"Anyone trained with weapons and owning a suit of armor is welcome here, even if your background isn’t exactly sterling. There isn’t even an entry fee. The only catch is that if you get injured or lose your life, there’s no recourse. Of course, even if you tried to appeal, people would just treat you like a joke."
A voice spoke up from behind Eric.
Eric turned and saw the source of the voice: a young man wearing Chain Armor.
He had a bit of fuzz under his nose that could barely be called a mustache. It seemed to be an attempt to look more mature, but it had the opposite effect.
He wasn’t tall, barely reaching Eric’s shoulder. The suit of Chain Armor he wore was a terrible fit; his frame was so small that the mail looked like it was crushing him.
The sleeves were clearly far too long, and the mail coif hung so low it obstructed his vision, forcing him to constantly tug at it.
He looked like a teenager who’d run away from home and stolen his father’s armor.
"The next couple of days are all team competitions for the Knights. How about you team up with me? My name is Yuge, and I’m a seasoned Knight. In my thirty-year career as a Knight, I’ve competed in a grand total of fifty tournaments—twenty in Rouen, seventeen in Paris, and the remaining thirteen in Barcelona!
Heh heh, as a battle-hardened veteran, I feel it’s my duty to pass down my unparalleled skills. After all, times move on, and the new generation always replaces the old. So, as an old hand, I should leave more opportunities for the young folk."
"I see," Eric began to reply.
Just then, a Knight happened to be passing by and had clearly overheard Yuge.
The Knight glanced at Yuge, who instantly turned away, trying to avoid the man’s gaze while scratching the back of his head.
Yuge suddenly felt the back of his head become incredibly itchy. He had to give it a good scratch, or it might affect his performance in the match.
The Knight didn’t give Yuge a hard time. He just sighed, looked at Eric, and shrugged.
"Honestly, friend, I used to hate Minstrels. They talk with this particular brand of poetic madness, and their words are always completely outlandish. I’m a practical man; I hate that style. They just make me feel like they’re unhinged.
But now I have to apologize to them. When Minstrels start raving, at least they have to find inspiration from ancient poems. Some people, on the other hand, can spout utter nonsense without any basis whatsoever.
Anyway, it pays to be careful when you’re away from home. After all, these days, all the good men have already gone to the gallows—especially here in Mann."
With another sigh, the Knight clapped Eric on the shoulder and walked away.
Eric started walking toward the registration table, but unexpectedly, the young man named Yuge stepped in front of him again, blocking his way.
"So, what do you think?" Yuge asked, still fiddling with his coif.
"You don’t seem angry at all." Eric was suddenly a little intrigued. He crossed his arms and looked at the young man before him with a faint smile.
"Slander, that’s all it is. Even the best and most excellent Knights get slandered by people with low moral character. There’s no need to pay it any mind.
In fact, if you look at it another way, all this slander is just a badge of honor, proof of my ability.
The more my enemies slander me and spit on my name, the more it proves I’m doing something right, and the more it proves how capable I am!" The young man named Yuge pounded his chest, trying to look invincible.
"Alright." Eric extended his hand to Yuge.
"Tha— No, I mean, you have a good eye." Yuge shook Eric’s hand.
"I’m Eric. I’m Danish," Eric introduced himself.
"I’m Yuge, a Frank! And by the way, I’m determined to become a revered Knight and a general of peerless courage, all on my own!" Yuge hammered his fist against his chest.
....
The northern side of the tournament grounds was covered in tents, all with ropes of the same color. In front of each tent hung the Shield of the Knight who occupied it. His Attendants stood beside it, dressed in bizarre costumes—like a Wildman or a cave dweller. In fact, any fantastical attire was permissible, so long as it suited their master’s taste or the role he wished to play in the competition.
The central tent was the seat of honor.
Temporary viewing stands had been erected along part of the tournament field’s perimeter. These stands were hung with draperies, laid with carpets, and furnished with cushions for the Nobility and their families, as they were for their exclusive use.
The long, narrow strip of land between the stands and the field itself was for freemen and spectators of a slightly higher station than the common folk, comparable to the orchestra stalls of a theater.
The great mass of the lower classes could only crowd onto the large, grassy earthen banks reserved for them. However, thanks to the higher elevation, their view was perfectly clear.
In addition, many people had climbed to the tops of the surrounding trees; even the distant Church steeples were packed with onlookers.
To complete the picture, on the eastern side of the lists was a special gallery. It was centrally located to face the point where the combatants would clash. This gallery was higher and more luxuriously decorated than any other, and upon it was a resplendent throne and canopy, embroidered with the emblem of the Royal Family.
It was prepared for Prince William and Count Hugo of Mann. Escorts, young Attendants, and guards in magnificent uniforms served around this honored location.