Chapter 57

Perhaps because the strong competitors had been narrowed down in the first round, the matches from the second round onward either ended in an instant or went to a decision after the full time.

I think Sir Percival stood out. Even I, who have only seen swords and battles in my imagination, thought his performance was "brilliant."

In the first match of the second round, Sir Percival was even faster than in the first round. Without paying any attention to his opponent's stance, he lunged with a single thrust aimed at a vital point, almost grazing it. That was how he advanced.

Of course, the other matches were also intense, and with the overwhelming spirit and the growing excitement of the entire Colosseum as the matches progressed, I didn't even notice that my hands, gripping my dress, were sweating.

Sir Percival no longer looked this way. Even as the second round ended and the third and fourth rounds began, Sir Percival seemed to be focused on Prince Frey, who was calmly waiting, sharpening his nails.

I could tell that he was concentrating on his immediate opponent during the match, but still keeping an eye on Prince Frey beyond that.

Prince Frey also started his matches from the third round, and perhaps because he had more stamina, his matches seemed more relaxed.

He would decide his actions after observing his opponent's attack. Reading the opponent's movements and acting before them—this is what Sir Percival was doing, but I imagined that while it might conserve physical strength, it would drain mental energy.

Prince Frey, however, was conserving his mental energy as well. The benefit of conserving physical strength only applied to the second round after the first, but the mental ease that came with it was significant.

Waiting for the opponent's move and then responding accordingly might be advantageous in battle. It feels more relaxed to be in a state where you can react to the opponent's actions, rather than being in a state where you don't know when or how they will attack.

It's not the same, but when my sister Casablanca first tried to pour alcohol on me, I couldn't think of anything, but the second time, when she threw a teacup at me, I had the presence of mind to think, "Ah, she's going to throw a teacup." I didn't think about dodging it, but I had that much composure.

What Sir Percival was doing was exactly what Casablanca did the first time she tried to pour alcohol on me. He was doing it with reason and thought, subduing the opponent's situation and forcing them to fall with a spirit-filled sword. Even though one wrong step could lead to a counterattack, watching Sir Percival, I was convinced in some part of my heart that he wouldn't lose.

On the other hand, Prince Frey was doing the same thing I did when the teacup was thrown at me, but on a higher level. He would instantly judge the outcome of the opponent's actions and respond without any gaps or waste in his movements.

Mentally, Prince Frey was certainly more at ease. Still.

Still, my eyes were fixed on Sir Percival.

Not the Sir Percival who smiled calmly or the one who froze in front of me.

The overwhelming presence and sword of Sir Percival, the knight, who was right there. The fighting Sir Percival I didn't know.

I understood the slightly troubled expression on my mother-in-law's face.

This is a match. But in a battlefield, one-on-one battles don't often happen.

Even though it's just a match, I felt a definite fear that made me shiver. The unknown image of my husband. The image of a knight who exchanges lives. Overwhelming, his presence and spirit were overwhelming. It was hard to believe it was the same person who usually stood beside me.

Still, I was indeed seeing a part of the important person who was risking his life on the battlefield, as was my mother-in-law. The families of the knights who came to cheer must have felt the same way.

Worry and trust. The confidence in victory and the inability to accept it.

I didn't know how to handle the complex emotions that intertwined. My hands gripped my dress tightly.

"Watch."

Sir Percival's calm smile, words, and voice came vividly to mind.

Sir Percival wanted me to watch. He must have known I would feel this way.

If watching gives Sir Percival strength, I will watch.

It's not a battlefield, but a match. If watching can push Sir Percival's back even a little.

"Try your best...!"

My hoarse voice, squeezed out from my parched throat, was unlikely to be heard.

As the fourth round began, Sir Percival stepped forward, drew his sword, and his stance was ready.

Even though I knew it wouldn't reach him, and even though I knew he had already done his best, the voice overflowed from within me.

For a moment, I felt Sir Percival look this way, even though he was wearing a helmet.

At the start of the match, Sir Percival unleashed his sword with the fastest speed yet.

I couldn't follow it with my eyes, and before I could understand what happened, the opponent's sword was flying through the air, and the knight who had fallen on his buttocks had the tip of Sir Percival's sword at his throat.

"Winner, Percival!"

At that voice, I almost let out a wordless scream, but I covered my mouth with both hands.

Next, if Prince Frey advances, the final match between the two will begin.

I want to give that cloak to Sir Percival. After today's tournament ends. The cloak I embroidered, believing in Sir Percival's victory and praying for his safety, not for anyone else.