Chapter Eighty-Six: The Tragedy of Bonfret

Sir Bonfret felt that his present plight was nothing less than a tragedy.

He came of noble birth, from an ancient and unblemished lineage that could be traced back more than a thousand years. Setting power aside and speaking only of the dignity of blood, such a pedigree would place him among the top ten even in the imperial capital, where great houses stood like a forest.

Though he was not the eldest son, from the moment he was born he had been treated with deference and flattery by all around him. Even if he could not inherit the family title, that was of no great consequence. Moreover, Heaven had granted him a handsome face; judged by his looks alone, some even believed him to be the foremost beauty of the imperial capital, without rival.

Since the age of fifteen, he had been the darling of every woman who saw him, and he still was now. Even though everyone knew he had become the Emperor’s Crown Prince’s private favorite, beautiful noble ladies would still often cast him meaningful glances. He drank the finest wines, wore the richest garments, rode the finest horses, and even the green gemstone ring on his finger was worth a small nobleman’s yearly income.

Although he knew there were people in the capital who looked down on him, that did not diminish his nobility. At least those people only dared to speak ill of him behind his back; to his face, one and all were as respectful as quails.

Every word he spoke was treated as an order no one could refuse. Anything he wanted, he need not even lift a finger or open his mouth for; so long as he hinted at it with a glance, someone would immediately and carefully attend to it, then present it to him with both hands.

But now... his situation was a tragedy, a nightmare!

And most importantly... poor Sir Bonfret still did not know that his noble name had been misused by some rustic bumpkin, and in such shameless fashion too, to challenge the foremost master in the Odin Empire’s army, one of the continent’s most renowned powerhouses.

Fortunately, he had been kept locked inside the armory room. The walls were thick, and he had wrapped himself in a blanket with it pulled over his head, so he had not heard Shaia’s great bellow on the battlefield.

But in the morning the storehouse door had opened, and that lowly guardsman called Kato had come in to bring him food. Why, why did that hateful fellow look at him with such a strange expression?

Kato’s face wore a smile that was not quite a smile. After gently setting the tray before this noble sir, his gaze gradually turned sympathetic.

With Kato’s intelligence and his understanding of Shaia—well, in any case, this smuggler in the army did not believe that Shaia, who looked honest on the surface but was rotten to the marrow, would really go and fight Hastings in a fair duel.

Most likely that bumpkin had already decided to kick this pretty-boy out as cannon fodder.

Looking at Bonfret, Kato sighed with deep pity, crouched down, and studied his face. “Alas, being caught by that bumpkin’s eye—how unfortunate you are.”

“Hm? What?” Bonfret immediately felt a trace of unease. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Kato sighed again, full of feeling, and even his attitude became much kinder. He patted Bonfret’s shoulder gently. “Eat now. Since you can eat, eat more... Hmm, do you want some wine? I can get you a little...”

Such unexpected kindness made Bonfret’s heart go cold. He seemed to catch a whiff of something very bad...

Kato examined him carefully once more. “Eat, eat. Don’t think too much... Ah, the poor fellow.”

That strange behavior had Bonfret pondering all morning. He felt as though he had encountered some dangerous situation, and then... at noon, he finally saw Shaia.

He was carried out of the storeroom by several soldiers and taken straight to the camp gate. He saw the traces of blood along the palisade wall, and the thick smell of blood in the air nearly made Bonfret, who was always fastidious about cleanliness, faint on the spot. On the wooden stakes of the wall hung torn flesh and mangled remains. The blood-soaked, horrific sight instantly drained his face white as paper, and his legs went weak. Had the soldiers beside him not supported him, he might have collapsed on the ground then and there.

All morning he had hidden beneath his blanket in prayer. He knew the men of Odin had come. He begged the omnipotent gods to bless the Thirteenth Legion and let it win this battle... because only then could he survive.

Well, the Thirteenth Legion was supposed to be formidable, wasn’t it?

Seeing the camp gate still firmly held, Bonfret felt his heart loosen with relief. It seemed they had held it after all? Had they won? Could he go home?

That damned bumpkin appeared again before Bonfret. Shaia wore a bizarre smile, baring his teeth as he looked Bonfret over twice with the gaze one might use to appraise livestock, then tsked twice with regret.

“You... what do you want now?” Bonfret shuddered, his calves trembling. “I... I am the inspector—”

“Of course, you are Lord Inspector.” Shaia actually nodded. His arm was wrapped in bandages, but his tone was solemn. “Right now we are fighting with all our blood to protect your safety.”

He paused, then said with utmost sincerity, “The soldiers are sacrificing, bleeding, fighting! We have already repelled one fierce attack from the men of Odin. But now it is time for you, our commander, to do something!”

“I... I?” Bonfret’s face turned even worse than if he were crying. How could he know any martial skill? Though he had studied with a fencing master, he had only learned the narrow, elegant noble sword used by aristocrats. Such swordsmanship was less a martial art than a kind of dance.

Go to war and kill people? What a joke! From childhood until now, this noble sir had never seen any blood apart from a maiden’s first red stain.

“Rest assured, we are not asking you to fight those lowly Odin warriors,” Shaia said earnestly. “With your noble status, how could we let those men of humble birth soil your dignified hands?”

Bonfret let out a breath of relief. No matter what, he was the superior here, and his rank was there for all to see. Surely this bumpkin would not dare truly lay hands on him...

But Shaia’s next words shattered Bonfret completely.

“So, we have chosen for you an opponent of equal nobility... the commander of the Odin army, the God of War Hastings! He will be waiting for you on the battlefield in a fair duel of martial honor. What do you think?”

At those words, Bonfret’s soul left his body.

“Someone come! Dress Lord Bonfret in armor, and bring his horse!” Shaia shouted toward the camp gate, paying no mind at all to the noble sir trembling like a quail.

Then he raised his voice toward the distance beyond the gate. “Hastings! Are you ready? I am coming out now to take your head! Our fair duel of martial honor must be fair, and must not tarnish the glory of martial honor! I will bring only one attendant! If I fall in battle, my attendant will carry my corpse back!”

Hearing the bumpkin’s words, Bonfret felt utterly humiliated and furious to the point of death.

That despicable bumpkin! So shameless! And yet he kept shouting about martial honor...

On the other side, after a moment, Hastings’s cold voice came back: “As you wish!”

Across the battlefield, the Odin Empire’s greatest general, Hastings, casually tossed away a red silk handkerchief with which he had wiped himself clean. He lifted his black, gleaming, three-pronged war spear, his face showing a trace of reverence and fervor.

“The dignity of martial honor... Hmph. When did the Bysantine Empire produce another champion named Bonfret? He has guts!” Hastings mounted up with his spear. His expression grew more and more fevered, and when he looked at his subordinates, his stern tone held a thread of reverence. “The glory of champions must not be soiled! None of you are to interfere in the duel later!”

He nudged his horse’s belly lightly, and Hastings rode out spear in hand, head held high.

Behind him, the Odin warriors watched their war god depart with fervent, worshipful eyes.

Bonfret was quickly dressed in his armor. That uniquely ornate, gaudy set of armor on him somehow looked a little imposing and majestic at once. Such a splendid style was the favored form of holy knight armor among the nobles of the Bysantine Empire. Shaia studied it carefully for a couple of glances. It was indeed lavish enough, and grand enough to bluff people...

But then he suddenly slapped his forehead and went over with a sword, hammering hard on Bonfret’s shoulders, arms, and chest, smashing that fine, glorious holy knight armor into several holes and breaks. Then he ran to the gate, tore down a piece of torn flesh and remains left by the Odin men from one of the stakes, and smeared Bonfret and his armor all over with dripping blood until he looked blood-soaked and ghastly.

“Yes, that looks much more convincing.” Shaia smiled in satisfaction.

Bonfret, meanwhile, was so frightened he was nearly... no, not nearly—he had already wet his pants.

His legs were tied to the horse with sinew so he could not fall off, and a block of iron had been wedged behind him inside the armor to brace his lower back so he would remain upright and not slump down. Shaia personally put the helmet on him, lowered the face guard, leaving only a pair of eyes visible, then patted Bonfret and whispered in his ear:

“Listen carefully. I am not going to let you really die! I’ve tied your legs and body down so you only need to play a scene with me! Your build is very similar to mine, and that fellow has a fifty-fifty chance of falling for it! You can move only your right hand. The lance I prepared for you is wooden, painted with iron lacquer, so it looks just like a real knight’s lance! When the time comes, you are not to speak! Just gesture a little, enough to draw his attention!”

Shaia paused, then snorted, his eyes flashing fiercely. “Don’t even think about running, and don’t think about ruining my plan! If you dare to utter even half a word at that moment, before Hastings takes your life, I’ll be right behind you and can run you through with one thrust! Go on—guess whether I have the nerve to kill you?”

He did! This madman! This bumpkin! This bastard! He absolutely did!!

Bonfret screamed wildly in his heart. If this bastard dared treat me like this, what was there he would not dare do?!

“But...” Shaia thought for a moment. “A pretty boy like you still doesn’t put me at ease...”

He lifted Bonfret’s visor again and stuffed a hemp seed pellet into his mouth. “That way you won’t make a sound! As long as you behave later, I’ll protect you! Otherwise, hmph!”

Sleator grabbed Shaia’s arm. “Hey! What exactly are you trying to do? What did you mean just now about bringing one attendant along...? What does that mean?!”

“What do I mean?” Shaia rubbed his face hard until it turned hot and red, and only then stopped. He narrowed his eyes, and there was a trace of madness in the bumpkin’s gaze.

“I want to find a chance... to assassinate Hastings!”

Sleator’s expression changed violently as he stared at Shaia. “You! You’re insane!!”

Shaia snorted. “Even if I can’t kill him, if I can seriously injure him... Hmph. So long as Hastings is wounded, the men of Odin will fall into chaos! At the very least, it will slow their attack!”

Desperate, Sleator cried, “You’re going to die! What rank is Hastings? How could you possibly wound him? You’re courting death! Throwing your life away for nothing!!”

Shaia drew in a breath, gritted his teeth so hard that they ground together, then punched Sleator hard in the chest. “Relax! I’m not going to die that easily!! This is the only chance to take a gamble! If we win the gamble, everyone has a way to live!! I’m not dying! Rest easy! I value my own life more than you do!”

The bumpkin patted the chest and back of his own body, both lined with dragon scales—and two layers at that!

Outside the dragon scales was a set of fine leather armor, and over that he had strapped on a heavy, sturdy suit of the largest heavy cavalry steel armor! This set of steel armor had been stripped off that brute Shalba and was a full size larger than Shaia’s body. Fearing Hastings would see through the ruse, he could not shrink his build, and so he had no choice but to wear oversized armor on purpose.

Two layers of dragon scales, one layer of leather armor, one layer of heavy steel armor... even if he failed and managed to escape back alive, there should not be much of a problem, right?

As long as he could get close to Hastings and, when the man was off guard, suddenly unleash... Dragon Thrust!

There was a very good chance he could injure that fellow!

And Shaia still had one more card to play: his method of attack was unlike that of every martial artist on the continent!

All the continent’s warriors used battle aura. Whenever aura erupted, it produced dazzling light. If one wanted to launch a sneak attack, before you even struck, the radiance of the aura would already be glaringly bright. But his crimson killing aura had already been controlled so that no red light escaped. If it were paired with the “Dragon Thrust,” concentrating all his power several times over into a single point...

“If I don’t gamble, there’s only one road left: death. If I do gamble and win, there is a road to survival!” Shaia swung himself onto an inconspicuous warhorse and glanced at Sleator.

Sleator was moved. Looking at Shaia, he felt an indescribable reverence and could not help but bow deeply, pounding his chest hard in the highest salute a Bysantine soldier could offer.

But Shaia’s expression suddenly changed, and he cursed, “No—damn it! You’re making it look like a farewell to the dead! I’m not dead yet! And I won’t die! I’ll definitely come back alive!! Bah, bah, bah! What a cursed omen!”

A clear bugle sounded. The camp gate slowly opened a crack. Bonfret rode at the front, Shaia behind him, and the two emerged slowly from the gate one after the other.

On the battlefield stood a black warhorse, its entire body armored, a crescent-shaped scythe fixed to the horse’s head. On its back rode a man shrouded in black, holding a three-pronged war spear. It was Hastings!!

The horse advanced slowly. When the two sides came close, Bonfret’s mount stopped. Shaia was seated right beside him, even holding the reins for Bonfret with one hand, playing the role of a perfect attendant.

Hastings fixed his gaze on the noble sir. “You are Bonfret!”

His eyes were like blades!

Bonfret wore his holy knight armor, now stained with blood and damage. His figure was tall and proud, his bearing magnificent, and with that fine steed beneath him and a black spear hanging from the saddle... standing there, he truly had the air of a master!

Though Sir Bonfret was trembling uncontrollably on horseback, his body was hidden within the armor, so it was not easy to notice.

Even his furtive, fearful eyes were misread by Hastings as “sharp as lightning.”

In any case, Hastings was quite satisfied with this opponent.

Or rather, a true champion like Hastings had already witnessed Shaia’s astonishing might on the battlefield moments before, and had preconceived the matter. Judging others by himself, he thought that such a champion ought to possess, as he did, a noble heart worthy of a champion...

“Since that is so... then let us fight!”

Hastings slowly raised his three-pronged war spear, the tip pointing straight at Bonfret. Black flowing flames immediately manifested at the spearhead!

Bonfret’s body shook even more violently. Under Shaia’s threat, he had no choice but to lift his own lance. Though the wooden lance was not heavy, Bonfret’s arms had already gone weak and limp. Once he raised it, even his body began to tremble more and more visibly, and the armor emitted faint sounds of rattling impact.

Eh?

Hastings found this rather curious.

Why was this respectable opponent shaking like that?

Hmm... what marvelous martial art was this? A berserk battle art? Bloodthirsty battle aura? The strength of a raging ox? Or perhaps, like us Odin men, some secret technique that induced battle frenzy before combat?

Hastings felt the blood that had long been cold within him grow hot once more! His heart surged with fervor, and he could scarcely suppress a long cry!

Whoosh! His lance swept out, trailing black flames, and his horse broke into a trot toward Bonfret!

As Hastings closed in rapidly, Sir Bonfret suddenly shut his eyes—he had completely broken down! Urine ran freely inside his trousers, and the lance in his hand fell away, but his body was still tied down, his back still braced by the iron rod, so he remained upright on the horse... straight, proud, magnificent! Like an unmatched master facing an enemy charge without fear!

Hastings did not doubt him, and with a clear, long cry, his black war spear arced down in a beautiful curve!

Now!

Shaia’s eyes ignited in an instant!

Help! Help me! Someone save me!!

Bonfret’s heart was weeping...