Chapter 35:
Welcome Parade
VILLENDORF’S ROYAL CAPITAL HAD A LONG AND wide main street that went in a straight line to the royal palace. The people of the capital eagerly awaited a certain man—Faust von Polidoro, the envoy from the kingdom of Anhalt. For over two years, they’d been relentlessly subjected to the heroic tales about this man, lauding his breathtaking beauty. One could only describe it as magical and enchanting.
His burly physique dazzled like the sun, and his impressive height measured over two meters. Even after news of his visit as an envoy spread throughout Villendorf, minstrels continued to weave tales about this majestic man. At the border, he’d loudly proclaimed that Lord Reckenbell, hero of Villendorf, hadn’t fled from a duel, and he thus refused to flee as well. His words opened the doors to challenges, and he remained victorious after ninety-nine duels.
During his journey to the royal capital, those who’d dared to challenge him were fairly renowned knights of the military. Not a single one of the challengers could be deemed weak, even in Villendorf; they were the cream of the crop. And still, Faust von Polidoro triumphed over these knights. He entered the unfamiliar territory of the enemy while Villendorfians lined up to fight him, and he dueled them all one after another without taking a single break.
The fact that he’d still won all his battles made him nothing short of legendary. He’d proved to the entire kingdom that Lord Reckenbell must’ve gone to Valhalla after she lost in a fair duel against him. No one held a shred of doubt. Thus, the Villendorfians had no choice but to accept that fact and praise him instead. Failure to do so would only tarnish the honor and dignity of the defeated Lord Reckenbell. And no Villendorfian had the right to bring shame to their hero in Valhalla.
The citizens vowed to loudly and joyfully welcome the arrival of Faust when he set foot on the main street—they’d warmly welcome the enemy nation’s hero who’d defeated Lord Reckenbell. Every single person was on the same wavelength as they awaited Faust’s appearance.
“He’s here!” someone shouted.
In the very front rode the commander of Villendorf’s border, who guided Anhalt’s hero inside. Villendorf’s flag fluttered on the tip of her spear as she raised it high above her head. Behind her was Princess Valiele, the chief delegate for this negotiation. She rode on her own steed with her corps guarding her from behind. The Villendorfians paid no heed to the royal as they focused on the man who followed.
“Huh?” the crowd wondered.
They tilted their heads to one side in confusion. The man was burly and tall as the rumors stated—underneath his splendid suit of Maximilian armor, covered in magic sigils, was a muscular body that could drive the Villendorfian women crazy. Anyone could see that even from afar. Slung across his back was a massive greatsword that no normal person could possibly wield so freely.
The citizens then gazed at his horse. The massive steed projected a terrifying splendor, its wild appearance implying its speed and excellence. A red cloth was draped across its body like armor, fully etched with magic sigils. This magnificent horse was truly fit for a hero to ride. However, people couldn’t tear their eyes off Anhalt’s hero.
“A bucket helm?” someone in the crowd murmured.
Only his helmet didn’t match the rest of his armor. Those who weren’t familiar with great helms only saw it as an ordinary steel bucket over Faust’s head. His fine suit of Maximilian armor was ruined by the helmet.
“Show us your face!” a citizen shouted.
“Yeah, take off your helmet!” another chanted.
The crowd booed Faust. They had no complaints about his physique; his burly torso was enticing to the Villendorfian women, and his butt was just as alluring. But if they couldn’t see his face, none of it mattered. While this entire ordeal was a funeral of sorts for Knight Captain Reckenbell, everyone was eager to catch even a glimpse of the Anhaltish hero who’d killed her. Reckenbell had even asked him to be her second husband—the citizens were dying to gaze upon his face. They raised their voices in protest as they all made the same request.
“Remove that bucket helm! It doesn’t suit you! Show us your face!”
Boisterous laughter drowned out the angry cries of the citizens; his voice was so astonishingly loud that people wondered if he maintained the same volume on the battlefield.
“Very well!” Faust roared. “I shall show you my face!”
On cue, the group froze in place. The commander in the very front lowered her spear and stopped the march, showing her consideration to her fellow citizens. Sharp clacks rang in the air as Faust unfastened his helmet, and the crowd gulped nervously, their eyes glued onto the towering man before them. He removed his helmet and held it at his side, his face visible for all to see.
The crowd was literally at a loss for words. How could a human be blessed with such a face? Was he some sort of demon? Needless to say, the citizens didn’t view him in a negative light.
“He’s beautiful…” someone in the crowd murmured.
Amid the crowd of thousands who watched the march, hundreds of women felt their underwear grow wet with excitement. Were they gazing upon a person? How could a muscular and tall man like him be berated for his looks in Anhalt? Villendorf was puzzled by Anhalt’s standards of beauty; they only saw Faust as an incredibly gorgeous man.
“He’s just so handsome…” someone muttered.
Faust flashed a troubled smile with a hint of shyness. He must’ve usually been more reserved and modest. One expression was all it took for Villendorf to assess his personality. His towering stature was nothing short of spectacular, and it certainly allowed him to gaze down at those around him. He must’ve been packed with muscles underneath his suit of armor—every single part of him ensnared the women of Villendorf.
For a moment, the air in the capital froze. The Villendorfian commander, who stood at the helm, was the one to break the silence. She read the room and raised her spear once more, stating that all must now be satisfied. The march and the parade resumed as Faust von Polidoro rode ahead atop Flugel. The pair were the very embodiment of beauty in Villendorf, and the citizens couldn’t get enough of it.
“He’s stunning,” a high-ranked noblewoman gasped. She was dressed lavishly as she outstretched her arms with awe and praised Faust to bits. “Your appearance lives up to the tales of the champion who defeated Lord Reckenbell! You’re utterly magnificent!”
“Duel me!” a knight cried. She was clad in armor and desperately held back by four squires to prevent her from interfering with the parade. “I beg of you! Please! Just once, let me fight you!”
“You’re simply…a work of art,” an artist said. She gazed at Faust from the second story window with a look of desperation and began to sketch. “A living work of art.”
Faust was showered with adoration. He received every compliment under the sun, and there was no end to the praise. The story of his arrival would surely be retold for the next millennium. The archivist who’d kept detailed records of all of Faust’s duels since he stepped across the border declared that his march was truly a historic one. The main street that led straight to the royal palace was long, and the parade continued, enveloped with cheers and cries of joy.
At the very end of the procession walked the thirty residents of the Polidoro fief. They smiled brightly, overjoyed to see their beloved lord finally receiving the praise that he deserved. The Anhaltish delegation approached the royal palace and crossed over the moat before the drawbridge rose behind them. The loud cheering outside continued until the castle gates closed, only to be replaced with praise from within the palace. The women beside Faust saw him as a work of art personally crafted by the hands of God. The others of the palace who laid eyes on him squealed excitedly about his beauty.