How to Live as a Wandering Knight

𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 (𝟓)

“I, too, underestimated the situation, as did Suetlg-nim.”

The tournament was not a place to casually adjust one’s strength and show off. It was a battlefield where notable foes attacked each other on sight.

To survive, one had to defeat the oncoming opponents, and defeating them inevitably drew attention.

“Yulska of the Gemarti family!”

“Johan of Yeats. Come.”

Yulska spurred her horse, her long hair flying. Her eyes were filled with anger, but her movements were steady. She, too, seemed like an experienced knight.

“Be careful of him! He’s the one who defeated Sir Boriska.”

“I know!”

Ordinary knights, while charging on horseback, did not thrust their spears straight ahead, but diagonally, fearing the impact and subsequent collision.

However, Johan thrust directly forward.

Whether it was due to lack of experience or true confidence in his strength, Johan ultimately won, and Boriska fell.

‘𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?’

Boriska of the Petreo family was a well-known knight in this area, and they were knights who followed him. Johan was unaware of this.

The two knights split to either side, aiming to attack Johan. It was clear they could read each other’s intentions.

In this tournament, where fighting with blunted weapons, unconventional methods were necessary to defeat an opponent.

Unhorsing them, removing their helmet, breaking their weapons. . .

The knights targeting Johan seemed to aim for both unhorsing and helmet removal, attacking fiercely from above. Johan, putting his weight on the saddle, deftly withstood the attack.

In mounted combat, quick judgment and horsemanship were more important than excellent swordsmanship. The two knights, failing to finish in one strike, turned their horses again.

That’s when Johan counterattacked.

Johan, barely breathing, swung his weapon. The two could not synchronize their attack every time. Johan first struck at the torso of the knight who charged first.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

On the third strike, the knight was unhorsed. Despite blocking the attacks with his shield, Yulska was astonished by the strength that shattered his opponent.

But the fight was not over. Johan, strapping his shield to his arm, grabbed Yulska’s arm and swung her off her horse.

Another unhorsing.

Cheers erupted from the stands.

To the audience, it appeared as though Johan had defeated two knights at once.

“Johan of Yeats!”

“The troll slayer of Marcel!”

It was natural for the name of a knight who performed well to spread quickly. Moreover, the mercenaries following Johan excitedly touted his skills.

“Duke, impressive! To recognize the skill of a new knight at a glance. I couldn’t even guess.”

“If you want to know how great that knight is, look at his burning soul. No adornment can hide the soul.”

Duke Brduhe’s words left his children in awe. Of course, the Duke was inwardly surprised.

‘𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘑𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘴. . .’

Unlike other nobles, Count Jarpen was not the type to make recommendations based on lineage and connections.

It was clear he sent someone truly worthy to this eastern region.

Duke touched his forehead. He hadn’t made a blatant mistake, but he was reflecting on his own judgment.

‘𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘵. 𝘖𝘩 𝘎𝘰𝘥, 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.’

“Sir Lucas is doing well, Duke.”

“Yes, I’m watching.”

As the initial clash and melee almost ended, the prowess of skilled knights became noticeable. Several knights had already knocked down many and were breaking through the formation.

Knights from the west were in a slightly more advantageous situation.

The knights from the east, on closer inspection, were mostly warriors from outside the Empire, many of whom were quite different from the Empire-style knights.

They preferred lighter armor over heavy metal armor, agile and enduring horses over bulky, muscular ones, and lived by their own customs rather than faith and honor.

Naturally, they were at a disadvantage in such Empire-style tournaments.

Nonetheless, knights from the east also made their presence felt.

The Duke hoped that they would perform well, or if they lost, they would lose honorably. He watched the unfolding situation with a sharp gaze.

If the situation turned too unfavorable for the eastern knights, the Duke planned to declare the fight over in his name.

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

“Oh. It might end more comfortably than expected.”

After toppling three knights, no one else dared to attack. Partly because they were too busy focusing on their surroundings, but also because they were wary of Johan.

The enemies did not specifically target Johan, who was standing still.

The knights engaged in several small skirmishes, getting entangled and separating repeatedly.

Thanks to this, the space around them grew more open, giving Johan, who was waiting at a distance, some breathing room.

‘𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦. 𝘈𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴. . . 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸-𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.’

“It’s the commander, capture him!”

“If we take down the commander, victory will be ours!”

“!”

Johan lifted his head. Western knights who had broken through the formation were aggressively attacking Achladda.

Achladda, true to his centaur nature, dodged the enemies by jumping here and there, but the knights were relentless, chasing him persistently.

As the battle reached its midpoint, if the commander were to be unseated or surrender, it was highly likely that the Duke would declare the end of the fight.

━𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲!

━𝐁𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭!

━𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐲! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠!

Surprisingly, the audience cheered for Achladda. Even those who usually disliked centaurs had to acknowledge his honor in this situation.

The sight of more than five knights desperately attacking a single person was not considered honorable for knights, perhaps in war, but not here.

“Why don’t you surrender already, centaur!”

“If I had my bow, these humans would have been dead long ago! What about it, why not try one-on-one?!”

“. . . . . .”

The knights’ expressions wavered when hit with a painful truth. They believed they couldn’t beat Achladda one-on-one.

The knights, who would need a lifetime of riding to achieve unity with their horse, were no match for the centaurs who were born with this unity.

“■■■■ ■!”

Euclyia, Achladda’s cousin, joined the fray with a wild Eastern war cry, wielding a spear. Just as the tide seemed to turn, three more knights rushed in to block his cousin.

Achladda exclaimed in a hollow voice.

“Do you have no pride or honor? The very people who called me a savage are acting. . . just like that.”

“Shut up, you cursed wretch!”

“How dare a centaur speak!”

Achladda’s taunts clearly ignited the knights’ anger. They attacked ferociously, indicating the fight was far from over and bloodshed seemed imminent.

The Duke frowned, his hand already gripping his sword.

Drawing the sword would signify the end of the fight.

And that’s when Johan stepped in.