Episode 115 Blessed Defeat - The Saga of Lioncourt

**Eighth Day of the Ceremony** I've been feeling some discomfort in my stomach from several days of feasting, so today, I'm quietly watching the contest. The competition has expanded to include javelin throw and marathon along with the previous events of swordsmanship, horsemanship, archery, and wrestling. This expansion is to encourage participation from Elwayne's men. The events span over two days. While competitors may participate in multiple events, practically speaking, it's a one-event-per-day kind of affair. Surprisingly, there's a significant number of nobles and their retainers participating, and the power struggles between them and the members of Lioncourt add an extra layer of excitement. In the guest seating area, various dignitaries, my family, and other important figures are scattered about, observing the proceedings. "Father! When is big brother’s turn?" "Ah, it's a knockout tournament. It will be a while longer." I was with Robert, Raymon, and others, watching the swordsmanship matches. Kiara is with us too. Like wrestling, participation in swordsmanship is open to anyone above commoner status. It’s a knockout format until someone loses or gets injured. Victory is determined by the number of knockouts. The rules are straightforward: the winner is the one who lands a solid blow with the wooden sword. Shields and armor are optional, making it closer to mixed martial arts than traditional swordsmanship. Previously, we used solid wooden swords, but due to frequent injuries, we've switched to sticks wrapped in thin quilting and covered with leather bags. Although getting hit with these still hurts considerably, everyone seems to enjoy them, saying they are "just right for matches." Given the material, if bamboo were available, we’d make bamboo swords, but unfortunately, Amoros doesn’t seem to have any bamboo. "There he is! It's big brother!!" Raymon yelled out with a hearty "Go for it!" as encouragement. Now that Robert is ten, he's a bit shyer and not causing much of a fuss. "Kiara, do you get it? You decide the match using that stick." "I get it, I like swordsmanship too." Kiara flashed a broad grin. She enjoys play-fighting with swords and sometimes joins Raymon’s training for fun. Being a princess raised in the mountains, city life bores her. However, this playfulness does trouble her tutor, Enzo. "You left Ima with a maid?" "Yes, I did." Kiara isn’t particularly eager with the upbringing of her three-year-old daughter, Ima. This isn’t to say she neglects her; rather, it's the custom among the Parzolon tribe to raise children collectively. Hence, she feels comfortable handing Ima over to someone nearby. Her affection for Raymon, who isn't her biological child, isn’t unrelated to this cultural background. It's simply a matter of different traditions. The manor's staff seem to accept this, thinking "That's how princesses are," without any skepticism. As I idly watched Kiara, she suddenly let out an excited cheer. Looking back, it seemed Simon had overwhelmed his opponent. "Did you see that, Father?" "Yeah, that was impressive." I hadn't seen it at all, but I nodded to Raymon as if I had. Simon is strong. Despite being only 13, he stands taller than the average adult, with a body that could rival a Greek sculpture in terms of muscle tone and definition. Reflecting on it, his father Rudolf also had a remarkable physique (see Chapter 13), suggesting a possible genetic anomaly in our family regarding myostatin. Myostatin, as I recall, is a substance that suppresses the over-accumulation of muscles. I'm not an expert, but the news of babies born with excessively developed muscles has left a strong impression on me. It seems they hailed from a long line of strong individuals or something similar. Perhaps there's an anomaly in the secretion or reception of myostatin in our family’s genes. Many of us, myself included, seem to have a notably robust build and muscular development. By the way, my eldest daughter Emma boasts a physique akin to an athlete, with defined abdominal muscles. ...Well, even if that's the case, there's nothing to be done about it... There aren't significant problems even if muscles over-develop. True, it might lead to inefficient energy usage, increasing food consumption, but that’s about it in terms of drawbacks. While a farmer might face the risk of starving in winter, our family is lucky enough to be landowners. The benefits of physical prowess far outweigh the downsides. Strangely, the word 'myostatin' remains lodged in my mind without any other apparent use, much like how I've memorized texts like "jugemu jugemu" or the Heart Sutra. Human memory truly is peculiar. "Yay! Brother did it!" "Woo-hoo! He won again!" Raymon and Kiara bounce with joy, elated that Simon has secured another victory, making it four straight. Wearing a droplet-shaped helmet and chain mail, Simon lifts his wooden sword toward the audience—specifically toward his fiancée, Marielle, who sits a short distance away, rather than us. "Ah, big brother never looks this way." "It can't be helped; Simon is getting married to Marielle the day after tomorrow. He loves her dearly." Raymon, however, isn't entirely satisfied with my explanation, pouting, "But still—" "You'll understand once you have someone you like." "I'm going to marry Kiara!" Raymon clings to Kiara, basking in her warmth. At eight, he remains inseparably attached to her. Kiara, appearing equally content, pats his head affectionately, "There, there..."—making me envious. "Go away, Kiara is mine! I want my head patted too!" "No way! Whoa!!" I grabbed Raymon by the collar, who wasn't listening, and gently tossed him aside. "Varian, don't be rough with Raymon!" Kiara rushed over to Raymon in a panic. The crafty boy stuck his tongue out at me. Irritated, I rapped his head with my knuckles like a machine gun—a rhythmic motion akin to striking a wooden fish. "Ouch!" "Varian! Stop it! I hate you!" I found myself cast as the villainous heel, despised by both my son Raymon and my wife Kiara, as the entire audience's attention focused on us. Robert sighed, "What are you doing?" while Simon took down his fifth opponent. …… In the end, Simon lost to Knight Ge, who was his seventh opponent, managing six victories in a row. A commendable achievement, but just shy of earning a prize. After defeating Simon, Knight Ge showcased remarkable skill, claiming victory with nine consecutive wins and securing the top spot. His tall stature lent a mantis-like impression to his swordsmanship, revealing him to be an unexpectedly formidable swordsman. After their match, Simon and Knight Ge seemed to form a camaraderie and were later seen conversing warmly during the celebratory feast. Their lands are near each other, so it's beneficial for them to get along. In the archery competition, Domier fought valiantly for the Lioncourt faction, but the Bachelard Knights, led by Jean, dominated the podium. The marathon was entirely dominated by Elwayne, led by Niall. Perhaps their strong cardiopulmonary capabilities stem from living at high altitudes, as they all displayed tremendous leg power. For now, we've concluded with three events. The javelin throw, wrestling, and horsemanship are scheduled for the following day. During the subsequent banquet, Jean boasted with a smug expression, "What do you think?"—his breath reeking of alcohol. Yes, he's indeed impressive, but dealing with a drunkard when you're sober is quite exhausting. "Jean's retainer squad excels in archery, don't they?" "Yeah, I train them daily. I watch from behind, and if they miss the target, I poke them in the butt with a knife... something like this." Rolo and Jean were laughing heartily together, clearly enjoying themselves. Meanwhile, I was nursing a stomachache, refraining from alcohol and sipping on honey water instead. It was lovely to catch up with friends, but being the only one not drinking left me feeling slightly out of sync and a bit lonely. I felt my stomach churn again, making me utter a strange "ulp" as nausea washed over me. ...I really hope this stomach issue doesn't become a recurring thing... Sighing, I rubbed my abdomen gently. There's just no positive association when it comes to stomach ailments. ...... The following day's events were incredibly exhilarating. The ninth day's competition kicked off with the javelin throw, an event dominated by the Elwanes. Without the aid of spear throwers, Vice King Kilian of Parzolon soared into first place, clinching victory. He achieved a remarkable double win, having also taken the marathon title. Undoubtedly, this success will significantly boost the demand for Elwane mercenaries. And then came the wrestling... which was particularly amusing. Twenty years have swiftly passed since my inaugural appearance... Back then, wrestling was little more than a display of sheer brute force, akin to a bear contest. It has since evolved considerably, with competitors now triumphing through skill. Throws, joint locks, chokeholds... The adept among them, even if slight in stature, managed to topple the hulking adversaries, electrifying the audience. Just now, Simon's retainer, Nels Sharopin, successfully subdued a burly Agnesian with a joint lock. Although unconventional, it was an impressive technique akin to an armlock. Incidentally, the Agnesians resemble the Amoros people but are easily identifiable by their distinctive hairstyle — long hair tied at the top of their heads. ...Well then, I suppose it's time for me to join in... I weaved into the lineup of participants, politely asking, "Excuse me, may I join?" The surprised competitors immediately stepped aside, making way for me. After all, a king should be granted such small indulgences. Seeing me suddenly appear, the referee and Nels appeared taken aback. Understandably, it's uncommon for the host to compete. "Um, Your Majesty is entering the competition?" the referee asked hesitantly. This level of deference was making things awkward; I probably should have worn a mask. "Yeah, but make sure not to give me any special treatment," I replied. The referee nodded, saying something to Nels. The arena buzzed with anticipation as the referee announced, "Begin!" I spread my arms wide, ready to face Nels head-on, signaling for him to "come at me from anywhere." Nels lowered his stance, seemingly aiming for a tackle. ...Hmm, not a bad plan... Deliberately, I stepped forward with my right foot, baiting him. Nels swiftly lunged for a single-leg takedown, moving sharply. ...However, it's still just a trick... I pressed down hard on Nels from above, effectively neutralizing his tackle attempt as he let out an odd "guh" sound. Then, wrapping my arms around his torso, I hurled him backward with sheer force. This was a barrel throw, also known as Karelin's lift—a brute-force technique. Unable to break his fall, Nels fainted. It's exceptionally rare to see a knockout victory in wrestling. The arena fell unnervingly silent for a moment before erupting with uproarious applause. "Varian! Varian!" "Varian! Varian!" Acknowledging the chants, I raised a finger toward the sky. "Whoooaaahh!!" The stamping applause and shouts resonated throughout the venue. My next opponent entered the arena, looking pale as a ghost. Following that, I advanced through the matches undefeated. Regardless of size or skill, none could stand against me. I hurled them through the air, locked their joints, pinned them down, and won repeatedly. Just when it seemed like there was no one left to challenge me, the 18th challenger appeared—Enzo. "Enzo, it's been a while since we grappled." "Indeed, I’ve honed my skills through my service to Robert, perfecting them over twenty years. I’d like to test them now." Enzo grinned confidently. He referred to my brother, not my son. Enzo Pesard, who once challenged me in my youth as my brother's retainer, was now the children's tutor, having retired from active duty, yet still a top-tier warrior. ...Going up against Enzo will be a treat... I smirked, spreading my arms wide. Enzo crouched low, gauging the distance between us. "Begin!" With the referee's signal, Enzo lunged low toward me. His moves were sharp, but not unexpected. ...A tackle, huh? Too easy! I attempted to pin Enzo down like I did with Nels... but then he changed tactics. From his low stance, he sprang up, delivering an elbow—akin to a sumo wrestler’s upward charge—that connected perfectly with my jaw. It's a rough strategy, but strikes aren't against the rules. I had only myself to blame for being caught off guard. ...Damn, this is bad... The perfectly landed blow rattled my brain. Though conscious, my body wavered, standing frozen. Seizing the moment, Enzo toppled me like a fallen log and moved in to pin me down. I kicked the ground with my knees, frantically trying to wriggle free like a shrimp, but Enzo wouldn’t let me escape. Completely subdued, the hesitant referee declared Enzo victorious. The arena fell silent once more, akin to water suddenly stilled. "You've got me beat, Enzo." "It won’t work twice, though." Enzo, ever modest, helped me to my feet. Such ambushes might indeed fail a second time. Yet, on the battlefield, the first time could mean life or death... Little solace in that. Enzo had utterly defeated me. "I’m beat! Enzo Pesard is the finest wrestler of our time!" I took Enzo's hand and raised it high. After a moment of surprise, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. "Ooohhhh!!" "Enzo! Enzo!" "Enzo! Enzo!" "Ooooaahhh!!" Amid the thunderous acclaim, I departed the arena quietly in defeat. There was a pang of disappointment. Yet, more than that, I felt elation. It wasn't sheer brute force that had bested me—it was wrestling 'technique'. The seeds I’d sown more than two decades ago had taken root, flourished, and ultimately bested me. ...How could I not be happy about that... I felt as if I’d been blessed, reassured that my efforts hadn't been in vain. Tears welled up in my left eye, but they were happy tears. Although my run of 17 victories was unmatched, I graciously withdrew from the final results. The honor of champion deservedly went to Enzo with his eight victories. I wholeheartedly celebrated his triumph. As for the equestrian event, Simon was the impressive victor. There was a faint whiff of it being rigged, but that's par for the course. Thus, the competitions concluded successfully. Once domestic and international affairs settle, perhaps regular competitions might be a good idea. On a side note, I'd like to mention that Kiara comforted me by patting my head when I was sobbing... Really made my day.