Ivan thought that with the momentum he had shown so far, Rafin might even win. It suddenly came back to him that Lord Rafin had said he would give him a share if he won.
If he hadn't heard that, he wouldn't have been counting on any prize money, but where in the world was there a man who disliked money?
Sir Folke, whom Rafin would face in the final, was on a different level from anyone Lord Rafin had faced so far.
His name alone carried great weight in the south. On his way to the final, no one had been able to stop his lance.
A joust was by nature full of unknowns, but Folke had the skill to crush those unknowns with strength and technique.
His attacks were fast, fierce, and above all, without hesitation. He moved with the confidence peculiar to a man who believes he will win no matter what.
Lord Rafin had made it as far as the final, but Ivan worried that he might grow drunk on victory and drop his guard.
When morning broke, Rafin and Ivan left the Golden Cask Inn and headed for Barad Castle.
Banners were fluttering atop the walls, and inside the castle, people were already chattering in excited voices.
Today was the day of the jousting tournament's final.
Jesters were putting on a fire show that drew everyone's attention, and minstrels were playing lively music, whipping the festive mood as high as it would go.
Ivan spoke.
"Sir Folke's house, Menimrast, is a distinguished house famed for its cavalry. In a house like that, Sir Folke has trained on horseback with a lance in hand since he was a boy. His horsemanship will be very strong. He's a formidable opponent."
"I've heard plenty about their reputation. They say their cavalry is so strong that King Arno puts great trust in them."
When Sir Folke worked his way through a joust, his strategy was to drive hard at his opponent, give him no room to raise his shield, and aim precisely at the visor and the torso to make the impact as great as possible.
Rafin thought it made no difference to him whether Sir Folke came from a house famous for its cavalry or not. Training on horses with stirrups was worlds apart from going through countless battlefields between life and death on horses without them.
Rafin went on.
"Watching Sir Folke's matches, he seemed unstoppable and brimming with confidence. I plan to turn that side of him against him."
"Then you mean to fight the match defensively?"
Rafin smiled.
"The opposite. If Sir Folke is the aggressive type, I'll turn that confidence of his against him and come at him all the harder."
"...Haha, I see."
Ivan laughed briefly. And he held his tongue. In Ivan's view, the way to deal with the aggressive Sir Folke was to stay on the defensive and strike when an opening came.
Around the time the sun reached its height, people flocked to the arena. The final that would crown the event was about to begin.
Not only the nobles in the stands of the jousting arena but also the people enjoying the festival in the castle were placing bets on who would win the final.
Most people picked Sir Folke to win, at a ratio of 8 to 2.
Among the young noble ladies, some were cheering for Rafin, who looked weaker than Sir Folke but had a handsome face. A few of them had even made garlands of violets in advance. They meant to hang the garlands on Rafin's lance if, by some chance, he won, to show their support and their affection for him.
Rafin and Sir Folke took their places at either end of the jousting arena. Then the captain of the guard, Natye, shouted in a loud voice.
"In a moment, the lord will say a few words in celebration of the jousting tournament! Silence, everyone!"
The noisy murmuring died down for a moment.
Anchin Rosrad, who had been sitting in the stands, rose from his seat with a sheet of paper in hand. Then he swept his gaze across the crowd once and raised his voice.
"Today! All of us gathered within these walls of Barad have come to witness with our own eyes courage, honor, and the true spirit of chivalry!
Many knights have crossed lances and contended, and now only two champions stand in this final. They have risen this far by their own skill and indomitable will alone.
These two are not mere knights; they are the glory of House Rosrad, the pride of the North, and warriors under the protection of the gods of the battlefield.
The last duel to unfold here today will be recorded not as a mere contest but as honorable history.
The fighting spirit and resolve you pour out will inspire and move everyone who lives in this land, and he who triumphs shall receive our blessing.
So fight with all your hearts. For the glory of chivalry, and to raise high the name of the North.
Now, it is time for the lance points of the North to flash and the hooves to thunder. I declare the final begun. All of you, watch this battlefield!"
When Anchin's speech ended, everyone cheered as one. The roar spreading through Barad Castle was so loud it could be heard deep in the streets of Unton.
Rafin and Sir Folke held each other in their sights from either end.
The judge in the middle of the arena brought down the blue flag that signaled the start of the match with force.
Rafin thought there would be no room to drag the match out on purpose to a 2nd or 3rd round as he had in earlier matches. Folke would be the strongest of the opponents he had met in this tournament.
Rafin meant to go on the attack from the very start. He spurred his horse to a fast run.
Sir Folke pulled his shield up tight to his chest and leveled his lance low. There was no hesitation in his eyes.
Since Rafin's lance was shorter than Sir Folke's, he expected Sir Folke's lance to reach his shield first.
Rafin raised his shield up under his chin.
— Clop, clop, clop, clop
The distance between the two was closing steadily. Just as Rafin expected, Sir Folke's lance crashed into Rafin's shield.
If he hadn't pulled his shield up tight under his chin, his visor would have been struck. For an instant his body swayed slightly from the impact of the lance against his shield, but Rafin struck at Folke's visor.
The moment Rafin thought his lance had hit Sir Folke's visor squarely, Sir Folke hastily tilted his head to the side and dodged the blow.
A gasp burst from the crowd.
"Whoa, what was that? I thought Sir Folke had taken one."
"No way. There's no way Sir Folke loses to a greenhorn."
"This round's a draw, then."
One pass was over. The two settled themselves again and prepared for the next round.
From both ends, they galloped again.
— Clop, clop
This time Sir Folke blocked Rafin's lance with his shield, and at the same time Rafin twisted his body aside to dodge Sir Folke's lance.
The contest was neck and neck.
Rafin meant to change the tempo of his attack. With a predictable tempo, it wouldn't be easy to bring Sir Folke down. He was a knight who attacked and defended well.
The 3rd round began. Rafin drove his horse hard.
The distance between them was closing steadily.
Just then, Rafin suddenly clamped his legs hard around his horse's body and shifted his weight slightly forward. It was the move one made to leap an obstacle on the battlefield.
Rafin's horse sprang up, full of powerful spring. Sir Folke's eyes wavered for an instant. As if he hadn't expected the surprise, the tip of his lance wavered.
Rafin didn't let the opening slip. He drove his lance down along a path that seemed to defy gravity.
Even with the tip of his lance thrown off, Sir Folke kept it pointed at Rafin. Rafin blocked Sir Folke's lance with his shield and, adding the force of striking down from the air, hit Sir Folke's visor squarely.
With a loud crack, Sir Folke fell to the ground and rolled over once. The impact knocked off Sir Folke's visor.
It was a tremendous blow, but Sir Folke did not pass out. But his chin seemed to have taken a blow as the visor came off. Blood was flowing.
For a while, Sir Folke did not get up.
It was a match he had been certain of winning against a greenhorn who wasn't even a knight.
He gave a hollow laugh and gazed silently at Rafin. And he felt anew how wide the world was.
The contest was decided.
A roar poured from the crowd, and everyone rose to their feet and gave thunderous applause. A few of the young ladies came down to the railing of the stands holding violet garlands.
Rafin rode slowly to the railing and brought his lance close to it. There were 3 young women, and they hung violet garlands on Rafin's lance.
Among the young ladies, Mera Sirasi, who had silvery blond hair and deep green eyes, hung her violet garland on the lance as if she didn't care. But the moment she hung the garland on the lance, she felt as though her hand were touching Rafin's, and her fingertips trembled faintly.
As if he too had felt Mera's trembling, the moment the garland caught on his lance, Rafin gazed quietly at the violets hanging from its tip. The moment he wondered whether it meant more than support, his eyes met Mera's.
She looked to be about Rafin's age, and she was on the tall side.
Rafin committed her face to memory.
Anchin was watching contentedly as the young ladies hung violet garlands on Rafin's lance. Then he spoke to Varter beside him.
"Gawilt must be rejoicing in his grave. His grandson has been raised well."
"I didn't think he would beat Sir Folke. His skill was greater than I expected."
"You read Rafin's potential well. Then, as planned, take him in as Gerhardt's squire."
Anchin meant to take Rafin in as the Knight Commander's squire, and in time raise him into a Secret Knight, his closest confidant.
A man is shaped by the atmosphere of his house.
Rafin, who had grown up in the atmosphere of loyal Gawilt's house, was worth keeping close.
If, by some chance, it became clear during Rafin's time as a squire at Barad Castle that he lacked the makings of a Secret Knight, he could simply be dubbed an ordinary knight then.
But if Anchin wanted Varter to assess Rafin without bias, he had better not say that he had Rafin in mind for a Secret Knight.
Rafin got off his horse and came into the waiting room. He carefully took off the 3 violet garlands hanging on his lance, so as not to crush them.
Ivan was the first to run to Rafin.
"Lord Rafin. I had my hopes, but to think you'd actually win. Congratulations."
Tears suddenly welled up in Ivan's eyes. That the young master of the house, whom he had watched since his first steps, had won a tournament this big was hard to believe.
Ivan was happier that Rafin had won than he would have been if he had won a tournament himself.
"Thank you. Having you by my side all the way here from Philia was a great help, Master."
"I want to get this happy news to Winstio Castle quickly."
The captain of the guard, Natye, went over to Rafin.
"Impressive for a young fellow. You overpowered Sir Folke with incredible horsemanship and lance work. You know the winner has to stay in the castle, right?"
"Stay?"
Rafin pretended not to know. Barad Castle would never simply send the tournament's winner home.
"You'll have to attend the victory banquet, of course. And pay your respects to the lord."
"Of course. I should thank the lord for holding such a magnificent tournament."
Rafin thought that from now on, his words and actions might reach the lord's ears. He mustn't show any sign of disloyalty here. Until he had gathered his strength, he had to keep his head down.
"The other competitors came to the tournament with their squires, but I heard Rafin came with his teacher. You've raised a fine pupil. Your name?"
"It's Ivan."
"You too, Master. Please attend the victory banquet along with Rafin."
"...M-me too?"
Ivan thought he had no right to attend the banquet himself.
"Yes. The lord has ordered it so."
"Then of course I'll go. Haha."
Ivan had never in his life attended a banquet at a castle this big.
"Oh, right, Sir Folke, the runner-up, will be attending as well. He may have lost to Rafin, but there's no question he is a man of great skill."