The Necromancer's Servant

The martial arts competition officially began, and the lively atmosphere was enough to excite even the slowest worms on the trees by the roadside.

The civilian hero in everyone's heart, the favorite to win, Knight Rodhart, fought his way through the competition with exceptional swordsmanship and agility, winning each match with extraordinary ease. His remarkable presence and demeanor caused the already thunderous cheers to escalate even further. Fully aligning with the public's wishes, he smoothly advanced to the finals.

A grand procession made its way to the square, and the already crowded crowd quickly made way, creating a wide path. As the door of a lavish carriage opened, everyone in the square knelt to respectfully welcome Bishop Ronis and His Majesty King Griffinhart XVII.

Accompanying them were many royal officials and ministers; such a semi-public event was a perfect occasion for the King to be in high spirits, and it was certainly not a bad thing to be by his side, especially at a time like this when they sought to curry favor with him. Naturally, the King's closest ally, the Prime Minister, was among them.

"Has Duke Murak not arrived?" the Prime Minister asked, looking around.

"I haven't seen him these past few days; he must be busy with official duties. If a change in command is indeed being prepared, he's the most likely candidate to replace General Sanders. It's wise to prepare early. But this guy has missed an opportunity to ingratiate himself with His Majesty. A classic case of being brave but not wise, ha ha," replied a minister from the Ernie family. "However, if Sir Scottie can win the championship and get a chance to join the military, we won't have to rely too heavily on Murak."

The noble families firmly believed in the saying "blood is thicker than water." If possible, they would prefer to have all positions of power held by their blood relatives. Even someone like Duke Murak, who was forced to form alliances, had to do so through marriage, allowing the blood of his family to flow in the veins of his descendants, thereby making them "one of their own." It seemed that only this type of biological connection could establish trust and unity.

The Prime Minister frowned slightly and nodded. Duke Murak was known for his good temperament, strong interpersonal skills, and capable work ethic, but the Prime Minister was never particularly fond of this seemingly pliable man with a kind demeanor. Although he didn't seem to engage in conspiracies or plots, the Prime Minister, perhaps due to an instinct for power plays, always felt something was off about him. Furthermore, this person, who now bore the noble title of "duke," had humble origins and had risen to his current position through a bit of ability and what seemed like quite good fortune. Even though he was now "one of their own," he wasn't worthy of much trust or reliance.

It was said that this knight named Rodhart had some connection to the duke, but that country bumpkin seemed too focused on his duties and had not properly recognized this talent; otherwise, he wouldn't have been so easily bought off. The decision to bribe this person was a very risky move; if the military got wind of it, it wouldn't be a laughing matter. The Knights Templar, being the center of power in the empire, required absolute integrity in elections. If accusations of corruption that undermined the empire's foundation surfaced, it would spell trouble. The key was that the current situation forced their hand, making risky moves necessary. An unexpected rival had suddenly appeared at the bishop's side, pushing aside the position of his son. If war broke out in the west, it would provide a golden opportunity to gain military merit as political capital, crucial for the outcome of this political struggle. Thus, there was no choice but to take the risk and find an opportunity to negotiate with that knight; fortunately, the result was satisfactory.

The King, bishop, and Captain Roland took their seats, and the royal officials and ministers followed suit, marking the official start of the finals.

The first contestant was Knight Scottie. His muscular physique was displayed prominently beneath his armor, and his fierce expression seemed to indicate that even his face was territory claimed by those muscles. He wielded a massive sword that remained deadly even when sheathed. Such a figure was quite rare among knights.

The cheers of the ministers welcoming this contestant were overshadowed by the booing of the surrounding common folk. This noble scoundrel had a bad reputation among the people of the royal capital. A few years back, he had been quite unruly, but he seemed to have toned it down in recent years, likely in preparation for this competition, hiring numerous teachers for various specialized training. This time, the championship was a must-win for him.

Hearing the jeers, Knight Scottie glared fiercely at the surrounding crowd and let out a low growl. He was a classic example of someone with a simple mind; it seemed all his essence had gone into building those muscles.

Next up was the hero named Rodhart. With his flaxen curls and handsome face, he lacked a bit of the imposing aura but exuded a friendly charm instead. His calm demeanor and strong, resolute eyes complemented his masculinity, and he wore a charming smile that radiated approachability. He truly resembled an idol in the hearts of every youth and a prince charming in the dreams of young girls. Dressed in plain clothing with a light leather armor on top, he presented himself as a true folk warrior, as if he didn't regard his opponent's attacks at all. In fact, throughout the competition, he had yet to be hit by any opponent.

The thunderous cheers and applause were directed at this hero in the hearts of the people.

Rodhart's handsome demeanor made Scottie's brutishness seem almost designed to accentuate it. Scottie glared at him with the intent to immediately charge forward and chop the beautiful knight to pieces. Although he knew this would be an opponent who would lose to him in the match, he already felt the weight of impending defeat, revealing his murderous intent.

Idoits!

Upon hearing such cheers, the Prime Minister disdainfully cursed in his heart. These insignificant lower-class people, rolling about in the depths of society, unwilling to be controlled by power but too weak to fight back, believed in some hero who could stand against authority and an extraordinary talent who could defy the societal system. Yet they didn't realize that everything in this society was determined by the upper echelons of power who controlled it, including faith, passion, and lifestyle. Even this hero, who embodied their dreams, was arranged behind the scenes by power long before. In this world, those in power were the only true heroes.

"Hmm, this knight does look impressive, quite handsome indeed," remarked the King, surprisingly showing great interest. "I also heard he single-handedly charged into an orc den, rescuing Duke Murak's daughter and slaying over a thousand of those savage orcs without leaving a single one alive. Quite formidable, indeed. Truly, heroes emerge in youth! And to think he's a commoner; remarkable, truly remarkable." As he continued, the King's expression grew somewhat strange, as if hinting at jealousy.

At twenty years old, Griffinhart XVII had a face that was somewhat feminine and gentle, suggesting a character not suited to ruling a nation. His comfortable life in the royal palace made his mindset similar to that of an average young person, perhaps even more naive and superficial. It was said that when he was younger, he once snuck out of the palace to join a traveling circus. Moreover, it was rumored that just a few nights ago, he had secretly visited a casino in the capital and caused a bit of trouble.

He found himself on the throne due to circumstances beyond his control, yet he showed little interest in governance and preferred indulging in trivial pleasures, treating politics and military matters as burdensome nuisances, eagerly delegating them to the Prime Minister, who was enthusiastic about relieving his worries. This resulted in the Ernie family gaining significant power in the court. If it weren't for the presence of loyal military officials and the Knights Templar protecting the Griffinhart family, the King would have already abdicated.

"Your Majesty is wise. Since Your Majesty recognizes him as a talent, I would like to place a bet that this young man will win—ten gold coins. I wonder if anyone dares to take the bet?" the Prime Minister seized the moment to address the surrounding ministers.

No one responded to the bet; the military officials ignored him, while his fellow colleagues knew he was likely trying to play a trick.

"That knight Scottie is apparently your nephew, isn't he? It's truly pitiful that even his own uncle doesn't have high hopes for him. How about this: let me cheer for him. I bet he wins—ten gold coins," the King said, displaying great sympathy.

"Then I thank Your Majesty for your generosity on his behalf. I hope Your Majesty's favor brings him good fortune," the Prime Minister replied.

"Ha ha, I remember my luck is usually very good when betting with you," the King said, laughing naively.

With the sound of a gong, the competition officially began. The spectators in the stands and on the ground began shouting Rodhart's name, and amidst this overwhelming support, Rodhart quickly gained the upper hand.

Asa sighed; he truly did not want to see this immense hope turn into colossal disappointment. He wanted to leave, and just as he turned around, he spotted a short man with a large head struggling through the crowd. He squeezed his way under a person sitting on a low wall and tugged at their foot, saying, "Give me your spot."

The person with the good spot clearly refused to relinquish their privilege, glaring as they replied, "Why should I?"

 "Because you want this." The short man waved a silver coin with his thick, stubby fingers. The person immediately yielded to this undeniably powerful argument, jumping down from the low wall and respectfully offering their seat.

It was rare to see a dwarf with such presence, and none had as large a head or such an unattractive, duck-like voice as this one. Asa squeezed past and greeted him, "Lord Borugan, hello."

"Special envoy! What a coincidence. Have you returned from that damn orc city?" After two months, the local official from Bracada still looked the same. He adeptly jumped up onto the low wall.

"I'm no longer a special envoy; just call me Asa." Asa stepped closer to the low wall. "I was just about to head back when I unexpectedly ran into you."

"Why are you going back? Isn't that your friend up on stage? Don't you want to see him win the championship?"

Asa smiled wryly and said, "Unfortunately, I'd bet that he definitely won't win the championship."

"Really?" Lord Borugan's broom-like eyebrows furrowed again. "He looks like he should definitely win. How about we place a small bet then? After all, I placed my bet on him back there."

"I don't want to win your money," Asa replied.

"Unfortunately, I really want to win yours." The former local official from Bracada flashed a smile, revealing his neatly aligned yellow teeth.

On the stage, Rodhart was launching a flurry of swift sword strikes, forcing Scottie into pure defense. If Scottie hadn't cast a few blessing spells on himself at the beginning, he would have likely been on the ground by now, given the intensity of Rodhart's assault. The highly paid mage had, under the pressure of economic incentive, successfully drilled a few basic spells into his mind; this was indeed an impressive achievement.

Rodhart did not have this advantage; he didn't use any supportive magic, but the overwhelming cheers and encouragement from the crowd completely made up for this shortcoming. It was as if every strike he made carried the wishes of his supporters, making it difficult for his opponent to defend. However, Scottie was also quite capable, and with the help of those spells, even in a direct confrontation, he couldn't be assured of victory against Rodhart.

The close match made for an exciting spectacle, with both fighters giving their all. Even Asa couldn't detect any flaws in their movements; he had to admit that Rodhart possessed not only knightly talent but also the potential of an actor.

A slight opening appeared in Scottie's defense, and Rodhart, taking the risk of being struck by the massive sword, kicked him in the face. Amidst the thunderous cheers, the muscular knight tumbled like a rolling gourd. By the time he got up, blood was gushing from his nose, mixing with the fierce glint in his eyes.

Infuriated and in pain, Scottie let out a furious roar and began wildly swinging his massive sword at Rodhart. There was no doubt he was fighting for his life; the gusts from his swings even stung the faces of spectators below. But amidst this chaotic assault, Rodhart maintained his composure, skillfully dodging while gradually retreating to the left side of the arena. It was evident he was conserving his strength; such a frenzied attack couldn't last much longer. Once he waited for his opponent's offense to weaken, he would strike back immediately. However, Asa knew that this counterattack would fail due to an unexpected twist.

It was indeed a remarkable performance. The clever knight successfully provoked his opponent, causing him to lose his mind and attack recklessly without regard for stamina. Yet just as Rodhart prepared to counter, his body suddenly lost control and, unfortunately, he was struck, sustaining a minor injury and ultimately losing the match. It would later be revealed that there was a loose board on the floor; stepping on it caused the knight to lose his balance. But there was nothing to be done; the outcome was final, and everyone could only lament the terrible luck of this hero.

Asa began to think that Rodhart had a knack for writing novels or scripts.

In the sharp winds of swords, Rodhart had already retreated to the edge of the stage. Even an amateur could see that Scottie was starting to show signs of fatigue. The moment everyone had been waiting for, the hero's triumphant counterattack, was about to unfold.

But in that thrilling instant, the hero's body suddenly tilted slightly, losing balance. His savage opponent would surely not let such a golden opportunity slip away; the massive sword sliced through the air toward Rodhart's midsection. The crowd gasped in unison.

Asa was startled. Although the massive sword was sheathed for protection, such a forceful strike could easily cause serious injury or even be fatal. This was no longer a pre-arranged performance; the furious opponent truly wanted Rodhart's life. He was too far from the stage, and there were too many people in between; even if he wanted to intervene, it would be too late.

But to his surprise, Rodhart's waist suddenly went soft, and his upper body bent backward, forming an arc. His upper half dangled off the stage while his feet remained planted on it. The deadly strike merely grazed his abdomen.

Scottie, who had anticipated a certain victory, was momentarily stunned as his strike missed. This wasn't how things were supposed to go, and he froze in place.

Seizing the moment, Rodhart sprang back to life, slamming the hilt of his sword against his opponent's face with a heavy thud. Scottie rolled backward again. But when he got up, clutching his bleeding face, Rodhart's sword was already poised at his neck. Victory was decided.

"Your luck is quite good today, my dear minister. You finally won against me once," the King chuckled, glancing at the victorious knight beside him. The Prime Minister's face was pale; this sudden turn of fortune left him both shocked and angry.

"The champion of this knight selection tournament is—Knight Rodhart," the official announced dramatically, elongating his voice to proclaim the result.

With cheers and applause erupting, Rodhart retracted his sword from Scottie's thick neck. In a graceful manner befitting a victor, he performed a formal knightly salute to the defeated opponent and then turned to kneel in reverence before the King and the bishop in the royal box.

Scottie remained frozen like a statue, overwhelmed by astonishment, the anger of failure, and humiliation, all crowding his mind, making it increasingly difficult for him to understand what had just happened. However, when he saw his opponent perform a display of deference, smiling smugly before turning his back on him, his anger and hostility surged, and he raised his massive sword to stab Rodhart in the back. The crowd gasped in horror, both from the stands and the arena.

Heroes, of course, would never fall victim to such a backstab. Rodhart dodged the attack effortlessly, responding with an elbow strike that connected with Scottie's face in what looked like an act of self-defense. Scottie let out a boisterous scream, a sound that couldn't overshadow the sharp crack of bones breaking. He flew back, collapsing onto the stage, unmoving.

The Prime Minister stood up with a pale face. However, his self-control and reason clearly surpassed his nephew's, and he slowly sat back down. The King furrowed his brow and shook his head slowly. "Losing is one thing, but you can't behave like this. It's far too unknightly."

"Your Majesty is right. This not only violates the basic spirit of chivalry but also reveals the filth of this man's character. A person lacking such fundamental morals is definitely not suitable for joining the Knights Templar, an honorable and significant institution," Captain Roland, sitting next to the King, stated coldly. The empire's top swordsman had a rather lean face, appearing almost like an earnest scholar. Only the occasional spark in his eyes hinted at his true strength. His grayish-white hair and beard made him seem much older than he was. "I now announce the cancellation of his eligibility for the Knights Templar."

The Prime Minister trembled slightly. His attempt to cheat had backfired, and if this young man caught wind of it, he might be in deep trouble.

Asa felt as though his eardrums were about to burst from the surrounding cheers. Lord Borugan unceremoniously snatched a few silver coins from his hand, shouting loudly to make himself heard over the cheers, "I don't understand why you think your friend would lose."

"I don't know why either," Asa shook his head in astonishment.