Vote for Your Knight! - Chapter 6

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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 6
“Imperial Commander of Knights, please choose your knight!”
A broadcast tower stood in the center of the Capital’s Central Plaza.
A man was shouting from the enormous screen mounted on the tower.
His name was David Bertier.
A man called the knight among knights, known to choose honor or death.
But now—
“This David also needs your vote. I trust you will cast it for him.”
He was pleading, having cast aside all notions of honor.
His face wore a smile while he desperately concealed his shame.
‘It’s actually more charming this way.’
Edith was satisfied as she read the text scrolling beneath the screen.
‘To prevent fraudulent voting, you must register an Identity Card with the broadcast tower to vote. Identity Cards can be issued at any local government office at any time.’
Testing the broadcast tower using David.
Promoting the Identity Card issuance that had been lagging.
‘Killing two birds with one stone!’
The Identity Card was a system Edith had proposed.
A form of identification that any citizen of the Empire could easily obtain.
Yet very few issued one for themselves.
‘To understand population numbers and reorganize institutions, Identity Card issuance is essential.’
So she decided to leverage David Bertier’s influence.
‘Hopefully it’ll be effective.’
That’s when it happened.
“Your Highness, you are quite cruel, aren’t you?”
Edith froze.
Dmitri was staring at her with a horrified expression.
“Do you remember what David Bertier, the Duke, said while filming that footage?”
“Oh, that?”
Did he say something like this?
“How could I do something so shameful? Never! I would sooner bite off my own tongue than speak such words!”
“But David himself said he would accept the price of his sin.”
“Then perhaps you should have let him bite it off.”
Wouldn’t that be crueler?
‘Knights’ way of thinking is strange in any case.’
Still, thanks to David’s self-sacrifice in filming the promotional video, applications to join Kartamen were increasing.
‘Choosing David as the model was an excellent decision.’
Edith opened her evaluation notebook.
Name: David Bertier
Aliases: Duke of Bertier, Knight Among Knights, Last of the Knights, etc.
Unarmed Combat: —
Weapon Mastery: A (Swordsmanship)
Magic: —
Chivalry: A
Intelligence: A
Notes: Performs excellently when subtly directed.
Edith let out a soft laugh at the Notes section.
‘I’m curious how far Duke David Bertier, who excels at everything, will advance in this tournament.’
But if he were too flawless, it might not be entertaining.
‘Maybe I should artificially create some hardship for him.’
Something like a Shame-and-Humiliation play would likely work well.
Edith closed her notebook, thinking it over.
Now it was time to persuade the final candidate.
“Who is the last candidate you’ll be visiting?”
Dmitri asked at just the right moment.
After casting David, she had met with several other candidates and persuaded them directly.
‘Some succeeded, some failed.’
And now there was only one candidate left to persuade.
“The last candidate is a truly, truly difficult opponent. Someone who seems certain never to participate in Kartamen. That’s why I need your help.”
“Who on earth are they, for you to speak of them like that?”
Edith smiled at Dmitri, her expression warm and knowing.
“You, Dmitri. You’re the one.”
His sorrowful face hardened in an instant.
He quickly gathered himself and shook his head vigorously.
“Please, don’t say such things. If a traitor like me participates, even Kartamen will be despised.”
Edith’s smile faded as she fixed Dmitri with an unwavering stare.
“You’re not a traitor.”
Dmitri flinched.
“During the revolution, it was you who opened the doors of the Imperial Palace.”
“I thought the tide had turned, so I simply sided with the victor. It was cowardice, nothing more.”
“And you were the secret agent who fed information about the tyrant Bobuvar to the revolutionary forces.”
Dmitri’s red eyes widened.
“H-how did you…!”
“You think my father and I wouldn’t investigate? From the moment you were dragged into that bloodshed, you’ve been pretending to side with the tyrant while doing everything you could to aid the revolution.”
Dmitri bowed his head.
“So that’s why you brought me as your escort. You knew all along. You deceived me.”
“I uncovered the truth.”
Edith extended her hand toward him.
“Join Kartamen. You have the right to challenge Di Eques.”
Dmitri stared at her outstretched hand for a long moment, then shook his head.
“I’ve killed countless knights under the guise of aiding the revolution.”
“You were forced into it. You had no choice.”
“The outcome doesn’t change. I’m not worthy of Di Eques, and I deserve only a lifetime of condemnation. So please, withdraw your offer.”
“Your redemption through Kartamen, your reclaiming of honor, and revealing the truth—that is your atonement to the comrades who fell by your hand.”
Edith spoke directly into his eyes, unflinching.
“Will you let them be remembered as victims of a traitor? Or will they be remembered as having made a noble sacrifice for Di Eques?”
Dmitri stared at Edith, speechless.
But his firmly closed lips would not open.
* * *
Thanks to David, Kartamen had received roughly one thousand applications.
She conducted preliminary interviews with half of them, having screened out those who fell below standard.
“Regardless of humble birth, for those who can wield a blade, Kartamen is a lifelong dream. If I cannot achieve it in this lifetime, my life has no worth.”
– Killian Grucy
“I want to show my family so badly. That I can do it. That I can dream too.”
– Morris Arnaud
“You once told me that the moment a blade is drawn, the eyes must turn toward Kartamen. That is my ultimate dream as well.”
– Pierre Simon
All of them burned with longing to participate in Kartamen.
‘I won’t forget this desperation. I’ll do my best to bring Kartamen back to life.’
Edith made her vow.
Finally, invitations to the first trial were sent to the hundred finalists.
The first trial was the Enrollment Evaluation.
It was merely an individual assessment, so participants were to display their abilities freely.
– Event: Mole Catching.
– Personal weapons permitted.
– Do not bring mounts.
Mole Catching was a basic training exercise performed early in a squire’s apprenticeship.
Literally, one destroyed the low-grade mechanical golems shaped like moles that burst from the ground.
It was an assessment of moderate difficulty, suited to showcasing practiced martial arts.
‘Then it would favor nobles who trained consistently, or those who had studied under a particular school.’
The Circular Arena in the Capital—the venue for the evaluation.
As he entered, Custo considered this.
‘But wouldn’t that be too obvious?’
Custo, clearly of slave origin and lacking any formal martial training, was at a disadvantage in such an assessment.
‘The Crown Princess wouldn’t have used her amnesty power on frivolous participants destined to fail the first trial.’
There had to be something more.
As Custo narrowed his brows, a resounding melody poured from the arena.
At the sound alone, his heart swelled with grandeur, and Custo’s eyes widened.
“Hey, this is—!”
At that moment, a participant passing nearby shouted to his companion.
“It’s the First Generation Di Eques Dedication Victory Anthem.”
“Ah, no wonder my chest stirred the moment I heard it.”
A victory anthem.
‘A strategy to stir their spirits before the evaluation even begins.’
Whoever had dreamed this up clearly understood how environment shapes a person.
‘I don’t know whose idea it was, but it seems to be working.’
The participants’ faces had flushed slightly with anticipation.
Custo stepped into the Circular Arena.
In the center sat a stage that resembled a labyrinth, with seating arranged in opposing sections.
Participants occupied only one side of the arena.
‘So this is the waiting area.’
Then the opposite side must be where people sat after their evaluations.
By the time Custo arrived, many participants were already there.
Most clustered in small groups by region or faction.
Custo moved toward an empty seat but hesitated. Numbers were written on each one.
From one hundred down to one.
‘What’s this scheme all about?’
What intrigued him was that participants crowded into the ambiguous middle seats.
The lower rows near one hundred were sparse, while the top seat—number one—already had an occupant.
Occasionally someone would challenge for the first seat, but its owner rarely changed hands.
Custo watched as each challenger recoiled in horror before backing away, and he casually chose seat sixty-two.
“Ah, this seat has an owner.”
A man with legs crossed arrogantly spoke, smirking.
He sat in number sixty-three.
When Custo tried seat sixty-four, the man in sixty-three waved him off again.
“That one’s taken too.”
“Seats have owners?”
“What? Why are you speaking so curtly! Slaves have masters, don’t they? So why wouldn’t a seat have one?”
The man bristled.
Only then did Custo realize the man’s gaze was fixed on his right wrist.
‘He saw the Slave Mark.’
The Empire officially prohibited slavery now.
Yet men like this one still discriminated against those of slave origin.
“Even if we’re desperate for applicants, do we really have to let slave scum participate?”
The man raised his voice deliberately.
All eyes turned toward Custo.
The hidden recording cameras scattered throughout the arena did the same.
“If they hadn’t confiscated weapons at the entrance, I’d have cut down a wretch like you right here.”
Even without weapons, he could have fought hand-to-hand.
When Custo clenched his fists visibly, the man flinched.
‘Not worth the bother.’
Custo smiled faintly and sat down at seat fifty-seven, further away.
He heard the man shouting something about sitting in a lower-numbered seat, but he ignored it.
Those around seat fifty-seven quietly edged away from him.
‘Despised from the moment I walk in.’
How was he supposed to gain votes and survive like this?
As he was dwelling on it, commotion erupted at the entrance.
“He’s, he’s from Kartamen too!”
“Duke David Bertier, you’ve arrived!”
The legendary knight among knights, David Bertier, had made his entrance.
He was receiving greetings from all those rushing toward him to make acquaintance.
Among them was the man who had harassed Custo earlier.
“Duke Bertier, do you remember me? I am Count Moncho.”
‘Being disliked might be less exhausting than being popular like that.’
Custo watched David as though observing a curiosity.
Then their eyes met.
Following David’s gaze, everyone else turned to look at him as well.
‘Damn.’
It was better not to get entangled with someone that popular.
Custo pretended not to notice and looked away.
But it was already too late.
“Your Grace, the Duke—I wouldn’t go that way. There appears to be a slave among the contestants.”
“If you’ll come this direction, we’ll see you properly seated.”
“No. Come with me instead.”
David waved them off with a gentle hand and strode purposefully toward his destination.
Booth fifty-six.
Right beside Custo.

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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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