Chapter 11

Humiliation left a scar far deeper and more vivid on the one who received it than on the one who dealt it.

This was a fact proven by history. There was a saying that the one doing the hitting also felt pain, but the passage of time would eventually heal the striker’s ache. However, the wounds carved into the heart of the receiver could not be soothed even by the light of a thousand moons. Again and again, they would be tormented by phantom-like, ethereal distress.

It was a negative spiral where endless gloom recalled the pain, and that pain brought about further gloom.

If only I hadn’t made that mistake on that day, at that time, I wouldn’t have been tortured by such agony. I wouldn’t have had to carry this suffering forever.

There were two types of humiliation.

Specifically, there was the humiliation born from one’s own past actions, and the humiliation received at the hands of a specific person.

The former served as a reprimand for one’s own blunders, but the latter was different.

If one could return that humiliation twofold, they could wipe away the pent-up resentment that had accumulated. No, more than that—one could even find pleasure in planting that same humiliation into the opponent.

If successful, it was nothing but beneficial. One would be liberated from all suffering.

Therefore, the “former” strongest knight in the kingdom—Commander Cushu de Vendel of the Holy Boot Knights—was burning with the flames of revenge to clear his name.

At thirty-six years of age, his military achievements were beyond count. An old veteran who had shown a genius for the sword since childhood, he had been an undefeated Holy Swordsman until last year. Known as the “Sword God” whose strength only increased with age, constantly extending his prime, he was the idol of the entire kingdom.

…Or rather, he had been.

‘Curse him, that mere commoner brat… To think he stained the immovable glory I spent twenty years building with a single fluke victory… I will surely clear this grudge by beating you to a pulp!! And I’ll see to it that eyesore Luger is ousted, and kick you out of the knighthood along with him!!’

To a noble, popularity among commoners was not necessarily important. The privileged class was a position for rulers, meant for those who were born to be. Though there might be some decline in status, one could live without issue even without the support of commoners.

However, knights were the exception. Because knights were the closest existence to the commoners among the kingdom’s nobility, a knight’s reputation was directly linked to the kingdom’s approval rating. In other words, if the knighthood was upright and brave, the public’s sense of security and expectation toward the kingdom—which maintained order through said knighthood—would rise.

Simply put, a knight was not just a noble, but a chosen official who could be called the “face” of the kingdom.

Therefore, the strongest existence in the knighthood had to be the very hope of the kingdom, representing the nation.

Cushu, a supreme warrior born into a distinguished knightly lineage, was the one truly fit for that seat.

And yet, within the royal palace and among the commoners, he was currently becoming a thing of the past.

‘Knight Varna…!!’

In the waiting room, Cushu trembled with rage, directing a furious glare into the empty air.

Knight Varna. Parents were commoners, grandparents were commoners—a man of unknown origin from the lowest strata of the kingdom, born and raised in the middle of nowhere, where his ancestors had done nothing but land reclamation and farming. This was the man currently tormenting Cushu.

Varna was a Commoner Knight, a title said to be the highest honor for someone of low birth.

That alone would not have been a threat. Yes—not if he hadn’t been a once-in-a-century genius of the sword.

Varna had mastered the “Kingdom Offensive Draw-Sword Style” in a mere six months, a style said to take twenty years to learn, where Cushu’s own record of attaining full mastery at twenty-seven had been the fastest in history. When Cushu first heard the news from his own former academy instructor, he had doubted the letter was a forgery and even ordered his subordinates to investigate.

The more he learned about Varna, the more Cushu’s resentment boiled.

It was a one-sided discomfort that couldn’t be explained simply by the grudge of “a mere commoner”; the very trajectory of this man’s life was infuriating.

He had mastered the legendary secret technique “Twelfth Form: The Eight-Span Crow,” an achievement that alone would carve one’s name into history. Furthermore, he had become close with the Second Prince, the King’s son and third in line to the throne. He graduated from the military academy with extremely distinguished grades, ranking fifth academically and first in swordsmanship.

After that, despite being a rookie, he had taken numerous heads during Orc hunts. Once Commander Luger of the Pig-Hunt Knights began publicizing his achievements, the commoners’ attention shifted entirely toward him.

His looks weren’t bad, he was strong, and above all, the success story of a commoner rising through the ranks was immensely entertaining to the masses. Because he was exceptionally talented and recognized by the Prince, his reputation in the royal palace was good despite him rarely being in the Royal Capital.

—Getting ahead of yourself. I’ll make you realize the difference in our standing at the Imperial Matches.

Cushu still felt he had room to breathe back then. The Imperial Matches were where the “Strongest in the Kingdom” was truly decided.

He believed that as long as he won the Imperial Matches, those around him would realize once again that “Cushu is indeed the strongest,” and the wretched commoner knight would be forgotten.

Moreover, because Luger had been going around bragging that Varna would be the youngest participant in the matches, Cushu thought it the perfect opportunity to break his spirit. He had gone as far as telling his subordinates, “If you are matched against Knight Varna, withdraw. I will crush him myself.” In that scenario, he would have had to defeat five people including Varna, but the other four knights of the Pig-Hunt Knights were beneath his notice as he had already seen through their abilities.

That said, his subordinates were also honorable swordsmen. They had given pleasant boasts that they wouldn’t lose to a mere rookie, and the knighthood’s bonds had deepened.

And then, they lost.

The Imperial Matches ended with an unprecedented result: the entire knighthood was defeated by Varna alone. Cushu’s legend of invincibility came to a close, and the kingdom erupted in excitement at the appearance of a new hero.

‘But that was nothing more than a whim of the Goddess of Fate!! Today, the kingdom shall realize who the truly powerful one is. Praise me, worship me, for I am the strongest—!!’

To ensure he never gave away another fluke victory, Cushu had sharpened his blade more than ever before.

He could feel it himself. He was stronger now than he was last year. Right now, he was the strongest swordsman.

Now then, “Beheader” Varna, you temporary hero.

Your story, which has gone far too well by pure chance, shall reach its end here.

Wearing a smile that seemed to compress a passion so intense it would make any onlooker shiver, Cushu made his way toward the Royal Palace Duel Grounds where the Imperial Matches were held.

“Last year was just incredible, wasn’t it! You know, that boy from a commoner background! I was so shocked—he took them all down by himself!! It was so much fun, though. To be honest, I was getting a bit bored with the Holy Boot Knights winning every single time!”

“Hey now, that’s a bit harsh… though it certainly was impressive. He didn’t get a one-hit KO this year, but his match progression was superb, taking down all the other Order Commanders. At this rate, we might see another one-hit KO today, don’t you think?”

“I like Varna-kun the ‘Beheader’ way more than that ‘Sword God’ old guy! Varna-kun is so much cooler!”

“Our family originally started as commoners who saved up our money… I’ve always wanted the Foreign Hazardous Species Countermeasures Knights to win. Hehe, I hope Knight Varna-kun takes down the ‘Sword God’ again this year and proves he really is the strongest…”

“Did you hear? That fat man over there. Apparently, he bet his entire fortune on Knight Varna-kun being chosen as the Top Knight in last year’s betting pool and became a billionaire overnight. Thanks to that, his whole clan treats Knight Varna-kun like a savior; they say they pray to Varna-kun’s portrait every day. Of course, he’s betting everything on Knight Varna-kun becoming the Top Knight again this year.”

“Well, the ‘Sword God’ is getting up there in years. Isn’t it about time he threw in the towel and let the next generation take over?”

“The Holy Boot Knights’ faction has grown far too large anyway. It’s better to let Sir ‘Beheader’ thin them out before they rot completely.”

“Go for it, Varna-kun! Don’t lose, Varna-kun!!”

“Hurray! Hurray! Var-na-kun!!”

“…Hey, aren’t those people cheering over there the Marchioness of Vendel and her son…?”

“Yeah. Rumor has it she absolutely loathes her husband, whom she was forced to marry in an arranged marriage. It looks like her son inherited that sentiment perfectly…”

What on earth was this situation?

Just how much was expected of me? Before I knew it, I’d been turned into a gambling target, there was a family that had become richer than me because of it and now worshipped me, and I was even being egged on as a tool for a marital spat. The variety of people in this cheering section seemed to range from “Anti-Holy Boot Knights” types to wealthy merchants.

The pressure of the “I really can’t afford to lose” variety was off the charts. Furthermore, a narrative had formed on its own that I had to one-hit KO Commander Cushu again. What kind of logic led to the existence of households that would apparently go bankrupt if I didn’t win? Seriously, I just wanted to go back to hunting Orcs.

While I was agonizing in silence, Senior Garmon, the second fighter, had lost, and it was already my turn.

…I was done worrying and thinking. I just wanted to crush the rest of them and get this Imperial Match over with as fast as possible.

Alright, Varna, just imagine the spectators are all potatoes. The opponent is a female Orc that I’ve been ordered to capture alive. End this situation quickly and don’t think about anything else. It’s honestly scary to take down the strongest Order Commander in “mission mode,” so I’ll just instant-kill the middle-guard and the vice-commander!!

With the signal to start the match, I raised my sword and charged.

“We of the prestigious Holy Boot Knights would never lose to the likes of you—you filthy sc—uagh!?”

“Match over! The winner, Knight Varna!”

“Don’t get cocky just because you beat our vanguard! I, Warski, who has served the Royal Family for thirty years, am your oppo—your worst nigh—ghark!?”

“Stop!! The winner, Knight Varna!!”

“I-Impossible—we used the same ‘Twelfth Form: The Eight-Span Crow,’ so why was I overpow—Bebopaahhh!?”

“Stop!!! The winner, Knight Varna!!!”

Alright, I won! The next opponent is the Order Commander!!

“Next!!”

…Ah, crap. I accidentally shouted it out loud.

Perhaps because this wasn’t exactly praised etiquette for a knight, the surroundings fell deathly silent.

Did I blow it…? Did I mess up right before the final showdown…? Thinking that, I carefully looked around and made eye contact with the referee.

While I was internally trembling, thinking the referee was about to scold me, the referee—who looked even more terrified than I was—approached me.

“Um, Knight Varna-kun…”

“Ah, yes. My apologies… and?”

“No, I am terribly sorry. As a rule, the Imperial Matches consist of five members per Order, so there is no ‘next’ knight prepared… Besides, as far as swordsmen stronger than Commander Cushu go, there’s no one left but you…”

“Huh?”

For some reason, I didn’t quite understand what the referee was saying.

As I wondered what he meant, a faint realization snagged in the back of my mind.

Now that I thought about it, even though I had switched my brain over to instant-kill mode for the two people before the Commander, I felt like I’d heard the declaration of victory three times. Wait, then who was the third person I defeated? Feeling a terrible premonition, I timidly looked down at the face of the swordsman lying face-down before me… and a small “Ah” escaped my lips.

“M-My sword… My glory… What was it… all for…”

There sat “Sword God” Commander Cushu, his sword snapped in half, looking aghast as if his soul had left his body.

A moment later, the broken tip of the sword fell with a clatter in the corner of the dueling grounds, and after a heartbeat, an explosive cheer erupted throughout the arena. The voices of the crowd praising the “Royal Foreign Hazardous Species Countermeasures Knights” and me echoed endlessly.

‘I… I screwed uuuuuuuuup!!!’

That night, looking at the evening newspaper with the headline “The Seeker of Strength, Varna: ‘Sword God’ No Longer in His Sight” printed in massive letters, I rolled around on my bed in a fit of regret and shame.

This was awful. Whether as a story or as a life event, this felt like it was going to be a lifelong “disgrace” that I could never erase.