Vote for Your Knight! - Chapter 12

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Vote for your knight!
Chapter 12
“We’ll start with David.”
Amont said it flatly.
She appeared to be having them demonstrate in whatever random order she selected.
And yet calling David first was deliberate.
David showcased swordsmanship that was nearly flawless, exactly as expected.
Naturally, every participant who came after him suffered by comparison.
They looked far worse than their actual skill level warranted.
“Is Kartamen a joke?”
“If this is all you’ve got, why bother showing up?”
Amont’s harsh critiques poured down like rain.
It was a brutal spectacle.
“Next, Rafael Lorang!”
A fair-haired man with soft features stepped forward into the tense atmosphere.
His swordsmanship flowed as smoothly as his face, yet the power and control were perfectly calibrated.
You could definitely see promise in his technique.
But he too eventually lost his footing mid-form.
He’d remembered more than the previous participant, at least.
The tension in the air had overwhelmed him.
Amont let out a sigh.
“So you were an orphanage director? You said you’d never properly trained in martial arts, but I saw potential, so I gave you Grade 1. Was it all just hot air?”
“I—I apologize.”
Rafael bowed his head.
“Grade 1 means nothing right now. If you understand your own shortcomings, then train twice as hard from here on.”
“Yes, I’ll work twice as hard.”
“Not twice. Ten times. Otherwise, you’ll lose your grade at the next evaluation.”
It was a merciless assessment.
Even Kusto, who’d stood at death’s threshold, felt his knees go weak.
‘And what’s worse is that I’m next.’
The moment he stepped forward, he could feel the oppressive atmosphere pressing down instantly.
“Go on. Show me what you’ve got.”
Amont’s voice was ice.
Kusto gripped the practice sword, loosened his body, and extended his arm.
He’d memorized the movements thoroughly and could execute them without hesitation.
The problem was he had no foundation in swordsmanship.
Kusto simply thrust, swung, and withdrew the blade exactly as he’d been taught, nothing more.
Amont saw through his state at once.
“No foundation whatsoever. You look like someone picking up a sword for the first time.”
“That’s because I am learning swordplay for the first time.”
“But you must have handled a blade during your years as a sellsword, no? Your form lacks even a shred of that experience. It’s purely elementary.”
“I’ll train harder.”
“You’ve memorized every motion without any foundation. You’ve wasted effort on the wrong things.”
“My apologies.”
“Swordsmanship isn’t about memorization. Your body must own the movement before you can use it in actual combat. Keep training like that and you’ll be eliminated for certain.”
Amont’s words cut like a blade.
It was the evaluation he’d expected.
And it was fair counsel too.
But laughter rippled through the other participants.
Kilmen’s voice stood out among them.
“Don’t laugh at him. He’s slave-born, so what can you expect? What training could he possibly have received?”
It was feigned sympathy that only made things worse.
As he turned to walk back to his seat, ignoring it all, someone patted his shoulder.
“You did well.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t be discouraged. You can do better.”
It was Dmitri.
When Kusto turned to look at him with confusion written across his face, Dmitri quickly withdrew his hand and looked away.
When Kusto glanced back, David gave him a thumbs-up from across the room.
‘What’s wrong with these guys?’
Kusto ignored him and turned his attention to the next participant.
‘I doubt there’s anyone here with shakier fundamentals than that.’
But the real problem came after.
Every participant who stepped forward to demonstrate had the same flaw.
“What is this? Why are they all doing the same bizarre thing? Wasting energy in the middle, posturing like it’s elegant—where in Valkyrian Swordsmanship does such vanity exist?”
Amont finally exploded.
“Why has everyone suddenly picked up a habit they never had before? Who taught you this?”
Amont’s gaze swept across the participants with cutting precision.
No one opened their mouth.
Amont fixed her stare on the participant who had just demonstrated.
He flinched, then hastily raised his hand and pointed somewhere.
“K-Kilmen taught us!”
Kilmen stiffened.
“I, I was simply doing my own training! This fool watched from the side and copied it all wrong on his own!”
“But didn’t you tell me directly that my movement was incorrect, that I needed to put strength here?”
Amont, who had been watching the two of them bicker, spoke.
“Then Kilmen, come show us.”
Kilmen huffed, shouldered past the previous participant, and stepped forward.
“I will demonstrate my true skill.”
“Good. Confidence is always welcome.”
Kilmen displayed his Swordsmanship without hesitation.
Compared to the previous participant, the foundation was entirely different. It was clean, flowing, with the clear dynamics of a powerful dance.
But when his demonstration ended, Amont’s brow was furrowed.
“It was splendid.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re the culprit.”
“I beg your pardon? I don’t… what do you…!”
Kilmen could not hide his bewilderment.
“Excellent on the surface, but hollow underneath. Who gave you permission to improvise on Swordsmanship? Why add unnecessary strength here and there, introducing dynamics that shouldn’t be there?”
“B-but that’s how we were taught in the Pius Faction! True Swordsmanship demands it……”
“Then you should never have left that faction. This is a place to learn Valkyrian Swordsmanship.”
……
“In other words, you showed nothing of Swordsmanship here at all. By score, you’ve earned a zero.”
“B-but…!”
“If you’re going to do that, you might as well have been like Kusto, who only had the fundamentals. At least Kusto executed Valkyrian Swordsmanship faithfully.”
Kilmen’s face, which had been brimming with contempt for Kusto, flushed crimson.
Those who had laughed alongside him wore the same scarlet shame.
‘Just as I thought.’
That was exactly why Kusto had turned away so cleanly after seeing Kilmen’s demonstration once.
To Kusto, who hadn’t yet memorized all the forms, it was obvious that Kilmen was improvising arbitrarily on the Swordsmanship.
To the eyes of those who admired the faction’s style, it would have looked impressive.
But to Kusto’s unprejudiced gaze, the habits of a particular faction were only making the Swordsmanship worse.
So instead, he had chosen to remain as a blank slate, learning only the movements themselves with complete fidelity.
Even if it meant laying bare the weakness of his inadequate foundation.
Still, after Amont’s cold assessment, those making mistakes like Kilmen’s grew fewer.
In their place, more began to reveal their lack of fundamentals, just as Kusto had.
Among those cited for the same flaw, Kusto’s skill remained the strongest.
Fortunately, those who had trained under David mostly demonstrated clean technique, and Amont’s fury gradually subsided.
“Dmitri—Rank 2, but I’d believe his skill merits Rank 1.”
“That’s how a Rank 1 should be.”
Of course, even those receiving praise were not always satisfied.
“H-hey, he’s crying. He’s actually crying.”
At the sound from beside him, Kusto flinched and turned his head.
Someone was hunched over, trembling with sobs. It was Pierre Simon, who had just received high praise and returned to his seat.
A handsome man with ash-grey hair, his eyes sharp and refined where they peeked between the strands.
‘Didn’t they say he came from a noble household? Served as a stable hand too. So why is he crying if he did so well?’
As if answering, a murmuring came from him.
“It wasn’t perfect. If my master had been watching, he would have encouraged me and… and wielded the whip against me for falling short……”
Is this man insane?
Kusto quickly turned his head away.
Don’t engage with him.
But despite that resolve, a memory surfaced unbidden.
‘Isn’t that the one who sat in Seat 1 during the Entry Evaluation?’
Many had vied fiercely for that position.
The contests for it ranged across Arm Wrestling, Push-ups, and Close Combat.
Yet Pierre Simon had never lost a single match.
Born a stableman, he carried himself with an aristocrat’s polish, lean-framed despite his refinement, and he’d bested every stockier opponent in raw strength.
A stunning upset. His defeated rival had asked him afterward, still bewildered.
“How did you beat me with that scrawny frame?”
Pierre had smiled coldly in response.
“When effort alone isn’t enough, I remember the moment my master wielded the whip against me.”

“Then nothing is impossible. I grew strong because of him.”
Everyone who heard it felt a chill run through them.
‘What kind of madman was that master of his?’
Kusto exhaled sharply as he heard Pierre’s ragged breathing.
It was then that Ines’s shouting erupted from the adjacent Grade 3-4 Training Hall.
“Why don’t you all just drop straight down to Grade 5?”
‘They’re getting torn apart over there too.’
Kusto found himself sympathizing.
By contrast, the Grade 5 Training Hall held an almost cheerful atmosphere.
They were still in the middle of practice.
“Excellent work! Yes, that’s right! Let’s keep it up!”
One man was brightening the mood with an almost infectious enthusiasm.
‘That’s the one who arm-wrestled Pierre Simon for Seat 1….’
His name was Morris Arno.
His face was as cheerful as his temperament—handsomely built to match.
‘From what the other candidates say, he’s the heir to some massive merchant guild, the Arno Merchant Guild.’
So why was he here?
If he was set to inherit a guild, he wouldn’t be seeking knighthood.
In truth, he’d placed in Grade 5 due to lack of skill.
Perhaps he meant to leverage his experience in Kartamen for business advantage.
‘Still, some were pushed here by their fathers—at least he seems decent about it.’
That was when Mila, the Grade 5 Training Master, called out cheerfully.
“Yes, that’s the way! How about we all get eliminated together?”
The warmth drained from the Grade 5 hall in an instant.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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