How to Live as a Swordmaster of the Enemy Nation

Martial Arts Tournament (1)

With her energetic voice, the atmosphere quickly became lively. Everyone rushed out from the lodgings to prepare for the martial arts tournament.

There were a total of four spaces: the sparring arena, the lodgings, a place where participants could gather for spectating, and the waiting room.

Following the attendant's guidance, as soon as they left the lodgings, there were already two people who had entered the waiting room first—children of two of the most prestigious swordsmanship families in the Blandi Kingdom.

It seemed as if the draw had not gone in their favor. Both of them radiated strength at a glance; their imposing presence was clear. It was certain that, at least in their previous lives, they would have been comrades fighting together on a different battlefield.

As expected, the fact that the pairing turned out this way meant that there was a noble who had bribed for the match arrangement.

And somehow, Gregory felt that those were the guys who had harassed him while he was striking the wooden dummy at the training arena.

Seeing as they had looked down on him so arrogantly without knowing his skills, they must surely have backing.

'To do something so pointless.'

Gregory thought such pathetic actions were utterly useless. Spending money to fix the matches in order to obtain the prestige from winning the tournament, then raising oneself up with such hollow honor—he couldn't think of anything more futile.

Of course, it might help when reciting one's credentials, but in the end, he believed without a doubt that victory would be his anyway. He didn't really care about his luck with the match draws.

Those who had entered the waiting room earlier now walked out into the sparring arena. The duels would proceed at the arena beside the training grounds. The area was wide open on all sides, and people expected to be spectators began to enter.

It was clear from a glance that these were people of high rank. They were heads of distinguished families from various nations, gathered to observe the martial arts tournament.

There was much to learn at a martial arts tournament. Each renowned family had its strengths, and by making up for weaknesses and incorporating new techniques, they could refine their own styles.

Lastly, a large, burly middle-aged man entered. Someone Gregory had never once encountered in his previous life. He had only heard him described, but upon seeing him, he knew at once.

As expected, the nobles participating in the martial arts tournament began to stir.

"That's Lord Radian."

"I heard he's in his fifties, but he's still robust."

"Indeed."

"I'll make sure to earn a good evaluation."

Once he, who had entered, took his seat in the highest position, all tournament participants except the spectators gave a formal greeting.

When it came to greetings, it was a protocol strictly maintained among nobles.

He responded silently with a gesture. That gesture indicated the matches were to resume, and the attendant continued the proceedings.

The swordsmanship was unlike any he had seen in his previous life; since swordsmanship hadn't developed further, their actual skill was poor.

Ching-ching—chang—

The sound of clashing swords rang sharp.

Their smooth swordplay and flashy skills pleased the eyes, but such techniques were nothing but extravagance.

With their skills on repeat, the excitement of the other nobles quickly faded, and Radian, who had been watching with interest at first, soon wore an expression of boredom.

Trying to show off grand techniques with large movements, the two competing ended up exhausting themselves quickly.

In the end, the one with greater stamina won, regardless of swordsmanship.

"Next match."

With the attendant's monotonous voice, the next participants headed to the waiting room.

The uninteresting martial arts tournament continued, and Radian, looking bored, crossed his legs and rested his chin on the armrest, gazing indifferently down at the arena.

Radian's attendant was rather flustered by his demeanor. Radian acting this way only meant the tournament was beneath his notice.

Yet, there was no one who could scold such behavior—it was well-known that he was a noble cherished even by the king of Blandi.

Once again, a duel ended, and Radian's expression gradually darkened. In the meantime, a familiar face appeared.

'So he's finally here.'

That was the guy who had picked a fight with Gregory while he was diligently training after arriving here.

Gregory watched his actions closely. No matter how much money was paid or the draw changed, skills remain the same. The opponent was a noble who had entered from another kingdom.

'I'll see if he's truly as arrogant as he seems.'

At the attendant's order, the match began. The opponent launched an attack with a loud yell, but the guy did not flinch at all.

Just before their sword could make contact, he easily dodged the strike, then drew his blade and struck the back of the opponent's hand with the flat of his sword.

As his opponent, startled, dropped their sword, he swiftly brought his own blade to their neck, decisively ending the match.

The one assumed to be an ordinary person—thought to be arrogant to the end because of his inflated pride—was now standing out for his excellent fencing skills. Gregory found it invigorating.

Gregory didn't think the confidence was merely because he had bribed someone to fix the match. Or rather, that was just his suspicion. It was always possible that such skepticism was nothing but his own delusion.

Based on that, Gregory found himself wearing a faint smile before he even realized it. He quietly murmured to himself.

"Not bad. This should be fun."

Perhaps Radian, too, sensed that his skill was extraordinary, because his eyes, which had seemed half-glazed, now sharpened with focus.

As soon as the match ended, there was no end to the nobles' applause. In the meantime, the attendant notified Gregory that it was now his turn.

"Would you like to enter the waiting room? If you withdraw here, you may immediately return home."

Gregory nodded silently. His mute affirmation meant he would participate in the competition. Now it was his turn. Gregory debated whether he should bring along Durandal, the sword he had recently acquired from the bandit raid.

Since it was wrapped in bandages, it was hardly likely to injure his opponent. Besides, there was no rule that required only wooden swords during matches.

He decided that until he faced that noble brat again, he would use a wooden sword, and he sprang up from his seat.

"Next match."

With the attendant's call, the noble standing before Gregory and Gregory himself bowed their heads to each other, exchanged greetings, and observed proper courtesy.

The nobles gathered in the tournament hall had no interest in Gregory's swordsmanship. Blandi and Arme had, until just a few years ago, enjoyed active exchanges and, differing only in political ideology, shared close ties. That meant there were exchanges even among their swordsmanship families, so the fact that they had no clear information about the existence of someone like Gregory meant—

—his name had not spread even among nobles already acquainted with each other.

'Let me show you, then. The reputation of the Ashborn family.'

The other nobles couldn't be certain of Gregory's identity either. Though the head of the Ashborns was Hemingway and Gregory was his son and thus a direct descendant,

it wasn't that simple. Aman Ashborn, the previous head of the Ashborns—he had eight children in total. Of those, the only ones Gregory knew the faces of were Walter and Hemingway. As for the other six, Gregory had no way of knowing where they were or what they were doing.

Even he, who had been the 1st knight order commander in my previous life, had difficulty figuring that out.

And for those nobles to deduce the children's identities while the family tree was so ambiguous was impossible. The only way to ascertain Gregory's identity was by seeing his face.

Because of Verk's curse, Gregory had rarely left home for any extended period. Especially at events among nobles of foreign countries, his identity would have been even harder to confirm.

The story that he was the child of the Ashborn family suffering from Verk's curse had already spread widely, so they could only make rough guesses.

Age group, unfamiliar face—those alone served as circumstantial evidence that it was Gregory.

'This is my chance.'

It was about four months since he recovered. News of Gregory's recovery had not spread. The other nobles could not know of Gregory's activities.

With the relationship between the two kingdoms having suddenly deteriorated, correspondence would have been hard to deliver, and proving his suddenly overwhelming skills at once would bring him a storm of acclaim.

Despite the infamy of Verk's curse, who would ever guess that Gregory, who had suffered from that curse, now possessed overwhelming power?

Moreover, what Gregory was using was not even the Ashborn family's renowned swordsmanship. Instead, it was a mixture, forged by many kingdoms collaborating, to combine only the advantages of each style.

Because of the gap in eras, no one could recognize or copy it clearly; seeing such swordsmanship could only leave them wide-eyed in amazement. Not that he had any intention of revealing his techniques in detail, anyway.

Gregory drew his wooden sword and, in the blink of an eye, thrust it toward his opponent.

The other nobles began to notice Gregory's overflowing fighting spirit, and Radian was no exception.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】