Chapter Thirteen: The Knight's Battle

The Ceremony of Choosing the King began at dawn, when the first rays of sunlight washed over the land. Countless people gathered for the occasion, whether or not they truly believed themselves fit to be king. Each one clung to the hope, “Perhaps luck will favor me and I’ll be chosen.” Yet, inevitably, disappointment awaited them all. Old free knights and young noble heirs alike stepped forward to try their hand at drawing the sword. They ascended the platform brimming with hope and descended burdened by disappointment.

“Lance! Look, he breathes fire!” Toria tugged Lance toward a circus troupe to watch their performance. Even though Lance wasn’t interested in such things, he accompanied Toria, knowing this was her last day as Toria. Tomorrow, she would become Arthur Pendragon, King of Britain. But soon, her attention was captured by something else.

“Lance, look—there’s a knight’s duel!” Though tonight she would become a knight rather than a mere squire, from childhood she had aspired to knighthood, and was drawn to the duels of knights who, truth be told, were not stronger than she herself. Lance followed her over, but just then, a heated argument reached their ears.

“Boy, you dare call yourself a knight? Who knows which minor noble you’re descended from, waving that battered sword around. You’re a disgrace to knighthood.” The quarrel was loud and clear to both Lance and Toria.

“My father was a true knight! I won’t allow you to insult his honor. I challenge you to a duel!” To Lance, duels were merely a pastime for idle men. If you bore someone a grudge, why not simply kill them? Why the need for a duel—was it to showcase chivalry? Of all the knights with true chivalric spirit he’d met, none had ever partaken in a duel. So he harbored little fondness for such contests. Yet, for reasons unknown, when he saw the young man calling for a duel, he felt no distaste—only curiosity as to whether the boy would prevail.

Coincidentally, the duelists who’d just used the platform had finished. The two disputants climbed up, and it was then Lance got a good look at the youth who’d piqued his curiosity.

Golden hair flowed down to his shoulders—why is it that Gawain, Bedivere, and the King all have golden hair? Perhaps the author has a penchant for blondes—gray eyes, a gray cloak, and simple white knight’s armor. Everything about him spoke of modest means, yet there was an undeniable fervor for battle in his bearing. His opponent, by contrast, looked every inch the nouveau riche, clad in silver filigree armor that, in Lance’s eyes, was more suited for a gallery or as a mirror than for combat. Even his sword was all ornament, lacking substance.

“Hey, young man, do you need a sword? I can lend you mine,” Lance called up to the youth.

“Thank you, sir, but I believe I can defeat him with the sword my father gave me!” Though the boy’s words might have seemed rude to others, Lance only found him more admirable for it.

“Let’s begin!” the youth declared to his opponent.

“Hmph!” The other seemed utterly unfazed.

“My name is Bedivere. Let’s begin!” It was his first duel; nervousness made him forget his manners, but he still announced his name. Lance, standing below, froze at the name—he hadn’t expected to encounter the one renowned as the most loyal of knights.

“Who will serve as our judge?” Clearly, the young noble cared little for his opponent. After stating his own name, he immediately sought a judge. Without one, the duel would be but a private affair, and a loss would bear little consequence. He wanted to make the lesson sting and thus insisted on a formal duel. As for the name of this extra? Frankly, it wasn’t worth remembering for a walk-on.

“I’ll do it,” Lance volunteered, stepping up to the platform. At first, no one had recognized him due to his helmet, but when they saw his attire, they realized who he was.

“Is it truly Sir Lance?” The young noble hadn’t expected such a small duel to draw the attention of a legend—the youngest free knight, the infamous Blood Knight. Now, he began to worry about the impending battle.

“I doubt anyone would dare impersonate me, would they? My identity hardly matters. What interests me is your duel.” Lance bore no ill will towards the young noble. Though a bit arrogant, at least he’d accepted the challenge instead of relying on status to intimidate. That alone made him far better than most noble scions.

“Let’s begin.” The young man grew truly serious now. If earlier he’d only sought to vent his ill mood, now he regarded his opponent as a worthy rival.

Bedivere nodded, ready.

“Begin!” Lance announced, and the duel commenced.

There’s little worth describing about the fight itself. At this point, Bedivere was not yet among the twelve greatest of the Round Table; he was simply a youth newly departed from home. While he lacked brilliance, his dedication to the basics was so profound it made even Lance feel abashed. Since arriving in this world, Lance, too, had trained hard, but often he’d relied on raw strength in battle. Bedivere’s performance reminded him of the true value of fundamentals. In legend, Bedivere was famed as the most loyal knight of the King, but had few exploits to his name. Lancelot slew dragons; the Sun Knight could triple his strength at certain times—yet Bedivere had no such tales. Lance had always found that odd, but now he understood: Bedivere lacked superhuman might, yet stood firmly atop the pinnacle of humanity.

“The match is decided! The winner is Bedivere!” When Lance returned to himself, the duel had ended. Bedivere wore no pride in victory, and the young noble merely sighed, showing no sign of disgrace.

“Don’t be discouraged, young man. Tell me your name. I believe you’ll become an excellent knight one day,” Lance said, leading both young men down from the platform. The defeated youth faced no scorn; though he lost, both fighters outclassed the common onlookers.

“Lance, didn’t you hear just now? His name is Gaheris,” Toria said, intending to pull Lance away for more sightseeing, but frowned at his words.

Lance was utterly charmed by her reaction. Were there fewer people about, he might have ruffled her hair like an overindulgent uncle. Instead, he pinched her nose and said, “Heh, I was a bit distracted after hearing the other’s introduction.” He smiled as he spoke.

“You’re hopeless,” Toria said, exasperated.

“All right, let me introduce myself again. My name is Gaheris.” At that, Lance recalled exactly who this young man before him was.

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