Volume One: Forest Knight, Chapter 83: The Clever Rebuke of Sister Myura

After Jessica had gone, Berrion stood where he was for a while, steadying the storm of feeling that had just surged through him. Then he stepped out with Bran and returned to the banquet hall. On the way back, though his heart had grown calm again, he could not stop wondering: was it truly possible for him to be with her?

He thought the whole way, and at last understood that all he could do now was not betray the lady’s feelings and strive with all his might. In his former life, he had counted as something of a proud young man who, at a young age, earned a handsome annual income in a certain new first-tier city, buying his own house and car. Yet the life of the drinks industry had been, in some measure, hazy and aimless, and he had never found a true purpose in life.

Now that he had come to this era, though it was a foolish and backward world, it had still granted him a chance to struggle. If he dared to think and dared to act, there was no reason he could not rise to a lofty station, have his name entered into the pages of history, and be sung of by generations to come.

If he could achieve unmatched merit, then the difference in status between himself and Miss Jessica would no longer be a problem, and he would naturally not fail the lady’s regard.

Even if reality became history, history became legend, and legend became myth, so long as his name and his great deeds endured, then this life would not have been lived in vain.

Not long after he returned to the banquet hall, that Sister Myra also arrived. And she did not come alone; behind her followed a tall religious knight. Men like him were often younger sons or illegitimate sons of noble blood who had no inheritance rights. Their parents sent them to churches and monasteries, where they became warriors tasked with protecting clergy and guarding holy places.

These religious knights, growing up entirely within sacred precincts, loathed with particular intensity all people and matters connected to heresy. And because they had devoted themselves to martial training from childhood, they were often superior in skill to knights raised in the secular world, and in battle they fought with ruthless fearlessness.

Today, Sister Myra had brought such a knight, one who looked formidable enough at a glance. She surely meant no good by it. The moment Berrion saw her, he quickly turned his face away, hoping not to be noticed.

But a noblewoman seated beside the table next to his saw Sister Myra and called out to her loudly. Myra turned this way at once and spotted Berrion.

With a cold smile, she brought the tall, broad-shouldered religious knight over to Berrion’s table. After greeting the noblewoman first and conferring briefly with those nearby, she changed places and sat at the same long table as Berrion, directly across from him.

Seeing Sister Myra glare at him with such malice, Berrion felt helpless. There was nothing he could do. With so many nobles present, he could hardly deal with that overbearing old nun. He could only pretend not to see her and keep his head down in silence.

Fortunately, he did not have to remain in that state for long before Count Griver and his family of three arrived. Once the host had taken his place, everyone hurried to rise and pay their respects. Count Griver and his lady responded with warm nods.

"My friends, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s banquet. On this beautiful autumn night, under a splendid moon, I am deeply honored to be gathered together with people as kind and upright as yourselves!

Come, dear friends, let us raise our cups. Ah, this is the finest Salion wine. We must not let such wine and such scenery go to waste. Come, friends, let us drink together!"

After taking his seat, Count Griver first raised a cup and delivered a brief, witty toast.

While the count was speaking, Jessica, seated above, stole a glance at Berrion. At that moment, Berrion was also looking at her. The two met eyes and smiled before looking away.

That shared smile stirred a sweet warmth in Berrion’s heart. A single smile, a single gesture from that girl, could so move his soul. It seemed he truly had fallen in love.

That knowing, intimate smile was caught in full by Sister Myra, who sat opposite Berrion. In her eyes mingled personal hostility and annoyance at the failure of the task entrusted to her master, and her gaze shot toward Berrion like a thousand venomous needles.

How could he not feel it when someone stared at him with such venom? Berrion also sensed Myra’s profound hatred. If she could, that old nun named Myra would probably like nothing better than to tear him apart and swallow him whole.

But Berrion knew that this old woman was not only a nuisance to Miss Jessica; she was a nuisance to him as well. He had to eliminate that nauseating old nun before she could return to Valonbray and report to the duchess.

Tonight, Sister Myra had brought a religious knight who looked quite capable. Her purpose was likely to make him lose face. It seemed she had not yet reported his ambiguous relation with Jessica to the duchess.

No doubt she meant to get rid of him first, then claim credit before the duchess. Otherwise, if her scheme failed and she later used the duchess’s hand to eliminate Berrion, she would only have the merit of informing on him, which would not count for much.

A schemer like Sister Myra must already have thought everything through. A person so selfish to the core would certainly have weighed every advantage and disadvantage.

Berrion wondered whether Myra was going to have this man challenge him to a duel again. Though he was not without confidence in defeating that religious knight, every time he fought he would offend another skilled nobleman. That was hardly ideal.

Berrion was not afraid of making enemies, especially if doing so could raise his reputation and make others dare not look down on him. But if a man wished to build something lasting, he certainly needed more friends and fewer enemies. In any case, Berrion did not want to add yet another foe.

Yet reality is never moved by personal will. The more one wants to avoid something, the more likely it is to come, leaving one helpless.

Sure enough, not long after the banquet began, Sister Myra stood. She struck her copper cup with the silver spoon on the table, producing a loud ring. When the sound died away, everyone looked at her in confusion, wanting to know what she intended.

"Sister Myra, what is the matter? Is the food and drink not to your taste?" Count Griver said, his face darkening as he stared at the old nun.

Already, because of Sir Sorg’s despicable conduct, the count had transferred his dislike to Sister Myra as well. Now she was making such a rude scene at his own banquet; she truly did not know her place.

Myra knew her conduct was improper, but in order to recover her lost dignity, to suppress, and even eliminate, Berrion, she would not hesitate to offend Count Griver and openly challenge Berrion.

"Honored Count Griver, my lord, please forgive my rudeness." As she spoke, Sister Myra curtsied to the count.

"The reason for my discourtesy is entirely this wicked knight before me, who shelters a witch. Not only is he in league with heretics, he also dares to employ sorcery!

At the trial by combat, this Sir Berrion used vile witchcraft to make Sir Sorg’s warhorse die on the spot, and he even bewitched Sir Sorg into ignoring the code of chivalry and attacking from behind.

Sitting at the same table as such a man makes me truly ill, as though countless leeches were writhing over my body.

Oh heavens, great Fire God, you must bless us and severely punish this wicked knight. Cast him down into hell and let him be roasted in endless flames of poison fire!"

After speaking to Count Griver in a mild voice, Sister Myra turned and shrieked hysterically at Berrion.

Seeing the old nun in such a rage, Berrion did not grow angry. On the contrary, he sat there with complete calm, neither hurrying to defend himself nor showing the slightest agitation.

His composure surprised everyone. If this had been any other knight, especially a young one, he would probably have exploded long ago. Yet Berrion could remain so unshaken.

This drew admiring looks from many nobles, including Count Griver. After all, for ordinary people, reaching thirty and keeping one’s emotions steady already counted for something. But to remain unruffled in youth, to meet events without panic, was an indispensable quality for accomplishing great things.

Seeing Berrion seated there without even deigning to look at her, the flames of Myra’s fury burned hotter still. She planted both hands on the table and glared fiercely at him.

"Sir Berrion, do you dare to face another trial by combat? Fight this brave religious knight beside me, a man without defeat!"

Berrion looked at her as one might look at a fool and gave a cold laugh. Hearing that laugh, Sister Myra grew even more enraged. The tall religious knight beside her slammed a fist onto the table, and the heavy blow sent cups and vessels jumping into the air.

He rose and shouted at Berrion, "You shameless little wretch, stand up and fight me. Do you still call yourself a knight?"

"Yes, that is nothing like a knight should be. In our eyes, a knight is someone who dares face any challenger. What an utterly shameless fellow," chimed in a fat nobleman nearby.

"Hahaha!" Berrion laughed aloud. "So a man who dares face any challenger is a good knight, is he? I do not think so. Do not use your hypocritical standards of morality to demand things of others.

And do not talk to me about shame or no shame. Why don’t you try using that mouth of yours to make my rear end stand up? We’ll see whether your mouth wears out first, or my backside gets sore first."

At Berrion’s mention of "mouth and backside," the whole room burst into laughter. Even Count Griver, who had been serious the entire time, could not help laughing. He quickly raised his cup and pretended to drink in order to cover it, unwilling to let so many people see.

As for the nobleman who had jeered along with Sister Myra, his face was now alternately green and white with shame and fury. If there had been a hole in the floor, he would have wanted to crawl into it. To be humiliated so greatly before everyone was truly disgraceful beyond measure.

Having silenced that busybody, Berrion knew no other fool would likely rise to speak for Sister Myra. After all, these powerful people still cared very much about their own dignity.

Then Berrion turned back to Sister Myra and said, "Why should I continue with any trial by combat? On that day, in the presence of Count Griver, so many upright nobles, and common folk alike, I defeated the vile bear-slayer. Was that not enough?

You must understand: the result of a trial by combat is the will of the great Fire God. Yet you dare question that will. In my view, you are the evil witch. You are the one who ought to be thrown onto the pyre and burned alive, you shameless heretic."

"You! You! You..." Sister Myra was left speechless by Berrion’s few words. She had not expected him to seize upon her questioning of the trial by combat and accuse her of doubting the Fire God’s will. That was a monstrous sin, one she could not afford to bear.

And Berrion’s words even won nods of approval from the nobles present.

Seeing that she could not provoke Berrion into taking the challenge through words, Sister Myra exchanged a glance with the religious knight beside her, who had long been seething with anger. At once, the knight sprang up and thrust out his broad hand, about to seize Berrion seated opposite him.