Chapter: 17
“Since you’re already here, why not aim for becoming the knight commander too? With a salary of fifty gold a year, you could live in a fine mansion with servants, don’t you think?”
“If someone overheard you, they’d think anyone could just become commander.”
“Of course not. I’m saying this because it’s you.”
Claude remarked casually and took a sip of his coffee.
Just as Jeanne was about to feel pleased that he seemed to acknowledge her ability, the words Laurent had said on her first day came back to her, and her eyes narrowed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re trying to mess with me.”
“When did I ever?”
“Don’t play dumb. I’ve heard it too—the knight commander of Loren has traditionally been the Grand Duke himself, right?”
While the deputy commander handled the day-to-day operation and training of the order, the final authority always rested with the lord. It was a long-standing custom of Loren.
If Laurent hadn’t tipped her off, she would have let her pride swell without a second thought.
“Who knows? One day I might decide to choose a new commander to replace me.”
“Then it wouldn’t be me—it’d be the deputy commander or one of the division heads.”
“Loren is merit-based. Everyone is given an equal opportunity.”
Why they had to debate something that would never happen this early in the morning was beyond her. Jeanne shook her head, deciding to end this meaningless conversation.
“You still have decades of service ahead of you before you can even think of dying. If you start slacking off already, what are you going to do? Please set a good example in front of your future subordinate, Your Grace.”
“……”
She mocked him with formal speech and took a big bite of bread spread with apricot jam.
When she looked up, she found Claude staring at her without blinking. For some reason, his expression seemed complicated.
“What?”
“…Nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.”
She didn’t believe he’d gone quiet and stared at her for no reason.
When she pressed him, Claude’s red eyes slowly drifted downward.
“I was going to let it slide because I thought you’d be embarrassed.”
Keeping his gaze fixed on her, he pointed at the corner of her mouth. Only then did Jeanne notice the apricot jam smeared by her lips.
“That’s all it was?”
She felt awkward, but pretended it was nothing as she wiped it off with her hand.
‘I thought something was wrong.’
For a brief moment, the image of Claude right after his parents—the previous grand duke and duchess—had died flashed through her mind, and she flinched. Back then, he had worn a composed mask in front of others.
She concluded it was just nerves from the upcoming exam and took a sip of tea. Watching her, the corner of Claude’s lips curved up slightly.
“Anyway, are you fully prepared for the entrance exam?”
“Enough that I won’t embarrass myself by failing.”
For five days, Jeanne had spent her time swinging a wooden sword from morning till night, recalling the battles of her previous life.
How she had dealt with swarms of enemies like goblins, how she had brought down monsters larger than herself like orcs, how she had slain flying beasts like harpies.
She trained without stopping until everything—strength, blade angle, speed, control of holy power and aura—satisfied her standards. Every time her movements felt right, her confidence rose with them.
When Jeanne replied in a firm voice, Claude narrowed his eyes in interest.
“And when did you say you’d join as first place?”
“Overconfidence is dangerous.”
She finished her meal and stood up. Registration for the entrance exam would begin soon, so she needed to hurry.
But before that—
“Claude.”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
You don’t know this, but—
“Thanks to you, I can make a fresh start.”
Absolute obedience to orders, no questioning, no asking—those were the three iron rules she had lived by under Alexis.
Even if she couldn’t be like that with Claude, she intended to repay the debt. She wouldn’t let him regret extending his hand to her.
“No need to thank me. Once you’re in, I’ll work you hard, tease you, and run you ragged—so don’t cry.”
“……”
Claude waved with a smiling squint of his eyes. Watching his gently swaying hand, Jeanne clenched her fist tightly.
She took back what she’d just thought.
If she could endure all the mockery coming her way, that alone would be repayment enough.
***
The arena where the entrance exam was held was packed with spectators, leaving barely any room to stand.
Since the exam was open to the public, not only applicants but also residents of Loren had flocked in, making the scene feel closer to a festival than a test.
“Doesn’t it feel more crowded than last year?”
“It couldn’t be helped! His Grace ascended the throne just last year—people are lining up early to get ahead. I heard the number of applicants has doubled.”
“Then there’ll be even more to watch this year!”
Some clinked their cups together with flushed faces.
“So, who are you betting on this year?”
“I’m betting on the second son of the Avenne family! He’s from a knightly house of Loren, after all.”
“Not so sure. I heard applicants this time range from a mercenary king from the west to former members of the northern knight orders.”
Elsewhere, wagers were being made over who would make it into the final thirty-six.
As the spectators laughed and chatted, the exam began.
The entrance exam was conducted through one-on-one duels. Killing was forbidden. Victory was declared if the opponent surrendered, was knocked unconscious, or if the referee judged the match could not continue.
Across six divided arenas, the sound of clashing steel rang out. From refined aristocratic swordsmanship to the rough brawling of mercenaries, the applicants fought in their own styles.
“Raymond Vincent, victory!”
At the referee’s call, the victorious knight raised his sword triumphantly. Spectators who had been cheering for him erupted in applause and whistles.
As the winner and loser exited the arena, the referee glanced down at the order sheet in his hand.
“Next. Jolly Bardella, Jeanne Leclerc.”
When her turn was called, Jeanne stepped into the arena.
At that moment, a man who looked at least twice her size shoved aside those in front of him and strode forward.
Applicants and spectators alike clicked their tongues as they compared the two.
“That woman’s unlucky. Of all people, her opponent is Jolly Bardella—the mercenary king of the west.”
The two stood facing each other in the center of the arena. Jolly looked Jeanne up and down with a sour expression.
“She should’ve stayed home sewing instead of crawling out here… a woman, of all things.”
A tongue-clicking sound came from between his thick, forest-like beard. He clearly didn’t like that his first opponent was a woman barely twenty years old.
“Oh, wait—don’t tell me. With a face like that, you’re trying to catch His Grace’s eye and become his mistress? If that’s the case, you should’ve worn a skirt instead of carrying a sword. Who knows? You might’ve at least warmed His Grace’s bed. Hahahaha!”
“……”
Jeanne clicked her tongue with a look of pity. What he’d just said was laughably outdated.
Brienne was ruled by a queen, and female knights were common in any order.
His sexist remarks were absurd enough, but what truly defied belief was that someone who wanted to join the Loren knight order was openly insulting its commander—and laughing about it, unaware he’d done anything wrong.
It seemed Jeanne wasn’t the only one bothered. The referee beside them wore a visibly incredulous expression.
‘Getting angry at the words of an idiot is how you truly lose.’
The referee let out a shallow sigh and looked between Jeanne and Jolly. Then he straightened his hand and lowered it—a signal to prepare.
“Begin.”
As the referee raised his hand to signal the start, Jolly pulled out his weapon with an annoyed look. It was a massive mace with a spiked ball at the end.
Gripping it with both hands, he swung it broadly in front of Jeanne.
“See this? One hit and that pretty little head of yours will burst. Scared? I won’t kill you because of the rules, but I can break a few bones. So how about you surrender while I’m being nice!”
Each swing kicked up gusts of wind that made Jeanne’s hair flutter. Some spectators looked on with pity and urged her to give up.
But Jeanne approached Jolly with empty hands, her sword still sheathed.
Sometimes, one solid blow is more effective than a hundred words.
“…?”
Suppressing her fighting spirit, Jeanne looked as calm as an ordinary passerby.
Jolly stared at her blankly, unable to understand what she was doing. The arm that had been swinging the mace had come to a halt.
Normally, both fighters would be releasing their killing intent and crashing weapons together with full force. Since that wasn’t happening, he was thrown off balance.
Everything was unfolding exactly as she planned.
The moment the distance closed, Jeanne drew her sword.
The chilling sound of blade and scabbard scraping past each other flashed by in an instant. Holding the sword with both hands, Jeanne swung it in a smooth, flowing arc.
Jolly, his face pale with shock, thrust the handle of his weapon forward to block. Being made of metal, he thought it would stop the blade easily.
It was a fatal misjudgment.
Just before the blade struck the handle, Jeanne coated her sword with aura. Before the aura that had pierced even the Demon King’s armor, mere metal was useless.
The weapon in Jolly’s hand split cleanly in two. The recoil threw him off balance, his massive body swaying wildly.
Seizing the opening, Jeanne kicked the back of his knee, shattering his stance. The giant of a man collapsed to the ground without even a cry.
He tried to rise, but Jeanne’s sword was already pointed at his throat.
“How about you quit being a mercenary and start hunting rabbits instead? Seems like it’d suit you better.”
