Chapter 80
“Yaaawn…”
A salty sea breeze drifted softly through the window.
It was the first morning since the Grand Tournament had opened.
The air was a little humid, and the ocean wind made my skin feel slightly sticky.
Not exactly refreshing—but it did have the mood of a seaside vacation, so it wasn’t all bad.
The accommodations prepared by the Wesselan delegation were also top-notch, which helped.
Normally, both commoners and lesser nobles who entered the tournament were assigned pretty shabby lodgings.
But I was a count now.
That meant I was given quarters comparable to those of an official envoy.
The rooms were spacious enough that even my companions were each given one of their own.
Well, except Isbarte—he insisted on sharing a room with Islin because he got lonely sleeping alone.
“Are you awake, my lord?”
“Mmh… already morning, huh.”
Islin, who must have heard my yawn, came in with a cup of lukewarm water.
I would’ve preferred something cold, but drinking icy water first thing in the morning could upset my stomach.
Typical of Islin—always making sure I could maintain peak condition.
Sip.
A faintly bitter scent touched my nose.
Bluefin seed tea—known for restoring energy.
It reminded me of home, and I emptied the cup in one long gulp.
“Ahh.”
“All first-round results are in, my lord. Shall I read you the matchups, or would you like to see them yourself?”
“Hmm… I’ll take a look myself.”
“Yes.”
Islin handed me a prepared sheet of paper.
All the results from the first day of the Grand Tournament were written there.
I’d won by default.
A little disappointing that I didn’t get a proper duel—but at least it saved me the trouble.
After the first day, eight contestants remained.
“Oho.”
As expected, the results had gone almost exactly as Islin predicted.
The three notable figures she’d marked in advance had all advanced.
First Round Victors:
- Fitz Light — Aisother
- Garion — Wesselan
- Lenny Benat — Frostland
…
“Hm?”
In between those names, I spotted a familiar one.
Shellang Decard — Wesselan
“So that guy won too.”
“Yes…”
Islin’s reaction to Shellang Decard’s victory was rather hesitant.
He was one of those ambiguous types—not someone you could easily ignore, but not remarkable enough to stand out either.
No one seemed to know much about his origins, and this was only the first round after all.
“Hm.”
This kind of thing was better to ask Friana about.
Islin had a good eye, but when it came to swordsmanship, Friana was more precise.
“Friana.”
“Yes, my lord!”
At my call, Friana burst out of the next room.
Sweat dotted her forehead—she must’ve been training even this early in the morning.
“You’re working hard already, huh.”
“Ha ha! After watching all the matches yesterday, my body was itching to move. Just loosening up a bit.”
“I see. Anyway—did you watch Shellang Decard’s match yesterday?”
“Of course!”
“What did you think?”
“Hmm…”
Friana furrowed her brow, trying to recall.
There had been seven matches yesterday—it was easy to forget anyone who didn’t particularly stand out.
“His swordsmanship… felt familiar somehow.”
“Familiar?”
“Yes. I’d never seen his face, and his techniques were new to me. But something about it… reminded me of someone.”
“Oh?”
“Perhaps we crossed paths at Zenith Knight Academy.”
“Zenith, huh…”
Zenith Knight Academy only admitted swordsmen ranked level 4 or higher—an elite training ground for the most promising talents.
If he came from there, his skill would naturally be solid.
‘So maybe he’s one of those types whose lack of family name held him back.’
In this world, talent alone wasn’t enough to rise.
Unless you were a monster like Oberon, bloodline mattered.
Sword Rank 4 wasn’t even rare—everyone who entered Zenith was at least that level.
By graduation, many reached Rank 5, like Friana.
From that point on, luck became the deciding factor.
The luck of the spoon you were born with.
If your skills were decent but your lineage mediocre, no noble house would take you in.
‘The protagonist of the novel was just like that.’
Despite exceptional talent, he was a war orphan, not even a commoner.
Without a proper noble sponsor, his life was rough.
Shellang Decard was probably similar—graduated from a knight academy but born to nothing, unable to make a name for himself.
That would explain why Islin had never heard of him.
‘Should I try recruiting him?’
I didn’t need gold or birthright.
What I needed were talent, skill—and loyalty.
That was all that mattered.
He being from another kingdom gave me slight pause, but since we were under a united alliance, Wesselan or Aisother didn’t make much difference.
In fact, now that I’d made enemies of both the king and the prince of Aisother, a Wesselan knight might actually be better.
“I should watch the second round in person.”
“Indeed. Your match is the last of the day, so you’ll have plenty of time to spectate.”
“Heh.”
My second-round opponent was Fitz Light, the royal guard knight I met yesterday.
I still couldn’t figure out why a royal guard would even enter this tournament.
But it was probably not his own decision—more likely, King Erengold’s idea to gauge my strength.
“Tch.”
Well, what could I do?
If the king said jump, even knights had to ask how high.
“…The second round will run over the next two days. Then the semifinals two days after that, and the finals three days later. After that, the Grand Tournament will conclude.”
“And the awards ceremony’s right after the final, right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good. I like that it’s all happening quickly.”
I’d thought this festival would drag on for a month, but the brisk pace was a pleasant surprise.
Draining the last drop of Bluefin tea, I stretched my arms wide.
My opponent was also Rank 5—not someone to underestimate.
Especially since Friana herself had acknowledged his skill.
‘Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing the name Fitz Light in the novel.’
That’s the tragedy of being second best.
At the time of graduation from Zenith, he’d been on par with Friana—yet not a single mention in the story.
“Would you like a light spar before the match, my lord?”
“What? Why spar before a match? I should rest.”
“Ah… understood, my lord.”
Friana pouted, clearly disappointed.
She’d probably been itching to fight after watching all the duels yesterday.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your fill of battles soon enough.”
“Sir? What do you mean?”
“Just saying—it’s possible.”
If I could recruit Shellang Decard, Friana would finally have a variety of opponents to train with besides me.
And her growth would only benefit me in the long run.
Thanks to waking up early, I arrived at the arena long before the second round began.
Partly because Shellang Decard was up first today.
“Oho.”
The arena still bore the scars of the previous day’s matches.
Workers—probably hired by Wesselan—were busy filling holes and cracks in the dirt with fresh soil.
Luckily, the damage wasn’t too severe, and repairs were wrapping up quickly.
By the finals, though, I bet the ground would split and erupt—some Rank 6 monsters had joined the fray, after all.
‘If two like Kroad fought, the whole place would collapse.’
“Anyway…”
Stepping into the stands, I noticed one thing had changed since yesterday.
“Our seats moved?”
Yesterday, we’d sat opposite the stage, among the other contestants.
Today, however, we were led to a much more luxurious section—reserved for foreign envoys.
“They probably couldn’t sit a count among common spectators, my lord.”
Friana seemed pleased with the new vantage point, but I had a feeling there was more to it.
“Ah, everyone’s already here.”
A soft but slightly trembling voice interrupted us.
As I expected—it was Princess Eaglen.
She approached with a full escort of royal knights, including a few from the Crimson Helm, Aisother’s strongest order.
Even in this heat, they were fully armored in red, their faces hidden.
The royal guard knight Fitz Light wasn’t among them—he was likely preparing for his match.
“P–Princess!?”
Friana instantly dropped to one knee and bowed deeply.
“I–I greet Your Highness!”
“Hehe, no need to make such a fuss, Friana. It’s a festival, isn’t it?”
“Y–Yes, Your Highness…”
Friana had once served as a royal guard knight herself.
Naturally, facing a princess was an uncomfortable experience for her.
Just moments ago she’d been cheerful about the good seats—now she was sweating bullets.
“I greet Your Highness.”
“I–I greet the Princess…”
Islin and Isbarte followed her lead, kneeling awkwardly.
It was Isbarte’s first time meeting royalty, so he just copied Islin’s movements.
“A pleasure to meet you. Ian Impera.”
Unlike the others, I merely nodded once.
A terribly rude gesture before royalty.
“Ahem!”
Several of the Crimson Helm knights stiffened at once, but Princess Eaglen held up a hand, calming them.
“Such insolence…”
A muttered curse slipped from behind one of the red visors, but I ignored it.
It was rude, sure—but being me, I could get away with it.
That’s the perk of being the kingdom’s resident troublemaker.
“I heard some of my countrymen were sitting far from the stage, so I had your seats moved closer. I hope that’s all right?”
“We are deeply grateful for your boundless grace!” Friana shouted.
If what she said was true, well, I appreciated the gesture… though I doubted it was just that.
“Hehe. And what about you, Count? You’ll be fighting soon—are you comfortable?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I’ll just head down when they call my name.”
“Ah, y–yes… right.”
Her tone gave her away.
This wasn’t kindness—it was surveillance.
She was worried I might spread what happened yesterday.
“Don’t worry, Your Highness. The sort of incident you’re concerned about won’t happen.”
“Ah…”
“Of course, by that I mean I won’t be so distracted watching matches that I miss my own turn.”
“O–oh, I see!”
“Of course.”
I smiled lightly, and she visibly relaxed.
Honestly, what good would come from blabbing royal secrets?
Especially hers. That would be a fine way to get executed.
“Well then—oh?”
As she turned to leave, Eaglen froze.
Her gaze landed squarely on Islin.
Why… Islin?
She looked uncomfortable, too.
This felt familiar—like the time with Prince Gallen.
There was definitely some history there.
“Islin? Is that really you?”
“…Islin Veronia, Your Highness.”
She bowed deeply.
Princess Eaglen’s eyes softened with recognition.
And just like that, the air between them grew thick with unspoken tension.
