquet open to the public as well.
“Until the fifth day, it’s only a riotous party. But on this night, it transforms into a marriage-hunting venue filled with youth. Older men who already have spouses read the room and go elsewhere.
“A night without thorns in your eye.
“A reward night that arrives in the midst of rough, encounterless days.
“Thus, it is customary for young unmarried knights to approach the sixth day with extraordinary resolve.”
“…Hey. So you’re telling me that’s fine?”
In the end, Masumi could only produce the same retort again.
Wasn’t that a little too blunt?
She asked out of sheer motherly concern, but Kasumireaz’s answer was again the same: “Better than not having them come at all,” delivered with maddening humility.
You would think “knight” meant never struggling to find partners, but that, apparently, was only imagination.
In reality, they were sent to the front lines first, took on danger first, traveled frequently and were often absent. Some enjoyed enormous popularity thanks to looks or pedigree, but for most, even if romance was possible, they were avoided as marriage candidates. A sad fate, he said, as though reciting a report.
“Huh. Well, if you’re fine with it, then fine. Kasumi-chan, are you going to enjoy it too?”
“I only appear on the final day.”
“No, not the matches.”
Masumi asked anyway. You’re single, right?
Even without entering this “Quad,” he would surely be in overwhelming demand if he merely showed his face at the banquet. She had seen more than enough of that on the way from the investiture hall to this arena.
But Kasumireaz’s eyes turned distant.
“If I appear, it becomes impossible to control. Of course, Ark is even worse than I am.”
So on the sixth day alone, it was customary for both of them to disappear elsewhere.
“So being popular has its downsides. That sounds rough.”
“…It is something to be grateful for, but…”
His words and expression were both powerfully weary.
Of course he had the right to choose. Not every expression of affection was something you could welcome. He was only human.
Even so, the fact that he did not say it outright until the end was admirable.
“What we want, honestly, is a personal musician.”
That was the true feeling, slipping out.
And at the word Masumi had heard again and again, she felt something catch.
“Hey, I’ve been wondering this whole time. What is a ‘personal musician,’ anyway?”
Leaving aside the predecessor who had run away, the fact that these robust knights were willing to fight among themselves over a personal musician suggested something far from ordinary.
They could not simply be longing for a graceful life with music.
What, exactly, were they desperate for?
“Even though we’d just met, people kept telling me they wanted me to become their personal musician.”
Kasumireaz thought for a moment, then began to speak.
“To have that level of skill, and yet you…”
He did not finish.
A high, clear sound cut in and stopped the conversation.
It was the bell that had rung during the investiture. But this time it did not sing with lingering resonance.
Clang, clang, clang, clang…
Short, violent, continuous.
The knights around them sharpened their gazes at once. Kasumireaz stood and walked toward the fence that separated the arena from the audience seats. In the arena, even the knights in the middle of a duel had stopped.
The great wave of cheering drew back.
As the venue fell quiet, the bell did not stop. In time, everyone fell silent. As if he had been waiting for that moment, Kasumireaz opened his mouth.
“To everyone attending today’s matches.”
Without a microphone, his voice carried through the entire venue. Like Ark at the investiture, he was surely amplifying it with magic.
“It is deeply regrettable, after you have taken the trouble to come, but all remaining matches scheduled for today are hereby canceled. A warning alarm has been issued. The Fourth Order will now depart to subjugate magical beasts. This venue will be placed under the protection of the Vestofa Order. Until the warning is lifted, we ask that you do not leave the venue grounds, and remain where you are.”
The situation was explained simply, but with courtesy.
Kasumireaz bowed toward the audience with impeccable form. Perhaps because both his movement and his words were so practiced, the venue stayed silent, and not a single angry shout flew.
