The Grand Tournament. A festival where knights, who revere martial prowess and hold honor in high regard, gather to test their skills in the martial arts they cherish and respect.
In addition to martial arts and honor, there are many norms that knights must uphold. They must respect and protect the weak, be merciful, generously give to all, and despise unfairness, baseness, and deceit.
Besides these, there are many other things that those who live as knights must observe, but the phrase that every knight gathered at the festival called the Grand Tournament invariably holds in their heart is 'Do not refuse a challenge from an equal.'
A wide area in the northwest corner of Ves-Dinas. In a place where the sound of waves creating white foam can be faintly heard from the distant north, there are three jousting arenas.
The three arenas, built solely for jousting with a narrow width and long length, were dedicated and built as follows: the western arena to Fearalda, the god of agriculture and regeneration; the central one to Awen, the goddess of prosperity; and the eastern arena to Glorre, the god of trade and gold.
"Waaaah!"
The western arena. Inside the arena, painted in dark green, the cheers of the audience, making one's heart pound, can be heard.
On one side of the arena, the announcer, dressed in eye-catchingly bright and colorful clothes, shouts loudly to announce the arrival of the two knights who will face each other.
Meanwhile, his colleagues, who assist in conducting the match, confirm the setting up of flags bearing the crests of the knights who will aim their lances at each other at the ends of the tilt wall in the center of the arena.
Not to be outdone by the crowd's noise, the announcer brings a small magical device he is holding closer to his mouth and shouts even louder.
"Now! Here! Look~ at this place! The arena of Ves-Dinas! I introduce the two knights who will face each other in this sacred hall of knights dedicated to Lord Fearalda!"
The announcer's voice resounded loudly throughout the arena.
"Oh! There is Sir Leben!"
Reave, who was sitting in a corner seat of the arena, stands up and taps Kein, who is sitting next to him, on the shoulder as he speaks.
"Who is the opponent?"
"Uh? I think… I heard it's a knight from Codder Town."
"Ah~ there? Isn't that the village surrounded by forests? I think I heard my father once considered moving to that village."
With a voice resounding throughout the arena, the announcer was calling out Leben's name.
"Even the tavern we went to recently said they use smoked sausages made in Codder Town."
"Huh? Did they?"
Reave scratches his chin and asks Kein. And within the arena, the name of the knight who will face Leben is heard, and the announcer is seen pointing with a straight arm to the knight holding a shield with a stag crest.
"Ah, right. It was Dullard from Codder Town."
The announcer clears his throat and shouts the name Dullard loudly, and Kein tells Reave.
"Wow… But that knight Dullard's horse… It's quite large, isn't it? It looks twice as big as Leska."
The two spectators crane their necks to look inside the arena, where they see the massive form of a horse. Covered in white and green cloth and clad in thick horse armor, the warhorse is visible. Despite wearing the armor, it flicks its black mane as it carries its master, Dullard, trotting in small circles at the edge of the arena.
"Now that I think about it, that knight Dullard… I think I've seen him before. It was in a jousting match last year or the year before…"
Reave furrows his brow, trying to sharpen a hazy memory as he speaks.
"Did you bet money on it?"
"I didn't bet… Ah! Yes! I remember now. That knight Dullard (Dullard) is quite skilled! A strong one."
"Huh? Are you sure? It's that knight with the stag crest, right? It's a crest that nobles and knights around here often use. You're not confusing him with someone else?"
Kein (Kein) looks at Reave (Reave) with doubtful eyes as he speaks.
"I'm sure. I also remember that it was a small tournament organized by the merchant guild, gathering knights from around Ves-Dinas (Ves-Dinas). At that time, he defeated several knights and won the championship."
"How many times did he win to become the champion?"
"Five times. Five times, the lances of the knights he faced broke weakly, as if dry, twisted branches were poking a rock. That knight Dullard didn't budge at all."
"In jousting, don't lances usually break often anyway?"
"No, they broke in a different way than usual, I'm telling you."
Reave demonstrates by jabbing the straight index finger of one hand repeatedly into the clenched fist of the other, explaining to Kein, who still looks at him with lingering suspicion.
"Hmm… I hope Sir Leben doesn't lose and get eliminated from the first match."
"It might be dangerous…"
"But all we can do is cheer loudly."
"That's right!"
"Sir Leben~! Please win! Reave is here! Kein is here too!"
The two stand up from their seats, waving their hands wildly and shouting toward Leben in the arena.
"Oh~oh! Reave, Kein! You came!"
Leben turns with Leska, waving his left arm with a clanking sound, while holding a hollow, long lance made of pulpure wood for jousting in his right hand.
When he saw Reave and Kein, who had come to cheer for him in the distant spectator seats, his stiff expression relaxed into a smile, but when he looked at the massive knight on the opposite side of the arena, his eyes sharpened again, carefully observing the movements of the target his lance tip would aim at before the match began.
"He looks to be about 4 cubits(2m) tall…"
Looking at the massive figure of Dullard, encased in plate armor from afar, Leben said. The horse was wearing a caparison, a dark brown cloth covering its entire body, nearly black, embroidered with a bright yellow stag crest. Dullard was pulling the reins, moving the horse around, kicking up dust, and responding to the cheers from the surrounding spectators.
The sound of Dullard letting out roars mixed with rough breaths, like war cries, and his horse, impatient to charge toward Leben with its master on its back, nervously pawing the ground, reached Leben.
"It seems like a tough opponent from the first match, Leska. But even if it's tough, we must be the ones to take those big lances!"
He was referring to one of the rules of jousting, where the winner gains the right to take the loser's lances.
Usually, the match is decided within three clashes, so knights participate with three lances. However, the lances used in jousting, with their mana-disrupting Reich decoration and hollow construction, have a high probability of breaking upon impact with the opponent. For this reason, it is a custom in jousting for the defeated knight to present his lances to the winner along with praise, showing the audience that even in defeat, he can be generous.
"-Now, let's begin~!"
The resounding voice of the announcer echoes through the arena. A short fanfare of trumpets and drums spreads through the arena, signaling the two knights to prepare.
"Then, I'm counting on you."
Leben lowers his visor and leans forward, whispering softly into Leska's ear.
Two people enter the center of the arena holding large flags, lower them, and block the line of sight of the two knights at the ends of the arena. Then, they make eye contact with the announcer, who is shouting into a magical device in his hand, and grip the flagpoles more firmly.
"-May the fighting spirit of the two honorable knights reach Lord Fearalda!"
The announcer's voice is heard through the magical devices placed throughout the arena. The cheers of the audience, filled with anticipation for the clash of the two armored knights, resound in the arena.
The flags that were lowered in the center of the arena are raised toward the sky, and a loud voice that seems to swallow all the sounds in the arena is heard by everyone.
"Let's go! Leska!"
For a very brief moment, no sound is heard from the spectator seats. It was a different voice from Leben's usual one. His shout, raising the fighting spirit from his heart, was so powerful that Dullard's horse, which was preparing to charge from the opposite side of the arena, flinched in surprise and started running a little late.
Even Reave and Kein, sitting in the spectator seats, are surprised by Leben's voice, which is completely different from usual, and they look at each other with wide eyes, silently, as Leben's desire for victory is fully conveyed to the audience.
"Uwooo!"
Belatedly, Dullard shouts and kicks his horse with both legs as if urging it forward.
The two horses gallop forward, their hooves making rapid 'duduk' sounds. The cheers of the audience gradually sound smaller in Leben's ears.
As the cheers and shouts of encouragement become smaller, the sound of his pounding heart grows louder, as if a small drum is being beaten near his ears.
'There is no second chance. I'll knock Dullard off his horse in a single strike!'
With the resolve shouted in his heart, he grips the lance in his right hand even tighter. Through the small gap in his helmet, the figure of Dullard (Dullard) is getting closer.
"Isn't the horse too big, Sir Dullard?"
He squints his eyes, furrowing his brow, to look more closely at Dullard, who is bouncing up and down vigorously on his huge warhorse as he approaches.
Even through the narrow field of view inside his helmet, he can see Dullard's movements, slightly off balance and bouncing. The heavy body of Dullard, his thick plate armor, and the concave metal shield designed to more effectively block or deflect incoming lances.
To carry a giant knight fully encased in metal, a horse that large would be necessary. As a result of this necessity, Dullard, mounted on the huge warhorse, is aiming his lance over the head of the horse he is riding and charging toward Leben.
Although he was bouncing slightly, the advantage gained from being on this huge horse, nearly 4 cubits (2m) tall and weighing over 1500 stones(kg), was significant. He could aim his lance from a higher position than his opponent, and the opponent had to aim his lance upward to target him.
"Hoo…"
With Leben's long exhale, the air inside his helmet becomes hot. He feels moisture on his cheeks. He aims the tip of his lance toward Dullard across the tilt wall that runs through the arena.
He puts strength into his legs, covers his body with the shield in his left hand, and gradually approaches his opponent. The four legs of Leska, galloping and kicking the ground, feel like his own legs. The armor he is wearing feels like his own skin, and the lance aimed at Dullard feels like an extended arm, with the blunt Reich metal decoration at the tip feeling like a straightened finger.