RLPE Chapter 32

People should always be careful with their words.

Despite the chilly autumn weather, the stadium’s stands were ablaze with excitement, fueled by the gathering crowd. Navigating through the throng to return to where Sasha and his friends were sitting was no easy task.

“Vivian, where have you been?”

“I had somewhere to go for a bit.”

When a lady says she had somewhere to go, it usually means she went to the restroom. Sasha didn’t press further, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if wondering whether I had been up to something again.

“Today’s the finals, right?”

“That’s right! My goodness, I can’t believe I’m actually witnessing this with my own eyes.”

Lewin nodded repeatedly, looking deeply moved.

“This will surely go down in history as a legendary match.”

I turned my gaze toward the arena. There, a fresh-faced blond heartthrob stood opposite a man so muscular it looked as if his body had been pieced together from three others.

“He’s the leader of a famous mercenary group. His supporters are just as formidable.”

According to Lewin, that muscular man had already won this tournament three times. The fact that he was leading a mercenary group despite not even looking forty was proof of his exceptional skills.

But none of that mattered to me. The only thing that did was that this tournament had been going on for three whole days. As a devoted homebody, leaving the house three days in a row was nothing short of a cataclysmic event.

However, considering Armin’s uncanny ability to sense exactly where I was cheering for him from, skipping out and dealing with his reaction later seemed far worse. Compared to that, going out every day for a whole week didn’t sound so bad.

“By the way,” I began casually. The match was about to start, and Lewin and Abyss were already half out of their minds with excitement.

“What’s so great about winning first place?”

“What’s so great about it? Vivian, are you serious? Honor! The prestige that comes with it!”

“Yes! The honor of being the best among your peers in swordsmanship. What could be more important than that?”

“That’s it?”

I meant that, since Armin wasn’t planning to become a knight, winning first place didn’t seem all that useful.

“There you go again, acting like you don’t get it. Listen, Vivian, making it into the top three in a swordsmanship tournament is an incredible feat. No, even qualifying for the finals is a tremendous achievement.”

“And for those who wield a sword, the champion’s medal is a legacy that will be remembered forever.”

“Absolutely.”

“Vivian, you really don’t understand anything.”

As someone who cherished a life in the background, I simply couldn’t comprehend the appeal of fame. Surely, being recognized as number one would only lead to more hassle.

I couldn’t figure out why Armin, who wasn’t the type to enjoy popularity, had suddenly decided to enter the tournament. But if Lewin and Abyss said so, I supposed that was reason enough.

Even if I had made him angry, I didn’t think he was the type to go through all this trouble just because of that.

There’s a saying: the bear does the tricks, and the man takes the money.* If Armin was in this for honor, then it wouldn’t matter if someone else took the money, right?

[*T/N: 재주는 곰이 부리고 돈은 사람이 얻는다고 했던가 Korean proverb that means someone does all the work, but someone else takes the credit or benefits from it.]

Having just bet my entire allowance on Armin a little while ago, I clapped my hands together and cheered for him.

Up until now, I hadn’t cared whether he won or lost. If he got eliminated, at least I wouldn’t have to come back to this crowded, noisy place the next day.

But today was different. This time, he absolutely, without a doubt, had to win.

Thinking about the money I had on the line, I cheered for Armin with all the enthusiasm I could muster.

* * *

Armin smiled.

Seeing the brown-haired young lady in the distant stands enthusiastically cheering for him filled him with satisfaction. She had been out of sight just moments ago—she must have gone somewhere.

Once he had spotted her, his gaze remained fixed on that spot. The distance was too great to make out her expression, but he could picture Vivian’s face in his mind as clearly as if it had been drawn on a canvas.

He had never cared for this kind of spectacle, yet before he knew it, he had already spoken the words declaring his participation in the tournament.

It was strange. Even when women he had rejected spread ridiculous, fabricated rumors about him, he had never once felt the need to correct them. He had never cared what others thought of him.

“Is the young duke really that strong?”

The image of Vivian, her mouth stuffed full of cookies, came to mind, and a smile crept onto Armin’s lips again.

Even without proving himself like this, Lewin and Abyss would have explained it to Vivian until she surrendered. Or, simply showing her a glimpse of his sword training would have been enough.

He despised being the subject of gossip. Yet, the mere fact that Vivian was cheering for him among that massive crowd made this whole performance feel worthwhile.

“You’re the young duke, aren’t you?”

Although he knew exactly who he was, Jerome, the leader of the mercenary group, put on a boastful act. His aggressive expression carried a hint of condescension toward the young duke, who had only just turned twenty-three.

In terms of rank, there was no comparison between them, but when it came to swordsmanship, it was a different story. Unlike a noble who learned swordplay as part of his education, Jerome was a seasoned fighter who made his living with the blade.

“My apologies, Your Grace, but even for you, I can’t afford to yield victory.”

“Yield? Well, isn’t this interesting? I never thought I’d hear my own words turned back at me.”

Armin countered Jerome’s remark. Under normal circumstances, he might not have cared about winning, but today was different. Today, he absolutely, without a doubt, had to win—for the lady cheering so passionately for him from afar.

“I heard you’ve won a few times before. Is that right?”

At Armin’s question, Jerome nodded, unable to hide the pride in his gesture.

“Three times in total.”

As Jerome spoke, Armin parted his lips slightly. Ever since he had impulsively announced his participation in the tournament at the viscount’s estate, something Lewin and Abyss had mentioned in passing had been stuck in his mind. And now, the only person who could answer his lingering question was standing right in front of him.

“I heard… that the medal has a certain effect.”

Hesitating, Armin spoke vaguely.

An effect? Jerome furrowed his brow slightly at the unexpected statement.

“What kind of effect are you referring to?”

“I heard…”

Armin, uncharacteristically hesitant, finally continued.

“I heard that if you give it to the woman you like…”

“Oh.”

Jerome didn’t need to hear the rest to know exactly what Armin was getting at.

It was an old superstition—if the champion of the swordsmanship tournament gifted their medal to someone they liked, the two would end up together. In reality, it was simply that those skilled enough to win the tournament naturally attracted admirers.

Still, Jerome nodded. He had watched all of Armin’s previous matches and had immediately noticed that the young duke had not been fighting with his full effort.

Jerome wanted Armin to give his all in their final match. He had no intention of listening to excuses about how he had lost because he wasn’t trying.

“Yes, that’s right. If not for the medal, how else could someone who looks like me have managed to get married and have children?”

As he spoke, he glanced at Armin with an almost pitying expression. He had heard that the young duke was quite skilled with the sword, but in his eyes, he was still just a boy. Seeing Armin more focused on some frivolous superstition than on the essence of the competition only reinforced how young he really was.

The thought of losing to someone so inexperienced was unbearable. Jerome’s determination burned even hotter.

“For the record, my wife was the most popular beauty in our mercenary group.”

Jerome, with his burly frame and scar-covered face, was far from conventionally handsome—even as a polite exaggeration.

Hearing the young duke’s words, Jerome made up his mind. This year’s champion’s medal would go to his daughter, who would soon turn four. Fortunately, his one and only daughter had taken after her mother, the most beautiful woman in their guild, and was utterly adorable.

A smile spread across Jerome’s face at the thought of his daughter. To a passerby, however, his expression would have been terrifying enough to send them running in fear.

“But there’s no need for you to worry. That will only be relevant if you manage to defeat me.”

Jerome’s gaze locked onto Armin’s sword. He didn’t know who had crafted it, but judging by its sharpness and the strength of the metal, it was of the highest quality. Yet, despite the impressive blade, Jerome wasn’t concerned. A rich young noble, adorned with even a decorative sword strap for flair—there was no way he would lose to someone like that.

Just then, the trumpet signaling the start of the match began to sound. Three blasts would mark the beginning of the duel.

At the first sound, both Armin and Jerome placed their hands on the hilts of their swords.

At the second, they assumed their stances, their gazes locking in an unspoken challenge. A fierce determination burned in their eyes, neither willing to retreat.

Jerome’s body tensed as he suddenly sensed an intense energy radiating from Armin—an overwhelming presence that hadn’t been there moments ago. A shiver ran down his spine before he could suppress it.

Then, the third trumpet blast rang out.

In that instant, swords clashed, the sharp ring of metal against metal echoing through the arena. The battle had begun.