CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Knight of Scarlet Blossoms

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“I am Ser Ambrose, Knight of Herons, Hero of…”

Rowan wasn’t listening to this young knight’s arrogant introductions about his recent achievements because her attention was fixed on the prince who grinned at her as impishly as she smiled at him.

“You truly do know how to woo a girl,” she whispered.

“Try not to kill anyone,” Bram whispered back.

When he returned to his Heartwood Throne, Bram realized he’d forgotten to mention his other request…for Rowan not to maim the visiting knights.

She’s not going to go too far…is she?

Seconds later, he would find out exactly how far she would go.

After a brief salute, the young knight whose name Rowan didn’t bother to remember drew his sword—and that was all he could do. Before he could even take a step, the trickster was already standing before him with her falchion raised high.

Oh no…

Bram’s eyes widened in anticipation because he knew blood was about to be spilled. As he expected, Rowan swung her falchion down like a guillotine against her opponent’s neck, and then the young knight crumpled to the ground.

Silence.

A stunned silence swept through the crowd.

There’s no blood…?

On his throne, Bram’s gaze was fixed on the blade of Rowan’s falchion for he’d noticed that she held it in reverse so that its sharp edge faced away from its target. When he realized she’d shown her opponent mercy, he couldn’t help looking at her with surprise.

Rowan shrugged while mouthing, ‘It’s just a spar,’ causing Bram to laugh aloud. It was the only sound one could hear in this hall where silence now held court…

The second and third challengers were just as arrogant as the first, with each one looking down at Rowan as if her last victory had been a fluke. One by one, they each stepped up to take their place opposite her, and they would both learn in their duels how wrong they were to assume she’d been lucky for the redhead who’d been knighted mere minutes ago proved her strength by defeating each of them with a single blow in a similar way to how the first knight had fallen.

More silence.

It was as if no one in the crowd could believe what was happening before their very eyes.

Meanwhile, while beaming at his order’s newest knight, Ser Anthony yelled, “Are there any more challengers?”

There were. Twelve in total. All of them were daring young knights, who, despite their imposing figures, would all fall to a single swing of Rowan’s falchion against their necks.

Then there was the thirteenth knight…

“I am Ser Severin of House Adler,” introduced the tall, lithe man with shoulder-length chocolate hair framing his fair-skinned, heart-shaped face. “It’s my honor to duel against the kingdom’s youngest swordmaster.”

The green-eyed Ser Severin said it aloud first, but Bram could tell from all the awed gazes now fixed on Rowan that many in this crowd of naysayers were beginning to think it too. Of course, calling someone a swordmaster didn’t automatically make them one. For such a prized distinction, which was also a rare tier-four promotion in the Loom’s job system, Rowan would have to be acknowledged by an actual swordmaster, which Ser Severin wasn’t. Even then, recognition was but the first step. To cement one’s position as a swordmaster, one must also win a tournament in the Imperium’s capital that only aspirant swordmasters could enter.

Bram’s gaze drifted to the tall man beside Ser Anthony so he could inspect his uncle’s reaction to Ser Severin’s claim.

He’s impressed by her as well.

The smile growing at the corners of Vicomte Conrad’s mouth suggested as much.

Bram’s gaze drifted to Ser Anthony’s face, though it was only to confirm that his seneschal couldn’t keep the pride from showing in his expression.

Impressing two swordmasters of high standing…should I say that this is to be expected?

“Do you not have a knight’s title?” Rowan asked, drawing Bram out of his musings.

“I am called the Knight of Swiftness,” Ser Severin replied with a humble bow.

“Interesting.” Rowan flashed him a playful grin to go with her salute. “Rowan of House Wolfe, the Knight of Scarlet Blossoms.”

She glanced at the Heartwood Throne.

“…And Prince Bram’s champion.”

Gasps and disappointed sighs reverberated across the Oaken Hall because to proclaim one’s self a noble’s champion meant they were wholeheartedly loyal to their master. More importantly, being a ‘Lord’s Champion’ was a title equivalent to that of a Captain of the City Guard and came with all the benefits that afforded such a position.

ALERT! [Rowan Wolfe] has declared herself to be your [Champion]. Do you accept?

Bram clicked on [YES] without any hesitation, and when he looked back at Rowan, he saw a rare smile—warm and affectionate—appear on her face. They stared at each other, each looking favorably at the other, but then Ser Severin interrupted their moment of tranquility.

“His Highness is lucky to have such a strong champion”—Ser Severin returned Rowan’s salute—“who is also the most beautiful woman in this hall… No, I daresay that there are none more beautiful than you in all the land of Lotharin.”

Bram frowned.

Meanwhile, muttering had begun to appear in the once-silent crowd.

“Shall we make a bet, Ser Rowan?” Ser Severin asked.

“Go on,” Rowan replied.

“Should I endure ten blows from you and not fall, then you’ll let me call on you tomorrow morning.”

The muttering got louder. There were even a few gasps from the young ladies of Bastille’s Hightown who were now looking at the handsome knight as if he’d just crushed their hopes with the heel of his fashionable-looking boot.

Bloody hell… He’s an opportunist.

Bram’s frown deepened as he sat on his throne, for he, like everyone present, knew that calling on a lady during the morning meant the beginning of a courtship. To his relief, Rowan wasn’t smiling anymore, though not for the reason Bram had hoped for.

“You’re not planning to win?”

“I know my talents best…” Ser Severin flashed her a sheepish smile that made some young ladies swoon. “I may be the Knight of Swiftness, but you could run circles around me, and I might not catch you.”

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One of Rowan’s eyebrows hitched upward. “Might not?”

“I might not catch you,” Ser Severin drew his sword from its sheath, “but I might also manage a riposte or two.”

It was an ornate rapier with a stylized hilt and guard whose slim blade glittered with the telltale signs of enchantment.

“Ours shall be quite the dance,” he finished.

Rowan grinned impishly at his obvious provocation.

“Very well, Ser Severin.” She too drew her falchion from its sheath and aimed its tip at him. “Survive ten blows from me, and I will allow you to call on me tomorrow morning.”

Hearing her agree to the bet caused Bram’s fingers to tighten on the edge of his armrest, though he said nothing to stop her. He would trust that Rowan would beat this peacock of a knight with a single blow—and he would be wrong…

According to one of Ser Anthony’s many lessons, “Speed is the essence of battle,” and both combatants seemed to take this message to heart with their opening salvos. They rushed at each other like two cockatrices vying for dominance. Rowan’s falchion swung first, though Ser Severin managed to parry the blow that was aimed at his neck.

The crowd cheered, but Bram wasn’t impressed.

Of course, he’d know where to block… She’s been hitting them in the same spot in every duel.

As he promised, Ser Severin’s swift handling of his rapier turned his parry into a riposte that might have grazed anyone else, but not the rebel trickster of legend. Rowan dodged in the last second, sliding to Ser Severin’s right just as he overextended himself and then caught him on his neck with the flat side of her falchion. Rather, she should have.

Bram’s eyes narrowed. This bastard deserves his title…

Ser Severin managed to pivot away from Rowan, but she chased after him, risking overextending herself this time so her falchion could reach his head.

‘Clang!’

A sonorous blow rang out as Rowan’s falchion glanced off Ser Severin’s rapier, and he staggered backward from it, his feet uneven as if he was suddenly in a daze.

The crowd gasped aloud for many of them had never seen a knight get stunned from a blow aimed at his weapon’s guard.

They wouldn’t be so surprised if they knew that even I have yet to win an arm-wrestling match against her… Even a brute like me can’t hope to match her strength.

ALERT! Ser Severin has been inflicted with [Stun].

Bram assumed Rowan saw the same notification because it had been meant for her, and he wondered why she didn’t take advantage of his condition. Turned out, Rowan was right to hold back. Despite being dazed, Ser Severin’s hand moved as if automatically to swipe at the air where an opponent’s head should have been.

“Three!” the tall knight roared.

ALERT! Ser Severin has managed to shake off [Stun].

Fine, he’s at least better than Baron Archibald’s knights, Bram begrudgingly admitted. But this level isn’t enough against her.

Ser Severin tried to reclaim his footing, but Rowan wouldn’t let him. To Bram, she seemed insistent on repeating the same attack as if striking them only on the neck was a personal challenge she’d taken on for this duel. Unfortunately, Ser Severin noticed this too. It’s how he managed to block her fourth attack, though she struck him in a way that made his body rattle. More importantly, Bram was surprised that such a thin blade could endure Rowan’s heavy blows for it was well-known that a falchion contained the strength of an axe despite being the lightest of long blades. Any other rapier would have been cut in two by now.

It must have a strong enchantment…

From how his rapier’s blade sparkled even without a magical aura to empower it, Bram assumed, and rightly too, that Ser Severin’s weapon contained a hidden enchantment. Based on his knightly title, Bram thought it possessed a ‘Swiftness’ enchantment, but now he imagined differently. Instead of speed, what if Ser Severin chose the opposite, an enchantment that would strengthen his defense?

If so, then he’s more capable than I thought… To use one’s knightly title as a ruse to keep opponents fixated on his speed when his real goal is a test of endurance. Bram’s eyes widened with realization. “Dammit...this could be why he was confident in claiming to endure ten blows from her…”

As if to prove that Bram had guessed right, Ser Severin said, “Four,” out loud while he and Rowan locked blades.

“Six more, and I am assured a victory even sweeter than winning this duel,” he added.

“My prince has an interesting phrase he once told another foe who’d let confidence get the better of him.” Rowan pushed hard against Ser Severin’s blade and flung him back a good five yards away. “Never count your basilisks before they hatch!”

With her warning given, a dark look passed over the trickster’s face, and Bram saw the moment her body pulled taut as if she were a bow readying to fire an arrow into Ser Severin’s heart. A second later, Rowan exploded on Ser Severin, interchanging her attacks with feints meant to confuse the Knight of Swiftness; a swiped feint to the left side of his neck, a timed thrust to his throat, and even a hammering blow on the guard of his rapier meant to stun him a second time.

The crowd groaned each time Rowan advanced, while Ser Severin, despite his swiftness, could only backpedal as he desperately blocked each of those three blows with a sword arm that was weakening with each swing.

That’s right, Bram couldn’t help grinning widely now, even if you’re weapon’s enchanted to be more durable, it doesn’t mean your body’s the same.

Of course, the prince couldn’t be too happy. By his count, Rowan had struck Ser Severin nine times, and he’d endured each attack despite becoming fatigued. Strands of hair clung to his sweat-streaked face. He was breathing heavily too.

“Finish him!” Bram roared.

The prince could sense that victory was at hand…and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Don’t lose, Severin!” Lady Petra yelled at her twin—and the crowd took up her chant. “Severin, Severin, Severin~~n!”

Their cheers were clearly influencing the Knight of Swiftness for he found his footing yet again—though he was too late to do anything else.

Like Bram, Rowan sensed her victory coming, and she rushed to claim it before Ser Severin could find his second wind. She appeared in front of him with her falchion at the ready, though he had the foresight to raise his rapier to protect his neck—and that’s when the rebel trickster of legend finally revealed her trick. It seemed that seven of Rowan’s nine attacks were meant to force Ser Severin’s focus entirely on defending his neck, leaving him open for a final deft blow to his chest that caused loud gasps throughout the hall.

When Ser Severin fell to his knees in front of Rowan, Bram couldn’t help jumping from his seat, and while pumping his fists into the air, he yelled, “Yes!”

‘Clap!’

The applause was a little louder this time, and it wasn’t just coming from Ser Anthony and the members of Rowan’s order either. The highborn of Bastille could no longer deny her talent, and their excitement over her victory grew with each clap.

“Well done!” yelled a gray-bearded noble.

“Excellent form!” roared another.

“Marry me!” shouted someone from the back.

The cheering got so loud that Bram nearly missed the voice that had been barely audible, but somehow managed to be heard over the din of applause.

“Ten…”

As his gaze drifted down, Bram’s eyes widened in surprise. “Impossible…”

Ser Severin clung desperately to Rowan’s skirt as if he would topple over without its support. Still, instead of looking pathetic, he was like a knight kneeling before his fair lady.

“Pass out…” Bram mumbled. “Come on…go down already.”

The Knight of Swiftness’ breath was ragged, and he looked ready to break, but he didn’t. Ser Severin kept his promise. He endured ten of Rowan’s blows, an act worthy of applause even from Bram who begrudgingly gave it.

“Interesting…” Rowan helped lift him to his feet. “Shall we continue?”

Ser Severin shook his head.

“I know when I’ve lost, Ser Rowan…” He didn’t look like he’d lost at all though. Indeed, Ser Severin was grinning from ear to ear now. “A knight shouldn’t forget to keep her promise.”

“Oh, very well,” Rowan sighed exaggeratedly, though anyone could see that she was also smiling. “You may come to call on me tomorrow at noon, Ser Knight…”

Bram’s face fell. “No…don’t…”

His words failed to reach her ears though for they were drowned out by the cheering of high nobles who no longer seemed to think such a pairing as Rowan and Ser Severin was so terrible. Indeed, the other young knights Rowan had beaten came up to Ser Severin to congratulate him as if he’d won a great victory. Meanwhile, the young ladies of court rushed over to Rowan as if to tease her for catching the interest of a man as well-regarded as the heir of Lorraine.

Bram watched Rowan gain acceptance from Bastille’s high nobles and couldn’t help but feel envy rearing its ugly head inside him. He toiled for the sake of all Lotharin and barely received any recognition, while she need only show her sword skill—not even her sorcery—to receive the welcome of their peers. It made him almost wish that she hadn’t done so well.

I am a fool to think this way…

Of course, Bram knew deep down that Rowan being recognized by Bastille’s high nobles was a good thing for him because her success helped to raise his standing as her lord.

This jealousy is misplaced…

His thoughts were such a mess that he’d nearly forgotten Ser Severin’s intent to court Rowan, though he wasn’t sure why this annoyed him just as much.

Bram sighed.

Two things now weighed on his mind, though he had no time to inspect them more thoroughly. Not here in this hall that had lost its silence to a more festive atmosphere—something Bram originally hoped for.

“Alright, alright!” Someone roared. “Get out of the way!”

“It’s our turn!” Shouted another.

The youths gave way to the senior knights who strode forward to challenge Rowan to a duel.

“Yes,” Ser Anthony nodded appreciatively, “the Showing of Mettle isn’t finished yet.”

“Then perhaps I’ll take a turn as well,” Vicomte Conrad cut in.

The vicomte strode forward with his bastard’s sword already drawn, and the other knights begrudgingly let him cut the line. Who could say no to the prince’s uncle who was also brother to the second most powerful noble of the kingdom?

For her part, Rowan welcomed Vicomte Conrad with a taunting grin—and the spectators who witnessed their duel would later refer to it as the moment when the legend of the Knight of Scarlet Blossoms truly began…

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Hey all,

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