I raise my palm to ensure they'll not throw more questions out, with my luck they'll reveal even more secrets through mere guesses. I run my gaze over them, finding Rowland smiling while Nahl and Uhla seem concerned. My idea feels manipulative and that makes my skin crawl but, at this point, I have little choice.

“Rowland, take these two to register as a low born that isn't of a family of soldiers for that tournament and make sure you win without revealing your birth.” I speak up, my goal being that he's the most on my side among these three so he'll naturally deal with their worries. “I won't answer any questions, especially here, but I might later.” I lie with a straight face because I have no intention of telling them anything crucial.

“How hard should I wreck him?” Rowland asks with a brave expression.

“As you wish, all I ask is that he loses.” I answer.

Nahl makes a sharp nod, understanding the need for discretion, but Uhla pouts with a vexed expression. I get the feeling I'm seeing Yvonne in her youth but the two aren't that far apart in age, maybe five years.

Still, it isn't quite accurate because the girl is clearly tormented by what she had to do in Hafjord. Spending time with her two friends in a relatively relaxed environment will do her some good even if it makes me sick to be thinking this way.

“Idali, let's go.” I say.

“Hh.” Uhla snorts at her.

“Stuff it.” Idali snaps.

I grab her by the collar and drag her away while Nahl and Rowland draw Uhla away. I find their rivalry amusing because these two began as such opposites, one focused on living her life to help others while the other to help herself.

Yet, they have been growing more similar under my influence, that of fighting for something more while also growing for themselves. I don't take credit since, after all, I wasn't aiming for this result and I brought them sadness in different shapes.

“How do you feel?” I ask Idali as we make our way through the street towards the tournament.

“Odd, fidgety.” She mutters. “It feels like I should be limping because my leg hurts like a horn-dog but I'm not.”

“We took our time, it still hasn't healed?” I probe.

“Not entirely.” She mutters. “At least I'll scar atop other scars so it isn't too bad.”

“Did Uhla...” I trail off.

“No, when I took the bandage off all there was to see were crusts.” She says with a grimace.

“Why are you trying to delay?” I ask, returning to the subject at hand.

“It'll take months until the Queen hears what I did after receiving the news, I'd have accomplished my mission by then so it's fine, right?” She nervously asks.

“It's difficult to tell.” I honestly admit. “I would say there will be consequences depending on what we end up doing.”

“As you said, their spies can only be few in numbers and placed in important locations so they won't be able to find out what exactly I did. Altenburg might be off-limits but all they'll know is that we traveled the wilderness to reach Kruzser while getting into scuffles with Nobles which creates chaos the Rykz wish for.” Idali argues.

“Look, I'm not saying you're wrong and I'm honestly glad to have you.” I frankly tell her. “But it still feels like you're justifying a decision you've already made rather than looking at facts.”

“... That might be true.” She says with a thin smile. “I'm not as courageous as you, I don't think I have it in me to show up and ask to meet a high-ranking official on behalf of the Rykz.”

“You don't necessarily have to say you're acting on their behalf.” I tell her with a thin smile. “I wouldn't lie, considering you are working for them, but you can omit the information and say naught other than you have a peace offer from the Rykz to relay.”

“What if they imprison me?” She questions while fidgeting with her blond hair.

“The Shades and Cenwalh took it very seriously when Liz was named as a friend of the Rykz. I doubt the Empire wishes to capture a diplomatic messenger they don't know works for the Rykz. For all they'll be able to tell, you'll have no information to give them and arresting you will have the result of alienating the Rykz.” I argue. “It would be a huge unnecessary risk for the Emperor to cut off all diplomatic ties to the Rykz over uncertain gains that rely on both you having the knowledge and revealing it to them.”

“See, I can't think like that. This is why I need you.” Idali says with a long sigh.

“You didn't think about any of this before agreeing, did you?” I question with a corner smile.

“I did but... things got very real, very quickly.” She gripes.

“Let me make them even more real then.” I speak up. “If you pick the wrong person to make contact with, they may not think logically or rationally and immediately capture you simply because you're related to the Rykz.”

“You're not helping, Liz.” She whispers the last word in a tiny but tense voice.

“On the contrary, I am.” I affirm. “I'm teaching you what I can in case I'm not there when you have to act. I may be injured, or sick, or otherwise occupied hunting down Wraith.”

“Speak of which, you sure he'll be in Kruzser?” Idali asks curiously.

“Don't try to change the subject.” I reply.

“We're going to have to anyway, we're there.” She points ahead to the crowd gathered around stalls and barricades separating them from the arena.

“We'll talk later then.” I acknowledge. “He'll be there for the simple reason that Leomi will be, Cenwalh is too prideful to assassinate Leomi's supporters when they're under his command. It would reflect badly on him even if he isn't accused of having them killed.”

“Not to mention you'll be going there.” Idali notes.

“I honestly cannot tell if Cenwalh wants me dead or not, I'm pretty sure he would try to kill me from sheer frustration if we met but, otherwise, it doesn't seem like he's even attempting to end either of my lives.” I comment. “But then again I have been on the move so he's never known where I am at any given point.”

Idali nods and we fall silent as we march into the crowd. People split before us as we head forth because we're both armed, most are quite attentive to us but don't look afraid, likely seeing us at contestants.

I exchange a glance with her and to have her follow me. I look around and figure out the quickest way out of town is to the north so I lead her along the barricade to settle there. Liz starts idly spinning our umbrella, already half-asleep.

“If things go south, go north.” I humorously whisper to Idali.

“Sure, that makes a lot of sense.” She replies with a smile and a roll of her eyes.

“I need you to secure our retreat while I extract them.” I explain.

“I would rather go myself.” Idali murmurs.

“What about your leg?” I ask.

“I told you, feels like I should be limping but I'm not restricted in movement. Besides, it'll take away the pain if I get into a fight.” She replies.

“Alright, then, fine.” I say with a shrug.

I turn to finally take a look at this tourney. There are large tents on either side of the arena where both challengers are prepared for the fight. I've heard they allow a single portion of flow for each duel.

There are colored white, red, and blue triangular flags flapping from every possible location the organizing house could hang them from. The top of the tents, the barricades, the beer stalls, and so on.

The temporary wooden spectator stand for high born is located with its back to the cliff, they are looking down on both the arena and the crowd from above. It takes some self-control not to break the base and shove the entire thing down the precipice.

Especially because their best defense is likely a disruption construct which makes it impossible to use a defensive one to strengthen the structure. The idea of all these arrogant Nobles falling to their deaths brings a grin to my lips.

Or, they're using a defensive construct in which case it would take a bit more effort on my part but I could still break it by forcing the runic construct to saturate the wood until it shatters.

“You're making a scary smile there, Jess.” Idali speaks up. “What dark ideas did that crazy mind of yours come up with?” She eagerly questions.

“I'm the picture of peace and innocence, I would never caution unjustified violence.” I protest.

“You argues, literally less than an hour ago, that killing is a valid permanent solution to many problems.” She notes with an amused expression. “Is this going to be another case of self-offense.”

“Preemptive retaliation over them defending themselves from my future justified assault.” I correct.

“That sounds like a paradox.” Idali tells me. “You can't retaliate if you're the aggressor.”

“I can if my attack is self-defensive in nature.” I note.

“Alright, enough.” She exclaims with a laugh. “They're looking at us weird now.”

“They're just people, they won't try to make trouble unless we force their hands.” I reassure her. “The vast majority don't feel involved, it's to the point where they don't merely defer to their Lieges but don't even think about interfering in issues that don't directly involve them or their communities. Those that do, at the same time, are the most subservient who'll entirely not doubt their 'betters' have things under control.”

“Gloomy view.” Idali remarks.

Two people walk out of the tents, wielding blunt steel swords. They're wearing helmets and gambesons, a padded cloth armor that is quite effective in many situations.

“It's in these situations that I realize how dangerous our spars are.” Idali notes. “We use live weapons merely to train while they're rolling themselves up to fight with training blades.”

“That's because it's much better to learn how to face a sharp weapon with a balance of appropriate courage and healthy fear than to learn how to take a blow that'll cut you in half in real combat.” I counter with a sneer.

As expected the fight that follows is boring to the extreme for me. The crowd's cheers make it especially difficult to watch the slugging match. Fortunately, the victor is called after he lands a decisive blow on his opponent's chest.

In reality, this victor would have bled to death or fallen unconscious after receiving three glancing hits to his limbs trying to land that final blow. I find the combat ridiculous and their skill unsatisfactory even compared to a Rykz scout or warrior who can be outmaneuvered in a dozen exchanges by any competent soldier.

The two fighters retreat and two more enter the arena in similar gear to repeat the same kind of dance, this time one of them wields an axe with a small head and handle which is especially effective in melee while the other a standard one-handed sword.

To no one's surprise, or at least not anyone skillful, the one using a blade decides to keep the other at a distance thanks to his advantage in reach. Sadly, the man's footwork is utterly dreadful and he almost loses several times merely because he trips on himself or crosses his legs. In the end, he manages to tire the axe wielder out and obtains the win.

“This is way sadder than I thought it would be.” Idali comments.

“I'm pretty sure anyone competent was snatched by the previous Duchess.” I say.

“Hey! You two better shut it!” A spectator calls us out.

“What's that?” Idali snaps to the side.

I raise my umbrella to throw a lazy glance at the woman who spoke up. She's shaped like an hourglass, with large thighs and breasts but comparatively thin waist. I grimace. Can she even breathe with that tight of a corset? I give the woman a flat unimpressed look before turning back to the arena.

“Thought you said people didn't care.” Idali gibes.

“There are always exceptions, and we did speak a bit aloud while disparaging the fighters.” I reply, unconcerned.

“And now, before the quarterfinals, the melee!” The announcer I've so far ignores bellows.

“That's the trial for peasants, right?” Idali asks.

“Should be, it's a large scale melee if I wasn't misled.” I inform her. “Four winners who then duel for the final victor.”

Rowland steps out of the far tent in the arena wearing a shoddy gambeson that must smell terrible and a leather cap for a helmet, he has a large wooden claymore in hand.

Those around him are similarly equipped with borrowed gear and their wooden weapons of choice. In total, forty peasants, and I suspect apprentices, gather on the sand.

“If he doesn't win this, he'll never live it down.” Idali notes.

“None of you are that bad.” I say, confused.

“No, but you are.” She replies with a smirk.

I chuckle and shake my head. The melee begins and Rowland, doing the perfect opposite of what I would, not only keeps his distance from the fight but puts some distance between it and himself.

It's smart, and a perfect tactic if others don't decide to gang up on him later. Though, even if they do, his choice isn't necessarily bad as long as he's skillful enough to win if it happens.

“Boring, but at least he has a plan.” I grumble.

“No sense risking getting struck in the back of the head before his task even starts.” Idali comments.

As we watch the fight, I compliment a few fighters for being far more creative with their staffs than the soldiers and small Nobles from before despite likely learning their skills playing around with their shepherd crooks.

“Strangers, and amateurs.” The nosy woman grumbles and punctuates the complaint with a loud snort.

We utter ignore her which has for effect of briefly infuriating her before stopping and panting because she ran out of breath. In the end, Rowland seizes the victory by bashing his way through the bruised winners of the melee with next to no subtlety.

“I'm pretty sure he could have done that from the start and won.” I say with a sigh as a press my palm on my face. “Literally no skill involved.”

“Reminds me a bit of you.” Idali comments.

My style is brutally refined, this is amateurish. I chuckle. The last standing four, two of which took hard blows from Rowland, split to return to the tents in pairs and rest for a few minutes as well as replenish their flow.

Two unknowns walk out and fight before Rowland has his turn. In the end, he rises on top of the rest without having taken a single injury. I find myself slightly disappointed I won't be able to make much fun of him with this.

“Rowland of Hafjord, winner of the melee bout!” The crier yells. “Kneel and make your request to our Lord Count!”

“This could be fun.” I perk up in interest.

“Before declaring me winner, I wish to follow the path the previous champion took and challenge Lord Jerome!” Rowland erupts.

“Nice trick to avoid kneeling but definitely a boring call.” I complain.

“You didn't tell him to overturn the town, after all.” Idali notes.

“Still, it would have been a nice gift to make.” I pout.

The Lordling sitting in his large chair atop the spectator stand straightens up and throws a glance to our target, his son. The kid is about twenty and wearing a strict tabard. He has deep black combed hair that almost shine and a square jaw.

“He doesn't really look the part.” Idali complains.

“Neither did Liz, until she became the very picture of destruction.” I tell her with a mad cackle.

“Doubt this one will stay in memories beyond the year.” She notes.

“You have quite the guts to dare call back to that sad event.” The Lord coldly utters but holds still to leave it to his rising son to deal with the disturbance.

“You think yourself worthy of challenging me?” The Count's kid mockingly asks.

“I'll stake my honor on victory.” Rowland utters coldly.

“You'll stake far more than that for following this disgraced peasant's example instead of seizing the glory you could have earned.” Jerome seethes in a piercing voice that carries.

“So be it.” Rowland confidently responds.

The Lord lion's steps down the stand and lands in the sand, raising a cloud of dust. Rowland flips around, completely ignoring the man to head in the tent to get his gear.

Jerome scowls but does the same, heading for the other tent with a slow arrogant gait. The crowd, who fell silent at Rowland's proclamation, explodes in cheers for their Liege and demeaning comments for the insulting low born.

“Did he insult them? Did I miss it?” I intently ask, worried I briefly fell asleep during the ordeal.

“Calm down, Jess, he didn't.” Idali reassures me with a laugh. Her expression turns serious. “Seems like duels to the death are common enough here, that's entirely against the Empire's law and also the Kingdom's.”

“I'm rather surprised I haven't seen a single Templar.” I acknowledge while glancing around. “Have you?”

“No, but one of them might be in the hospital, that tent over there.” She points to a large extension at the side of the high born stands.

“Keep the healers near enough if you need them but not so close you can smell the injured.” I note. “If the Templars are there and haven't cared about this, then the town's Temple is effectively subordinate to the Noble house, never thought I would wish Siegfried here. I do want to witness what that old man would do.”

“Quiet, it's going to start.” A spectator barks at us.

“What is?” I question, baffled by the looks of expectation on people's faces that goes beyond their enthusiasm for the previous fights.