“By my authority, I punish those who do harm!”

Fuck! Not again, you bastard! Medrauta winced as she parried Ritya’s latest strike even as a spurt of blood gushed from her thigh. A wound identical to the one she’d just dealt her opponent mere seconds ago.

It had only been two minutes into the match, and both knights were already bloody beyond belief.

Although Medrauta had technically been winning her exchanges against Ritya, she was slowly being pushed back inch by inch. Despite both knights bearing the same wounds, there was one critical difference that was causing Medrauta to lose.

Endurance.

As befitting for one who was touted as the ‘strongest knight’, Medrauta’s body barely bore any scars. Her strength, her speed, and her skill had surpassed her peers by such an extent that merely marking her became an exercise in futility for all but the most skilled of knights.

Because of that, she rarely had to deal with the consequences of wounds or prolonged combat. However, the same could not be said for Ritya.

An adequate knight at best, Ritya was neither supremely skilled nor strong. Instead, what she possessed was tenacity, and it was that tenacity which drove Bastiche to choose her as his knight. Through her tenacious endurance and impressive levels of pain tolerance, the full power of Bastiche’s Crest was enabled, allowing them to take and hold the fifth place in the academy’s rankings.

That was why even though they bore identical wounds, Ritya would never stop advancing until either her body gave out, or she obtained victory. And with each labored breath that Medrauta took, it seemed that the latter was far more likely.

“Just what the hell are you made of?” Medrauta gasped as she flicked her wrist in response to Ritya’s latest thrust, causing the thinner sword to veer off course. Her instincts wanted her to counterattack, but her body screamed in protest.

“I could say the same for you,” Ritya replied, shuffling forward and causing the trail of blood behind her to grow.

The two knights were bleeding from over a dozen wounds by now, and the once-gray tiles of the arena were now dyed crimson. It was clear that it was taking all of their willpower just to remain standing. If the match carried on for any longer, there was no doubt that they would pass out just from blood loss.

But before that, the match would surely come to a conclusion, for the final bell was about to toll.

Medrauta stepped backward in response to Ritya’s advance. Each step that she took in retreat stung her pride greatly. To retreat against a knight of Ritya’s caliber was shameful, but as much as she wanted to put her opponent in their place, she knew that she could not recklessly throw herself forward.

At least, not anymore.

A mere five paces behind her was a dais, and upon it stood Viviane with her once innocent eyes now muddied by a mixture of shock and fear.

Ritya advanced.

Medrauta retreated.

It was a cadence that they had gotten used to over the past few minutes, but now there was nowhere left to run. Medrauta pressed her back against the dais’ railing, risking a glance at Viviane.

“...Medrauta.” Viviane’s voice was hoarse, and it came out as barely anything more than a whisper. She wanted to say so much more, but she couldn’t. Not while the enemy fixed her with a glare sharper than any sword.

All she could do was stare helplessly at her knight.

Yet, it was enough to spur Medrauta on for one last push.

Medrauta’s eyes flickered back to Ritya with a sudden speed that made it seem as though she’d never glanced away at all.

Yet, Ritya’s attention had never wavered despite the grievous wounds that littered her body. Within that minute moment of distraction, Ritya had already begun her attack.

With a clarion cry, she threw herself forward even as blood streamed from her open wounds. The thin blade of her rapier shot forth, its pristine steel glistening in the sunlight from above.

Medrauta uttered a shout of her own, defying the limits of her body as she swung her longsword in an arc, its bloodied blade painting a wave of crimson through the air.

It’s over... Ritya felt her breath leave her body as the heavy blade of Medrauta’s sword tore through her half-plate and opened an enormous gash in the side of her torso. The impact was jarring, and had she intended to continue fighting after this, she would have experienced nothing but defeat.

However, there would be no need to fight. Not after her sword reached its mark.

“No!” Medrauta’s desperate cry tore through the air.

There was nothing more she could do than watch uselessly as Ritya’s blow inevitably reached its destination. Indeed, that final thrust was not aimed at her, but Viviane.

Viviane stared ahead as if transfixed by the tip of Ritya’s incoming blade. It hurtled toward her at an incredible pace that was impossible to dodge. Yet, even as it neared the center of her head, time seemed to slow for Viviane.

For the first time since the beginning of the match, she looked not solely at her knight, but upon the whole of the battlefield as if she wanted to take it all in one last time to set aside any regrets before her inevitable defeat.

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The tip of the gleaming rapier speeding toward her. Medrauta's shining silver hair whirling as it framed her worry-filled face. And Lord Bastiche, who stood far and away across on the other side of the arena, looking down upon the unfolding scene of battle like an impassive god.

A god who had allowed victory to be decided solely by their followers. A god whose eyes basked in victory even before it was achieved. A god who reaped the benefits of their followers’ toil, yet lifted not a finger in return.

A useless god.

Ah. I understand now... A noble's place is not upon that unreachable dais... but right here, beside her knight!

CLANG!

At that moment, it was as if time itself had frozen over. However, it was not due to the mere fact that Viviane had somehow managed to deflect Ritya’s rapier with that meager buckler of hers.

No.

Something as mundane as that paled in comparison to the true majesty that had been unleashed upon the battlefield.

Like twin wings of luminous silver, two ethereal chains exploded into existence behind Viviane’s back. A brilliant pillar of light shot upward from her feet and pierced the heavens. Her immaculate golden hair billowed in an unseen wind like so many osmanthus petals.

Indeed, Viviane exhibited the true mark of nobility now.

“W-W-What just happened!?” Trista was the first to recover from the shock as befitting of an experienced announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen! Lady Viviane has just successfully resonated with Knight Medrauta and bestowed upon her a Crest!”

The forever Crestless Medrauta. The strongest knight who was simultaneously the ultimate failure of a knight. That paradoxical existence had finally come to an end.

“W-What!? That’s impossible!” Ritya screamed. Though she wanted to draw her arm back and strike at Viviane once more, she could no longer stand. The final blow that Medrauta had inflicted on her was too much.

Medrauta turned, staring at Viviane in a stupor. Even though she felt the unfamiliar power of a Crest flowing through her limbs, she simply could not believe that this was truly happening.

But even if it was real, it was too late.

Viviane quickly realized this with a sinking feeling as the initial rush of elation passed over her. Here, her knight had been pushed back to her dais while the enemy lord stood upon his dais, far and fortified by sheer distance.

The wounds that Medrauta had suffered throughout the course of battle were far too great. She would never reach Bastiche.

“...I’m sorry...” Viviane said as tears welled up in her eyes. “I couldn’t resonate with you in time...”

But Medrauta did not despair.

“I’ll reach him.”

“H-Huh?”

“Here and now. I’ll reach him. So lend me your power, Viviane!”

“But that’s impo—” Something in Medrauta’s next words had stopped her. Despite her exhaustion, her voice was bright, unfettered. Unwavering.

“Trust me.”

Viviane couldn’t do anything but nod. Her trembling lips parted to issue her edict. “I grant thee my hollow grace!”

An immense, indescribable strength welled up in Medrauta’s body. She knew that there would only be one chance to seize victory. If she missed, then it all would have been for naught.

Yet, she did not feel nervous. Her mind was clear. Doubtless. Her body felt relaxed, as if the wounds strewn across her body had been washed away by the power of Viviane’s Crest. She knew exactly what she must do.

In that very moment, she understood how to bridge heaven and earth.

Medrauta drew her arm backwards, the movement smooth and unhindered despite her still-leaking wounds. She willed her newfound strength to concentrate solely upon that arm. Her eyes fixed themselves upon her target.

And then she thrust.

BOOM!

Like thunder, the sound of Medrauta’s attack echoed throughout the entirety of the arena. The force shook the earth itself, and the surrounding stadium trembled. The stone flooring had been torn apart from the sheer strength of Medrauta’s thrust as it birthed a veritable spear forged of wind forcibly compressed.

When the dust cleared, the opposing dais was empty, its foundation torn apart. Several feet behind its ruins laid Bastiche, his limp body collapsed upon the ground. Only the deep magic that enchanted the arena grounds kept him alive now.

“K-Knight Medrauta has scored a successful hit! Match over! The victors of this bout are Lady Viviane and Knight Medrauta!”

Viviane stared at the miniature valley that Medrauta had carved before them in shock. It was an attack of such incredible magnitude that unleashing it should have taken an immense toll on its user.

Yet, Medrauta remained standing. Not only that, but step by labored step, she made her way up the dais. Even as rivers of blood flowed from her wounds and pooled at her feet like the hem of a macabre dress, Medrauta stood before Viviane.

Slowly and deliberately, the silver-haired knight sunk to one knee before her lady. Not even for a second did she allow the pain of her wounds or the exhaustion of her muscles to blemish her gallant dignity.

The cheering stands silenced themselves as all eyes bore witness to a scene that would no doubt go down in the annals of the academy’s history.

Ignoring the pain that plagued her body, she lifted her arms up and held her sword aloft in both hands, offering it to Viviane who stood before her. Her shoulders screamed, but she did not. The only thing that Medrauta permitted her body to do was its knightly duty.

“M-Medrauta? W-What are you doing!? Quick, get up! We need to get you to the infir—” Viviane stopped. There was a light in Medrauta’s eyes that she had never seen before. Not in Medrauta’s eyes, not in her own.

Not in anybody’s.

“Lady Viviane.”

“Y-Yes?”

“I swear to you, here and now before all those present, and before the creator god Aluvsha who bears witness from above, my sword and heart are yours. For now, and forever.”

Viviane’s eyes widened even as her cheeks flushed. Normally, a knight only swore their blade to the noble that they served, but to swear one’s heart... It was unheard of, to say the least.

“My lady, will you have this unworthy knight to do with as you please?”

Viviane stretched her hand down, but she did not reach for the sword. Instead, she set it aside and grasped her knight’s bloodied hand.

“M-My lady...! That’s dirty!” Medrauta exclaimed. Though she moved to tug her bloodstained hand away, Viviane’s grip held fast.

“You’re wrong. Nothing from you could ever be dirty.”

“But—” Medrauta froze.

To prove her point, Viviane had brought her hand—still dripping with blood—to her once-pristine lips and licked it clean.

Medrauta could do nothing but stare with her mouth agape. Try as she might, she simply could not comprehend the scene that had just occurred before her eyes.

“You are my knight with whom I can do as I please, no?”

“I... Of course. You wish is my command, my lady.”

“Then let me help you get up already! We have to get your wounds treated! And... One more thing! I’m called Viviane, don’t you forget it!”

“Yes, my la—Viviane,” Medrauta grinned as she stood with Viviane’s aid.

As the two girls slowly made their way out of the arena, an indescribable warmth filled Medrauta’s heart.

At last, she could call herself a knight.