Chapter 7
The carriage ride back to the training center was noisy.
Berka spent almost the entire trip explaining just how stupid Riyan's chosen position was.
He also complained at length about how unreasonable it was that Riyan had ignored his advice.
Riyan let most of it pass through one ear and out the other.
He had not made the decision out of pride.
Nor recklessness.
He had simply looked for the fastest route out of slavery.
Eventually, Berka noticed Riyan's completely unaffected expression and released a long sigh.
"...You're really confident?"
The endless nagging seemed to be over.
Riyan looked away from the window.
"If anything, I'd like to ask you something."
"You've got a question?"
"You've probably heard that I've defeated several instructors. Yet you're still this worried. That means my opponent isn't ordinary."
"..."
"How strong is he?"
Berka bit his lip.
"Remember when I explained Champions?"
"Yes."
"Yavrik, the Human Butcher, has already reached Champion once. He was even given a Masterpiece. And despite that, he continued living as a fighter."
"I thought you said receiving the title and Masterpiece meant entering Imperial service or receiving noble sponsorship."
"Not everyone does."
"Propaganda?"
Berka's eyebrow twitched.
"Quick as always. Right. Yavrik himself is an excellent advertisement. He makes other fighters dream that the Empire might treat them the same way. You understand what that means?"
Simple.
"He's strong."
"Strong? That's putting it too lightly. Yes, you defeated five instructors from our training center. But why do you think they're instructors? If those bastards had the talent to become Champions, would they be spending their lives rolling around with slaves? You're still a brat who doesn't understand the weight of that title!"
Berka continued angrily.
"Even so, I intended to enter you because this is a Winning Streak Battle. The winner remains in the Arena and keeps fighting until only one fighter survives. You understand why I'm angry now, don't you? Don't tell me you don't. I might actually kill you."
Riyan wasn't sure whether Berka really would.
But the answer was obvious.
"The winner of the first fight is overwhelmingly disadvantaged."
"Exactly! Yavrik is strong. That means the faster someone defeats him, the greater their future becomes. Fame. Special treatment. Gold. Honor. Freedom. Strong fighters will challenge him. My plan was to let them drain Yavrik first, then send you in when you had a real chance. And you chose first?!"
"If you're that unhappy, couldn't you simply force me into a later position? I only answered because I was asked what I wanted."
"You bastard! The Supervisor already approved it! That inflexible son of a bitch would grab the Devil by the balls if he thought it would make a match more entertaining!"
An unpleasant image passed through Riyan's head.
He lightly shook it away.
"So I draw viewers?"
"Yes. In a Winning Streak Battle, the first fighter and final fighter get the most attention. The last will probably be some promising fighter expected to finish Yavrik. And you, as the first..."
"I'll become the title used to open the event."
Something like:
The slave boy who killed a monster. Will he create another miracle?
Berka nodded as if agreeing with Riyan's thought.
"Exactly. That's the problem. You understand all of this, so why the hell did you choose first?"
Berka scratched hard at the side of his head.
Then he gave up and sighed.
"Water's already spilled. The Supervisor never changes a decision once it's made. We can't back out either. Reputation is everything here. If we refuse now, our training center might spend half a year without getting another match."
Berka looked directly at Riyan.
"Tell me, Riyan. You had some reason. Since we're already committed, I'll support you as much as I can. Yavrik's position has become inconvenient for the Empire too. If we prepare properly, you might actually have a chance."
A reason.
Riyan thought.
Masterpiece. The symbol of these newly redefined knights.
If those people were New Knights...
Then Riyan was an Old Knight.
He wanted to feel the difference.
Was he merely a relic dragged out of an obsolete age?
Or had he been placed here as a weight meant to correct something moving in the wrong direction?
He was also curious about knights who supposedly used Mana, a power that once belonged exclusively to magicians.
Berka knew none of this.
He simply waited.
Riyan spoke.
"...You said you'd support me?"
"That's what I said! So what do you need to kill the Human Butcher?"
Riyan smiled faintly.
"If this is the Imperial Capital, there must be a market worthy of it."
"...What?"
"I'd like to visit."
Berka's face collapsed in disappointment.
Ordinary life was precious.
It was an idea Riyan had carried for a long time.
Not because he had developed some grand philosophy about rejecting wealth and luxury.
He had never been particularly interested in complicated philosophical reflection.
The thought simply came from the life he had lived.
Before the war...
Riyan had grown up with his mother in a remote mountain valley.
Before he even properly reached adulthood, war swallowed him.
From then until his death, he had spent his entire life swinging a sword.
There was nothing more to add.
Nothing to remove.
That had been his simple life.
So this is what it was like.
Now, looking at the scene before him, Riyan felt something stir inside.
It was as though he could hear Eldred's voice from long ago.
When the war ends, if you ever get the chance, visit the capital. Especially the market districts filled with stalls. For a country bumpkin like you, it'll be so crowded and bright you won't even realize someone stole your nose. If you're scared, follow me there someday.
Eldred had been right.
The Imperial Capital's market looked almost like another battlefield to Riyan.
Only instead of blood, the air was filled with spices.
Instead of clashing metal, there was the sound of coins pouring into hands.
Instead of legion banners, rows of colorful silk fluttered above the streets.
