Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 82: Reunion in the Little Garden

Thank you to Peaceful Sword for the generous gift of three monthly tickets. I am deeply moved by the support for such a niche book. And thanks to World-renowned, for your unwavering recommendations all along—my heartfelt gratitude!

At the entrance to the banquet hall, a servant opened the invitation in Berion’s hand, checked it against the corresponding register, and loudly announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, Court Knight, Lord of Norland Castle, Deputy Sheriff of the County, Champion of the Trial by Combat, Warrior blessed by the Fire God, Protector of innocent maidens, Nemesis of dishonorable knights, Sir Berion Tuck has arrived! Let us welcome him with applause.”

At that moment, everyone inside the hall paused their activities and turned their gaze upon him in unison, making Berion feel slightly embarrassed—being scrutinized by so many at once. Fortunately, after a brief moment, the guests began to applaud together. Berion acknowledged their welcome and, guided by the servant, took his seat.

Unlike the banquet at Viscount Merry’s residence, where, after the applause, Berion was promptly ignored, this time, as soon as he sat down, many people approached him to converse and exchange pleasantries.

It seemed that one’s reputation truly had to be earned. If you possessed some skill but disregarded etiquette, people would think you lacked sense and weren’t sociable. Though they might not cause you trouble openly, they would unite to ostracize and exclude you. However, if you displayed extraordinary ability, even if you ignored these worldly rules and rituals, none would deem you ill-mannered or unsociable—instead, they’d see such individuality as the hallmark of a talented person. Across all strata, most people are like this; respect and applause always belong to the strong and the victorious.

Honor and status—these treasures of human society—can only be obtained through relentless pursuit. If you do not strive for them, you will never possess them, not in life nor in death, and no one will bestow them upon you posthumously. Such is the plain truth of this world; if you resent it, you might as well challenge fate itself.

Responding to the cordial smiles of others, Berion smiled warmly in return. Regardless of these people’s intentions in dealing with him, he played along, conversing and laughing as appropriate. Having been a fixture in the drinking circles of his previous life, Berion was practiced at these social games and adept at handling the false smiles of nobles.

As Berion sat, chatting and laughing, Bran came over and gently tapped him, leaning in to whisper a few words. Berion excused himself to those he was conversing with, saying he needed to step out.

At this time, several powerful viscounts and barons had also arrived, drawing the crowd’s attention. Berion’s departure went unnoticed.

Led by Bran, Berion exited through a small side door of the banquet hall. Outside, he found Jesse’s maid, Pru, who greeted him warmly and said, “Sir Berion, please follow me. My mistress awaits you in the little garden.”

Taking a path between two buildings, Pru guided Berion and Bran to a small garden within the Count of Grib’s estate. Jesse stood there in a long blue velvet dress, gazing out at the sea bathed in the sunset’s glow.

Hearing footsteps, she turned and, seeing Berion, smiled happily. Pru then drew Bran off to the pavilion at the garden’s entrance, leaving the two alone.

Often, it is like this: two people have much to say to each other, but when the time comes, they find themselves at a loss for words, unsure where to begin or how to proceed.

Berion and Jesse smiled at each other, standing together for a while, until Jesse broke the not-quite-awkward silence. “The dress I made myself fits you well,” she said, then blinked and added, “It looks good—you look good, and the dress looks good.”

Blushing slightly from her praise, Berion took a deep breath, reminding himself not to be so nervous in front of her. “Thank you, Miss Jesse. I like this dress very much; your craftsmanship is excellent.”

Jesse laughed behind her hand, and Berion realized he was being far too straightforward—how could he speak to a young lady so plainly? He felt a pang of regret.

Fortunately, Jesse did not find Berion lacking in charm; instead, she thought his candor adorable. She had met many young noblemen—most were slick and glib, seemingly gentlemanly and adept at pleasing women. Yet their intentions were always simple: either to seduce, or to gain advantage through marriage.

As the only daughter of a top-tier noble family in Brick, Jesse had long been the target of many who sought to marry her and thereby acquire the wealth accumulated by the Yvickshor city and the Grib family over generations. Since coming of age, she had been especially cautious, instinctively repelled by any young nobleman who proactively approached her.

But after meeting Berion, she discovered he was unlike most others she had known, which sparked her interest in him. After witnessing his conduct in the trial by combat, her impression of him grew even more favorable—a brave, upright, intelligent knight who valued his promises as sacred. Despite the vast gulf between their family backgrounds, she knew that overtly showing affection would only harm him.

While Berion was feeling frustrated, Jesse, watching him, thought for a moment and then invited him to sit with her and watch the sunset over Yvickshor Bay.

Jesse poured Berion a cup of chamomile tea. Looking into the distance, she said, “Sir Berion, everyone says your victory in the tournament was thanks to the Fire God’s blessing. I believe the Fire God favors you, but more than that, I believe you defeated that villain Sorg by your own skill.”

Berion sipped the refreshing tea, feeling much revitalized. He followed Jesse’s gaze to the horizon and replied, “Overall, it was luck. If I’d stuck to jousting, I never could have beaten him.”

“So, is it true, as Sorg claims everywhere, that you used some cunning trick to win?” Jesse asked curiously.

Berion shook his head. “If we’re speaking of dishonorable tactics, my little ruse is nothing compared to his—after I spared his life, he tried to stab me in the back. Nothing could be more despicable than that.”

Jesse nodded. “Indeed, such a shameless man, yet he dares to slander a knight as honorable as you. No wonder the Fire God forsook him.”

“I did kill his horse—a poor warhorse—and left him crippled. I shamed him twice in a year. He has every reason to hate me,” Berion mused.

“He deserved his injuries and humiliation. As for the innocent horse, it simply needed a better master. If it hadn’t died, it would have been you and Pru instead. I know the difference,” Jesse hurried to reassure him, seeing his sadness.

“Thank you, Miss Jesse. You are truly considerate,” Berion said gratefully.

Jesse smiled gently. “It’s me who should thank you. Without you, Pru would have burned to death, and Mother Myra would have tightened her grip on me.”

“I’ve heard something about Sister Myra—apparently she represents the Duchess,” Berion said.

Jesse sighed in melancholy. “Pru says she envies me, born into a noble family, living the life she dreams of, never worrying about food or clothing, nor about being bullied.

But even someone like me has her troubles. I can be willful, but only in front of Pru and Sir Sandiman and their kind. With my parents, I must always be a quiet, proper lady, because I am a count’s daughter, and must constantly mind whether my manners meet the standards of noblewomen.

Marriage is worse—since the moment I was born, people have cared about my marriage. Now I’m fifteen and eligible, and everyone wants to meddle. They don’t want me to be happy; they want this wealthy city.”

As Jesse spoke, her emotions became more intense, her voice filled with anger and discontent. Berion listened, then rose and walked a few steps forward for a better view of the sea.

He said, “For most of us, the burdens we carry and the feelings we long for are hard to balance; we must weigh the pain and benefits and choose. Life rarely allows us freedom, but if given the chance, anyone would want to fight for a situation that satisfies their heart.”

“So, for someone who places hope in you, would you fight for them?” Jesse also stood, coming to his side. The two stood together, both gazing at the sea.

By now, the sun was half below the horizon; a cool breeze lifted Jesse’s hair and fluttered her skirt. Looking at the lovely girl beside him, pondering her question, Berion replied firmly, “Of course I would. We live not only for ourselves, but also for those who matter most to us. To strive for her—what is there to hesitate about?”

Hearing his answer, Jesse’s eyes shone with a new light. She gathered her courage and said, “That’s all I need, Sir Berion. I can wait for a man who, in my parents’ eyes, has the status and strength to keep the Yvickshor family independent, and can give me happiness.”

“Aren’t you afraid I might fail, Miss Jesse? If I fall short, I’ll waste your precious years,” Berion asked.

Jesse laughed softly. “More than losing my best years, I fear spending my life in pain and regret. Don’t you fear that too?”

Berion nodded, agreeing with her.

“When I was little, I wanted to learn swordplay. My father taught me himself, and I always feared that my efforts would be fruitless. He told me, as long as you try, even if you don’t succeed, you’ll have no regrets. It’s better than doing nothing at all,” Jesse said.

“Now that chaos is descending, war is imminent, and opportunities abound. Advancing in rank and expanding territory isn’t so difficult.” Fearing Jesse might think him boastful, Berion quickly added, “Chaos is the ladder to rise.”

“Chaos is the ladder to rise?” Jesse echoed thoughtfully, then exclaimed, “That’s truly insightful, Sir Berion.”

Then she bit her lip, leaned closer to Berion, and whispered in his ear, “I believe in you, Sir Berion.”

As she drew near, the subtle fragrance from the girl made Berion feel entranced, but he soon regained composure, realizing his ears were burning. Jesse, now standing aside, smiled at his shy embarrassment, feeling bashful herself.

Jesse said to Berion, “The banquet is about to begin. I’ll be waiting to dance with you.” With that, she turned and left.