Chapter 10
āThat man is Nyx Pharoa. Duke Iron Steed Nyx Pharoa.ā
If he won, he would gain tremendous fame, and even if he lost, his opponent was not someone who could bring him much humiliation. Wasn’t that the reason he had chosen him in the first place? He had chosen him as a stepping stone to restore his tarnished honor.
āIf things go badly, stab the horse in the neck again.ā
The prince whispered those words to Xylus before the match began. It truly should have been a last resort, but it seemed that once again, he had no choice but to give in to that despicable temptation.
Xylus had to live up to the prince’s expectations. There would be no third opportunity, so he could no longer afford to hold anything back. The prince was not a patient man, and Xylus had to use every means at his disposal, believing that this was his final chance.
The worst thing Xylus could imagine was, at most, falling and rolling across the ground.
But Duke Nyx Pharoa’s reflexes surpassed anything Xylus could have imagined.
One, twoā¦.
Before he could even count to three, Duke Pharoa’s lance tip came hurtling toward him. He was continually one beat, one pace faster than Xylus, and his reach was longer as well.
The instant a hoof struck the ground, Nyx Pharoa realized it.
Xylus’s lance was approaching not to strike a man, but to target the horse’s neck.
Perhaps the first time had been an accident. But if he repeated the exact same act twice, he would effectively be proving that the earlier incident had also been deliberate.
Yet that bastard could not possibly be so stupid as to fail to understand something so obvious.
Nyx immediately realized why an ordinary Garding Knight could dare to act so boldly.
Because the cunning Pig Prince was standing behind him.
Crash!
Nyx swung his arm with all his strength, determined to answer the provocation.
Unfortunately for Xylus, the difference in strength was overwhelming.
The impact struck Xylus’s chest as though he had been hit by a hammer rather than a lance tip, and Duke Pharoa knocked him from his horse.
Xylus’s own lance, meanwhile, fell uselessly to the ground without even managing to tickle his opponent.
But the truly noteworthy disaster happened afterward.
āWhoaā?!ā
Xylus’s left leg swung toward the right, only to become tangled with the reins.
The problem was the long strap that hung loosely from the bit all the way down to the horse’s chest.
As Xylus kicked his left leg away, his right ankle twisted itself around the stirrup.
His feet and head were flipped upside down, like an acrobat performing a stunt.
Because the horse showed no sign of stopping its charge, the man was dragged along in that position for quite some time.
Gasps mixed with screams erupted from the stands.
Most of the cries of sorrow came from nobles and women, while the men, who cared more about the match and spectacle than human life, roared with excitement.
āPharoa! Pharoa!ā
āPharoa! Pharoa!ā
Amid the deafening cheers, Duke Pharoa pulled on one of the horse’s reins.
Xylus’s horse was also eventually brought to a stop by the soldiers, but by then, he already appeared to be unconscious.
His arms hung limp, and his neck was bent at an unnatural angle.
Looking at his pitiful form, it was possible to sense the emptiness left behind by a soul that had silently departed.
The ornate tack, the loose neck guard, the wall he had been unable to overcome, Nyx Pharoa.
All those threads of misfortune had woven themselves together into the man’s death.
The bewildered officials rushed over to examine Xylus’s condition.
But the only thing they could do for him was untangle the strap from his ankle and carefully lay him flat on the ground.
Duke Pharoa slowly turned his horse and looked back at the commotion.
His expression was still impossible to read, but he showed no sign of panic or discomfort.
He simply gazed upon the scene calmly, as though he had merely done what needed to be done.
The sight was so cold-blooded that it was almost inhuman.
He did not even bother dismounting.
From that arrogant display, Lanram understood.
The death of a Garding Knight from common birth could not put even the slightest blemish on his reputation or stir his emotions.
He did not seem frightened or remorseful in the slightest over having contributed to someone’s death.
He’s a terrifying man.
Lanram thought as she held the grieving Sera in her arms.
And yet, at the same time, he’s incredibly sensual.
Lanram thought she understood why men who enjoyed bloodshed were so enthralled by him.
The sight of the pure-white knight lying face-first on the ground while the pitch-black knight remained standing tall and unwavering created a scene that was almost cruelly captivating.
As though possessed by a demon, Lanram stood there motionless, staring at the sight.
An indescribable shiver ran through her body.
Once the people who had confirmed that the Garding Knight’s life could not be saved realized there was no hope, they quickly carried away his body.
Xylus’s tragic death was removed from the scene before anyone even had time to mourn him.
Whether intentional or accidental, injuries and fatalities were an unavoidable part of mounted combat.
Anyone who charged into such a match had to accept that risk.
āPharoa! Pharoa!ā
āPharoa! Pharoa!ā
The excited cheers showed no sign of stopping as the crowd chanted the victor’s name.
The people had chosen him as both the hero they would praise that evening and the centerpiece of conversation over their drinksāthe man who had provided the most dramatic entertainment at the very end.
The duke rode toward the VIP section.
The horse’s hooves clopped steadily until they stopped before the railing, directly in front of the Pig Princess, who sat there with a deeply embarrassed expression.
The man tilted his pitch-black iron gauntlet as though asking what she wanted.
The princess’s face flushed red and then pale in rapid succession, while the Crown Prince’s complexion was no betterāif anything, it was worse.
Meanwhile, the Lord of Salt Castle applauded with a genial smile.
He seemed like a kind man, if somewhat more oblivious than innocent.
Judging from his complete lack of tact, however, he did not seem like someone who would make a good husband.
When the princess gave a signal, a trumpet sounded.
The herald shouted in a deep, rich voice, as though determined to prove why he had been entrusted with the task.
āThe winner isā¦ Nyx Pharoa!ā
As his name was loudly proclaimed, the nobles seated behind the royal couple also began producing reluctant applause.
At the same time, they nervously watched the Crown Prince’s expression.
Most of them knew about the strained relationship between the Pig Prince and the Duke of Iron Steed, and they were people who survived by carefully balancing themselves between the two sides.
The prince clapped his hands once for every three claps from everyone else.
His movements were so irritated that they sounded almost like the clicking of teeth.
āThe winner shall dedicate this honor to the lady he cherishes.ā
The princess spoke in a stiff, dignified voice.
She extended her hand over the railing toward Duke Pharoa, who showed no intention of dismounting.
In her hand was a glass rose, which she intended to give him.
And when the man tilted his head toward her, she whispered:
āYou monster. Murderer.ā
The accusation was spoken so quietly that only the intended recipient could hear it.
āThank you for the compliment.ā
The man calmly replied to the words that had been whispered as sharply as though they could bite his ear off.
Without hesitation, he confidently took hold of the glass rose by its stem.
The glass rose glittered enchantingly in the sunlight like a precious jewel.
Wondering which woman he should dedicate this brilliant and ostentatious honor to, he looked around the VIP section.
Among the tense faces of the guests, an uneasy atmosphere hung in the air.
Some awkwardly cleared their throats.
Others turned pale and looked away.
Most of those unfriendly gazes belonged to young women.
Women who, even in an arena filled with clouds of dust, dragged the flowing hems of their delicate dresses across the ground.
The man peered through the nearly straight eye slits of his helmet at that swaying, shimmering world.
And among the women glittering like glass roses, he found her.
Abigail Bellar.
That face he never wanted to see again was truly sitting there.
She was surrounded by a group of maidens who followed her.
āā¦ā¦ā
The muscles that had moved smoothly and skillfully without interruption ever since he emerged from the tent suddenly stiffened for the first time.
The instant he read contempt and avoidance in Abigail’s eyes, he became incapable of functioning normally.
The gazes of the other women whispering nearby were similarly painful.
The man was perfectly concealed within a hard shell that no one could penetrate.
And yet, whenever he stood before women, he felt as though he had been stripped naked.
He was prepared to fight any formidable warrior in existence, but when it came to receiving the gaze of the opposite sex, he had a resistance level that was pitifully low.
There was only one thing in this world capable of making him shrink back:
The gazes of delicate women.
Nyx had unquestionably seized victory.
And yet, strangely enough, he tasted defeat.
An unbearable sense of shame and humiliation followed close behind.
When a person is treated like a monster, they naturally begin to feel like proving everyone right.
