Vote for Your Knight! - Chapter 16

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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 16
Kusto glanced apologetically up at the judges’ bench.
All four of them were staring at him with widened eyes.
‘That’s going to cost me some points on demeanor.’
But he had no choice.
If he kept fighting like this, he’d demonstrate nothing—not his Swordsmanship, not his mental fortitude, nothing.
‘Better to fight back than stand there taking it like a fool.’
Even if he lost marks for conduct, he could earn more points elsewhere.
The judges had eyes; they’d see through Kilmen’s tricks well enough. They wouldn’t blame him more harshly than his opponent.
‘And no one seems to have noticed I was faking the injury.’
Both the spectators and Kilmen himself believed the punch had landed clean.
In truth, when the fist came flying, he’d twisted his body just enough to dodge the killing blow.
“You—you bastard!”
Kilmen, who’d been sprawled on the ground moments before, scrambled to his feet, trembling.
But the way he staggered suggested he still wasn’t quite steady.
Kusto didn’t miss the opening. He swung his blade.
“Ugh—argh!”
Kilmen, caught off guard, flailed and raised his sword defensively.
Kusto parried and drove toward Kilmen’s throat.
“You—you slave dog!”
Kilmen barely evaded and began attacking wildly.
But it backfired.
His panic unleashed the superficial technique he’d barely suppressed during their training sessions.
Kusto’s Swordsmanship, built methodically from the ground up, was unadorned and clean against the onslaught.
Beside Kilmen’s brutish flailing, his form seemed flawless.
Moreover, Kilmen had lost his composure after taking a hit, and his strength had flagged considerably.
Now was the moment.
There—a flaw in Kilmen’s stance.
Whoosh!
Kusto surged forward and cleanly disarmed him, flinging the sword away.
“No—no!”
Kilmen lunged desperately for his fallen blade.
But Kusto’s sword found his throat first.
…
Kilmen went rigid, like stone.
Kusto leaned close and whispered softly.
“Looks like the match is over.”
“Gh—uh…”
Kilmen made a frustrated, groaning sound.
It was unmistakably Kusto’s victory.
Clap, clap, clap.
The sound of applause came from somewhere.
Amont was clapping from the judges’ bench.
When her eyes met Kusto’s, she gasped and quickly hid her hands.
It seemed an unconscious gesture on her part.
A rare sight from the stern and austere knight commander.
Kusto’s lips curved into a grin.
Harsh judgment poured down on the defeated Kilmen.
“We don’t expect perfection or absolute fairness in every match—victory matters—but don’t you think that was rather a dirty bout?”
“But—but sir, in real combat, one must do whatever it takes to win.”
“Yet you lost, didn’t you?”
“That—that was because he—”
“—was simply superior? Both in skill and in cunning.”
…
“You’ve done well enough. Step down.”
Kilmen descended from the platform with slumped shoulders.
When he locked eyes with Kusto, who was standing below with folded arms watching, he charged forward trying to shove him.
But Kusto sidestepped nimbly, and Kilmen tumbled forward on his own.
Whatever Kilmen fumed and huffed about, Kusto had already turned away.
“Oh, you’ve got some skill.”
As he returned to his seat, the participant next to him struck up a conversation.
‘Was he talking to me?’
When Kusto turned, another participant nearby chimed in as well.
“I’d have preferred it cleaner, but still—you beat Kilmen. I’ll give you that.”
What was this about giving credit or withholding it?
Kusto simply gave a light nod.
But afterward, several others came to speak with him, or stared at him openly.
Now that he’d beaten Kilmen, those who’d dismissed him entirely seemed to be seeing him differently.
‘Probably the ones who resented Kilmen’s arrogance all along.’
This sort of goodwill was volatile.
‘No telling when they might flip. Best not to get excited.’
Kusto gave them perfunctory responses and turned his attention back to the stage.
Morris was just stepping up to compete.
‘I wonder who he’ll face.’
Kusto’s eyes widened as he saw the opponent ascending from the opposite side.
‘Raphael?’
While Morris was smiling, Raphael looked noticeably anxious.
‘Raphael’s ranked higher, yet he’s frightened.’
True to form, Morris dominated the early exchanges.
Raphael struggled to land any strikes against him.
He stumbled several times, as if he’d forgotten the sequence of his Swordsmanship.
Yet still, he showed flashes of brilliance now and then.
“What’s this? Show me your real skill!”
That was when it happened.
Morris, having knocked Raphael’s sword away forcefully, shouted at him.
Raphael flinched and looked at him.
“Are you going to make this boring? This isn’t your true strength, is it?”
“I…”
“If you want to lose to me, fine—but not like this!”
At Morris’s provocation, Raphael’s expression hardened.
He seemed to have made a decision, gripping his Training Sword again and meeting Morris’s blade with renewed force.
The two swords strained against each other, and Morris was the first to break away.
“So you could do it all along!”
Morris cried out and swung his sword again with fresh intensity.
Raphael, now confident, parried it swiftly.
A proper duel had begun in earnest.
In the end, Morris was the first to drop to his knees.
Raphael seemed disbelieving of his own victory, looking dazed before descending the stage with an apologetic expression toward Morris.
Ines, who had been silent until then, spoke first.
“What was that about?”
Morris rose to his feet with a bright expression on his face. The furrow in Ines’s brow deepened as if she didn’t approve.
“Why did you help your opponent mid-duel? Are you so confident you’d win anyway?”
“No. I simply wanted to experience a true contest. In Round 1 and Round 2, I didn’t have what I’d call a real duel. This time, I was willing to lose—I wanted to show you all what it looks like when I truly fight.”
Amont nodded.
“That attitude isn’t bad.”
But a sharp critique followed immediately after.
“However, the mindset of ‘I’m fine with losing’ isn’t good. You didn’t come here to lose, did you?”
“My apologies. From now on, I’ll do my best to win.”
Morris bowed his head humbly before Amont’s sharp assessment.
His response was serious, without a trace of humor.
“Well done!”
With Mila’s encouragement, Morris descended from the stage.
Kusto turned to look at Raphael, the victor.
Color had risen to his cheeks. The victory seemed to have given him newfound confidence.
By Round 4, the number of remaining participants had dropped sharply to seven.
That meant three matches in total.
Among them, one participant named Killian Gruci had received a Bye.
‘I envy that. I really do.’
“Since we’ve started with David’s group every time, we’ll draw lots in reverse order this round! Participant David Bertie, please come draw a number!”
Following Edit’s direction, David stepped forward and drew a ball.
He pulled it out and stared at the ball for a long moment, his brow furrowed.
“How many times did you draw?” Edit asked, unable to wait any longer.
Edit asked, unable to wait any longer.
Only then did David’s face break into a thin smile.
He extended the ball so that everyone could see the number written on it.
“The ball I drew is… Ranking 11.”
Ranking 11!
It was Kusto’s ranking.
Countless eyes turned toward Kusto.
The match hadn’t even begun, yet the looks upon him were those one reserves for a loser.
‘Damn it.’
Worse still, this was the final match of the three scheduled bouts.
‘As a loser, I’m about to get an absolutely staggering amount of attention.’
Kusto wanted to cradle his head in his hands.
The first match was between Dmitri and Pavel Shurov.
Unexpectedly, Pavel won—Dmitri had lost focus midway through, for some reason.
The next match was between Raphael and Deni Vinoshu, a former sailor.
It was an overwhelming victory for Deni, who was visually dominant from the start.
Now came the final match of Round 4.
“Making it to Round 4 is already an accomplishment.”
“So what if you lose to David? Does it matter?”
“Hang in there. Everyone loses sometimes in life.”
The other contestants—who had been acting friendly after Kusto defeated Kilmen—offered him consolation.
‘I haven’t lost yet!’
Kusto climbed onto the stage, enduring the pitying glances directed at him.
David stood on the opposite side.
A faint smile played across his face, which had been rigid until now.
‘Does he think he can beat someone like me so easily?’
But all his previous opponents had been weak as well, hadn’t they?
Back then, his expression had been poor, almost grim.
‘Then why is he smiling now?’
In any case, smiling before the match bothered him.
No one knows the outcome.
Could he win? Could he really?
Kusto grasped the Training Sword, doubting himself.
“The match begins!”
With Edit’s cry, both fighters extended their blades toward each other.

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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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