Madness. Bizarre. Grotesque. Words that ca to mind when reason was defied.
Every spectator in the jousting arena thought the sa.
The people of the Knight Kingdom of Jershu knew well the horror that followed when a lance so much as grazed unarmored flesh.
To them, a mounted knight was, by definition, a wall of steel.
And so, to the spectators, Sevha—mounted with only a short spear—looked no different from a naked man.
They could not help murmuring at his strange appearance.
“What do you think you’re doing!” the Count bellowed. “To a knight, a tournant is honor itself! To appear in such a disgraceful state is an insult to all knights and to the kingdom!”
In truth, the Count was not angered in defense of honor.
He did not know Sevha’s identity, but he knew the Blanc Knights expected sothing of him. The Count thought it best to crush that expectation while he had the chance.
“Is it not?!”
The Count gestured theatrically for agreent, and the nobles who followed him chid in.
Sevha stared quietly at the Count and the other nobles before he spoke.
“Does your honor depend on your appearance? Then perhaps you should tell the man behind you to leave the arena at once.”
The Count looked over his shoulder.
There stood the hunchbacked First Prince Duce, more plainly dressed than anyone in the arena.
“Your... Your Highness.”
Duce’s splendidly attired knight glared at the Count. Duce was, after all, a prince.
Realizing Sevha’s retort had twisted his words into an insult against royalty, the Count hastily blurted out the first thing that ca to mind.
“Your Highness! Will you simply stand by and watch this insolent man?”
Most of the nobles joined the Count, shouting for the man who defiled the honor of a knight to be expelled.
The commoners, however, were of the opposite opinion.
Whether hoping for the tragedy of Sevha being torn to shreds or the miracle of him winning against all odds, they roared for him to stay.
As the arena descended into chaos, Duce struck the ground with his cane, trying to calm the spectators.
“Silence...”
But no one heard him.
Duce acknowledged his own powerlessness and was about to order his knight to silence the crowd.
It was then that he saw him.
Enduring the insults of the nobles who called him unworthy.
Enduring the jeers of the commoners placing bets on his demise.
Sevha sat upon his horse.
He just sat there, with the expression of a hunter. As if to say that no matter what anyone said, no matter how the world changed around him, this was ultimately where he was ant to be.
Looking at Sevha, Duce spoke without thinking, his tone unadorned.
“A stranger, like ... I thought you an unknightly man, but I was wrong. Right now, you are like a knight from the old tales.”
Duce muttered, “I too...”
Then, in a flash, he slamd his cane against the ground.
Crack!
The sound of the cane shattering echoed as Duce staggered forward.
He caught his balance and bellowed, “Silence!”
The roar, worthy of a lion, silenced the crowd in but an instant.
And in that silence, Sevha and Duce t each other’s eyes.
“What is this place? A place to contest honor? No! A place to defend honor? No! This is a place to seize honor!”
Duce gave no one a chance to object before finishing his cry.
“So seize your honor with victory! And you... you will simply roar that the victor is honorable!”
“Your Highness, my words...!”
“Sound the horn!” Duce cried.
The startled trumpeter blew his horn.
For a mont, its sound filled the arena.
For a mont, every spectator was stunned by the blast.
When that mont ended, the sound of hooves reached their ears.
The spectators turned their heads toward the sound and saw Sevha’s and Dalton’s horses charging at each other.
The two horses’ heads crossed for a fleeting mont.
Dalton, thoroughly guarding his vitals, thrust his lance at Sevha.
Sevha twisted aside to avoid it, then stabbed at Dalton’s side with his short spear.
CLANG!
Sevha’s spear bounced off the armor without leaving a scratch, and the first pass ended.
Then, as the two n reached the ends of the field, the spectators’ eyes widened.
The second horn blast echoed imdiately.
Sevha and Dalton charged toward each other again.
The second pass was the sa as the first.
Sevha dodged Dalton’s blow by a hair’s breadth. Then he stabbed at Dalton’s side with the short spear.
CLANG!
After the second pass, the spectators’ mouths hung open.
Directly after, the third horn blast erupted.
The third was identical to the ones before.
Sevha dodged the lance like an acrobat and stabbed Dalton’s side.
CLANG!
The only difference was that a crack had appeared on the tip of Sevha’s short spear.
After the third exchange, Sevha casually flicked the broken piece away with his hand.
Many spectators, especially the commoners, roared their excitent without thinking.
Eshu imdiately understood why.
They’re rooting for the underdog.
Sevha was the underdog against Dalton. That was why the underdogs in the stands were thrilled by his performance.
Still, it will be difficult for the young master to win.
Just as Eshu was calculating the odds, Sevha and Dalton replaced their weapons with new ones.
Then Sevha, with his free hand, touched sothing at his belt as he looked out at the stands.
Not yet. I need to make them louder.
Only Sevha knew what he ant, but he wanted to make even Eshu and the mbers of the Blanc Knights cheer for him.
From the sidelines, Eshu watched and rebuked himself.
Doubting my master’s victory... What kind of knight am I?
Sevha spoke to the ugly horse beneath him.
“I believe I promised you a na.”
The horse was about to throw him its usual sneer… then froze.
“Toto. From now on, your na is Toto.”
Sevha’s eyes were sharp. Not like arrowheads, but like claws, like fangs.
The horse flinched the instant it t his gaze.
“Toto was the number one taxidermist in Anse.”
As Sevha exhaled a hot breath, the other horses in the arena began to cry out wildly.
The ugly horse focused all its senses on Sevha, trying to find the cause of their frenzy.
A phantom stench of blood rolled off Sevha’s body, so strong it was difficult for any horse to bear him.
It had been that way since they first t.
That was why all horses except this one had been terrified to have Sevha on their backs.
But the ugly horse, being closer to a wild stallion, had been able to endure it.
Not anymore. Even this horse was so frightened of Sevha it could barely stand.
It focused its senses even harder, searching for the reason.
Then Sevha continued, “Toto turned all his prey into trophies. And then he failed his last hunt... and died.”
Only then did the ugly horse understand what had changed.
“You have received Toto’s na, so you will be the sa. Fail to turn the beast before you into a trophy... and you will die.”
Until a mont ago, the one on its back was a man who reeked of blood but treated his horse as a companion.
But the one on its back now was a predator, one whose gaze was fixed even on the nape of its own mount.
“Toto. Horse at is edible.”
Just then, the trumpeter blew the horn.
At once, the ugly but intelligent horse’s eyes flew open.
Heeeing!
Having beco Toto, it charged forward furiously.
The mont Dalton thrust his lance, Sevha shifted the reins, recreating the wild dance of his mother that he had studied for days.
Simultaneously, Toto broke its stride, stepping not forward, but diagonally. Its body tilted, and though Sevha had barely moved, the lance slid past him.
With Toto handling the evasion, Sevha used the opening to strike Dalton’s side twice.
CLANG! CLANG!
The crowd’s cheers grew louder at the strange movents of Sevha and Toto.
Dalton, having reached the end of the field, and Eshu, watching from the side, had the sa thought.
He’s not a knight. He’s sothing entirely different.
Toto prioritized dodging over a straight charge.
Sevha, atop a horse thrown off-balance, thrust his spear from an even more unbalanced posture.
What was in the arena now was sothing outside the concept of knighthood.
Dalton and Eshu stared at Sevha, attempting to comprehend what they were seeing.
And then they saw it: a faint phantom, all the more unsettling for its transparency.
A forest.
In the deep, dark green of the forest, a beast with fangs that glinted like a spear was stalking its prey.
Dalton shook off the vision.
Don’t make laugh...!
The next horn sounded.
The exchange was the sa as before.
Toto moved its feet strangely, controlling its pace and allowing Sevha to dodge Dalton’s lance.
Sevha moved his body in ti with Toto’s bizarre movents and stabbed Dalton’s side.
As the passes continued, Toto and Sevha grew accustod to Dalton’s rhythm, dodging more easily and striking more often.
CLANG! CLANG!
Sevha’s short spear struck Dalton’s side not just twice, but three tis.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The clang of the spear, now hitting three tis, grew louder and louder.
CLAAANG! CLAAANG! CLAAANG!
And the louder clang amplified the expectation that Sevha might actually win.
“Woooo!”
It made even the mbers of the Blanc Knights cheer.
As shouts for Sevha poured in from all sides, Dalton licked his dry lips and looked at him.
The faint phantom had beco clear. The beast that had been hiding in the forest was now baring its maw, licking its lips.
The phantom showed how Sevha was fighting.
He had no intention of engaging in a knightly, one-hit-kill joust.
He intended to wear down his prey, slowly, patiently, waiting for an opening to slit its throat.
Can I win?
Dalton still couldn’t imagine himself losing. But at so point, he had also beco unable to imagine himself winning.
Is there no choice but to repeat this?
And the exchange began again.
The passes continued, six tis, nine, twelve, fifteen.
Sevha’s short spear was certain to break after every three passes.
Dalton’s will, too, slowly broke with every three passes.
Sevha could get a new spear, but Dalton could not forge his will anew.
This isn’t ending.
Ignoring Dalton’s growing anxiety, the horn blew again.
And as Sevha and Dalton engaged in the sa exchange as before…
Clatter...
The sound of a piece of tal falling echoed from Dalton’s side.
The crowd’s cheers grew louder in response.
Hearing those two sounds, Dalton imdiately thought: Did a plate from my armor break loose?
He glanced down, but the narrow slits of his helt kept him from getting a clear look.
That uncertainty twisted with the thought that had been building inside him—the thought that he couldn’t win—and it beca a new, more terrifying one.
If this continues... I’m going to lose.
The mont Dalton finally imagined his own defeat, the horn blew.
Sevha and Dalton crossed paths again.
Clatter... Clatter...
As Sevha’s short spear struck Dalton’s side, the sound of falling tal ca more frequently. The spectators cheered even louder.
Those two sounds pressed down on Dalton, crushing him.
He’s striking the sa spot over and over, the armor is breaking. If this goes on, I’ll lose.
I just need to change my armor after this pass!
Just as Dalton decided he only had to endure this one more ti, the horn blew.
Sevha and Dalton charged.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The sound of hooves, so similar to the sound of falling tal, amplified Dalton’s anxiety.
But Dalton held on, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
Then, they crossed.
The lance Dalton thrust went wide.
Sevha’s short spear struck Dalton’s side.
Clatter!
The first blow. The sound amplified his anxiety, but Dalton endured, biting his lip until it bled.
Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!
The second. A torrent of falling tal sounds assaulted him, but Dalton endured, gritting his teeth.
And just before Sevha delivered the third attack.
CLATTER! CLATTER! CLATTER! CLATTER!
A shower of tal pieces rained down.
And then…
The armor is broken.
Dalton’s mind, filled to the brim with anxiety, finally snapped.
He frantically threw all his weight into protecting his side, and only his side.
Sevha smiled in that instant.
Just after Dalton saw that smile, Sevha flung sothing from his other hand, sending it glittering past Dalton’s eyes.
A shard from one of his broken spearheads.
Seeing it, Dalton understood.
“You...!”
His armor had never been broken.
The clattering he’d been hearing wasn’t his armor. It was the sound of Sevha dropping the spear fragnts he’d been collecting.
Dalton had been tornted by the anxiety born from that sound and the crowd’s cheers.
He had lost to his own fear, leaving his head completely exposed.
And the thing that had been hiding in the forest was not a beast, but a hunter wearing a beast’s skin.
“Treacherous...!”
The spear fragnt tumbled away, and Dalton’s vision cleared.
Sevha’s spear was already flying toward his head.
Dalton leaned back, trying to dodge.
But the spear kept closing the distance. There was no escape.
Because Sevha had thrown it.
“Treacherous scuuum!”
Sevha’s thrown spear struck Dalton’s helt hard.
And then…
THUMP!
Dalton’s horse veered off, riderless, kicking up clouds of dust.
A mont later, when the dust cleared, the scene was stark.
Dalton lay motionless on the ground. From atop Toto, Sevha looked down at him.
A hush fell over the arena. Then, a single voice from the stands broke the silence, asking what everyone was thinking.
“Did... he win?”
The mont those words reached the ears of every spectator, Sevha thrust his right fist high into the sky.
“WOOOOOOO!”
Countless people erupted in a roar for the victor.
For Sevha.
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