SBC 16

My eyes, too, were fixed on the man standing beside Count Benner—the appointed champion.

So that’s Friana.

A monster who had reached Level 5 at a young age.
The very man who, in the novel, once severed Eamon’s wrist and played a major role in the story’s progression.

Seeing him in person… he looks even sharper.

Compared to the mental image I’d had from the novel, he seemed a little younger, perhaps because this is set before the main story. Maybe he’s still growing into himself.

While I was busy studying Friana, a burly judge stepped forward to the center of the arena.

“…Therefore, we now ask the great goddess of duels, Trias, for justice. Any objections?”

The judge, sweating beneath his thick layers of flesh, asked in a formal tone.

Eamon was a round-bellied middle-aged man himself, yet he looked positively slim next to that judge.

“None,” Count Benner said.
“Nor I,” Count Impera added politely.

A mere judge he might be, but here he stood as the King’s representative.
Even nobles had to bow to the Crown’s authority during a trial like this.

“Then the duel shall begin. Let the chosen champions step forward.”

“Hm-hm. Then…”

Count Benner tilted his head toward his attendants.
A short-haired man who had been resting in the shade strode confidently into the dueling ground.

Friana—the quick-sword specialist.
I hadn’t seen him fight yet, but even at a glance his bearing screamed mastery: broad shoulders, eyes bright with focus.
Just the way he walked radiated force.

So that’s what a Rank 5 looks like.

Rank 5 marked the realm of prodigies, a wall ordinary people could never hope to scale.
The domain of monsters.

If the story followed the original course, this was the man who would sever Eamon’s left hand and render him a “Blank.”

That’s Friana, all right.

From a distance he had seemed different—less intense.
This was the future commander of the Isother Knights.

Hmph.

Not yet thirty, already Rank 5.
That alone meant he might one day break through to Rank 7.

So this is where the scheme begins.

No one else here knew.
A promising young knight agreeing to act as champion in a backwater duel trial—most would think it odd, but Count Benner believed he’d planned well.

He had not.
Friana was far too capable to be a mere pawn in the petty rivalry between our two houses.

Benner expected House Impera to collapse after this duel.
Yet in the novel, Eamon was alive and well when the protagonists visited his estate years later.
So events would not unfold as Benner imagined.

Friana hailed from the Zenith Knight Academy, a man destined to become commander of the Isother Kingdom’s knights.
And his reason for coming to this rural hole was singular:

King Erengold II of Isother.

This little conflict would not end as a private feud.
The delicate balance of power would break, sparking a noble civil war that would bleed countless houses dry and, in turn, strengthen the royal authority.

This duel-trial was the first spark of that grand design.

A ruthless plan, truly.

I had no intention of letting my house be crushed so easily.
…But what if Friana lost?

In the novel, Friana wins, earns his place in the knights, and climbs to commander.
If he were to lose here—what then?

Bah. Whatever. My own neck’s on the line.
Maybe the story would diverge, but if we lost, we’d die.

“Preparations complete,” Friana said after some light stretching.

Benner’s side was ready.
Only our champion was missing.

“Count Impera, where is your fighter?”

“That is…” Eamon began, resigned to step forward himself.

“I’m here.”

A man in a shabby cloak stepped onto the dueling ground.

He’d arrived right on time, as promised.
I wasn’t worried—he never breaks a deal.

Still, cutting it so close was typical of him.
Under the ragged cloak, heavy plate armor peeked out—the same man as before.

“Th-that man is…?”

It was Eamon’s first time seeing Crode, and he looked utterly lost.

“I told you I’d find a champion,” I said.

“W-where did you find someone like him…?”

“Just picked from among my drinking buddies,” I lied lightly.

Crode’s true background was something I dared not mention.
A hint about the Eternal Knights and we’d all face execution.

The judge frowned at Crode’s ragged appearance, but after a quick once-over he dismissed it.
Against a Rank 5, how could some shabby stand-in be a threat?

“Champions, step forward,” the judge commanded.

All preparations were complete.
Only the goddess of duels would decide who she favored.

“Hey,” Crode called to me quietly as he stepped into the ring.
“You remember our deal?”

“Ha! After a month apart, that’s the first thing you say? Of course I do!”

“Good.”

He relaxed only after my confirmation.

I watched Count Benner closely.
At first he had been startled by Crode’s sudden appearance, but when he saw the worn clothing his confidence returned.

Time for a little mischief.

I approached the judge before the duel began.

“If we win, what happens?”

It was a bold question, given the judge’s status as the King’s envoy, but no one scolded me—my reputation was already hopeless.

“The trial concerns the incident involving Benner’s vassal, Baron Davenes.
If House Impera wins, the matter will simply be dropped.”

“That’s all? How dull.”

“…What?”

“We went to the trouble of finding a champion. Shouldn’t something be at stake?
Besides, it was Baron Davenes who insulted Count Impera first, wasn’t it?”

“That may be, but—”

I pressed on.

“Then I formally demand this: if our champion wins, return ownership of the Baldig Dungeon to House Impera.”

“Impossible!” the judge sputtered.

Benner began to flare up, but I cut him off with a bigger wager.

“If we lose, I’ll forfeit my life.”

“What?”

“Well? What do you say?” I asked, this time looking Benner in the eye.

For a moment he seemed tense, then his confidence returned.
Of course he would find the offer irresistible.
He needed Eamon maimed for Impera to fall, but with a champion present that outcome was uncertain.
My life for a derelict dungeon was a bargain he could not refuse.

Even Eamon shot me a startled glance but held his tongue—he trusted me.

Benner stroked his thin mustache and smirked.
The mad young lord was finally raving, he must have thought.

“…I see no reason to object,” he said smoothly.

“Hm…”

The judge hesitated only briefly.
With both sides agreeing, why stop them?

“Lord of House Impera, you are certain of this?”

“Absolutely.”

“This is a sacred duel-trial. You understand there will be no claiming it was jest?”

“Of course.”

The judge still looked displeased, but said no more.

The wager was set.

Crode met my gaze.
“Interesting move,” he said.

“That’s why I’m counting on you. Lose here and you’ll never get what you want.”

On the other side, Count Benner was giving last-minute instructions to his champion.

“You understand you must win this duel, yes?”

Friana only inclined his head, silent.

Tch. Arrogant knight-school brat, Benner thought.

But arrogance was tolerable if the man brought victory.
If Friana won, the Impera lands—and now my life—would be his prize.

Benner even considered recruiting him.
A Rank 5 knight wandering without patronage was rare.
Perhaps he’d been caught in some scandal—maybe seduced a noble’s daughter.
But Benner had no daughters, so he could overlook it.

Chest puffed, he made his offer.
“Win this duel and I will grant you a place as my vassal. What say you?”

He thought it a fine proposal—unaware Friana secretly served the King.

“…I’ll think about it,” Friana replied coolly.

“Of course, of course… eh?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I have no wish to serve anyone at present. My apologies.”

“A-ah… well… very well…”

Benner forced a weak smile, stifling his irritation.
We’ll see how long that pride lasts, boy.

Friana, meanwhile, seethed inside.
He was already sworn to the King, and the Count’s presumptuous words were insulting.
He wanted to strike the man, but this mission—igniting a noble civil war—was His Majesty’s command.
Endure. For the King’s grand design.

I watched from a distance, easily overhearing their conversation.
To an outsider it might seem an unremarkable exchange between an ambitious border lord and a patronless knight.
But knowing the truth, I could only scoff.

Benner, you fool. You’ve no idea whose knight you’re courting.

Friana was fiercely proud and personally favored by the King.
A rural Count’s offer was beneath him.
When he reached the rank of knight-commander, he could easily be granted a dukedom.

Friana stretched with a dark expression, while Eamon swallowed hard.
Our own champion hadn’t even moved to warm up.

“Son,” Eamon murmured, “I’m grateful this knight agreed to fight for us, but the opponent looks formidable…”

“It’s fine. He’ll win,” I assured him.

“Win… for certain?”

“Of course.”

I hadn’t seen Crode display his full power, but his rank was at least 6.
In the novel he was already Rank 6 during the Great War, so he must be even stronger now.

I whispered to Eamon, “He’s Rank 6. At least.”

“Wh-what? Rank 6! Why would such a man help us?”

“We each have our reasons.”

Eamon could not fathom what a Rank 6 knight sought from House Impera, but I knew Crode had his own goals.
It had been fourteen years since the Empire fell, and no trace of the “Knight Order’s Relic” had been found.
I was the one who could tell him where it lay.

Friana was undoubtedly a fine knight, but his heart was in fulfilling the King’s command.
Crode’s heart was set on a quest more than a decade old.

“How’s this look to you?” I asked quietly.

Crode smirked. “Just remember where that relic is.”

“Relax.”

From a distance I studied both fighters.

Friana wore only light armor: a pointed breastplate and bracers protecting his arms—appropriate for a swift-sword duelist.
Crode, by contrast, was encased head to toe in full plate, looking slow and heavy.

A quick-blade knight in that get-up?
If I wore such armor, I’d be crushed under the weight.
Perhaps he used that heavy plating to add power to his swift strikes.

This duel between masters of Rank 5 and above—rarely did one get to watch such a match up close.
I sharpened my gaze, determined not to miss a single move.

The judge glanced at both combatants.
Friana nodded, signaling his readiness.
The judge drew a magical orb from his robe and muttered an incantation.

Baaang!

A translucent barrier shimmered into place around the arena.

“For the glory of Isother!” the judge proclaimed.

And the duel began.

Shing.

Crode quietly drew a sword from his side.
No ouroboros emblem this time—a different blade than the one I’d seen before.
In the novel, when cornered, Crode wielded two blades: a long sword to the hip and a shorter mid-sword.
With those twin swords he performed deadly dances that slew countless knights.
This one looked like the shorter weapon.

Friana calmly drew his own—a well-balanced sword, the standard of the Zenith Knight Academy.
A knight true to the basics, without trickery.

How will this play out?

There was nothing left for me to do but watch—
like sitting back with a bag of popcorn, waiting for the first clash.