Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

"Go."

As if pardoned, the man fled for his life, leaving only the door he had slammed open swaying behind him.

"Ladies and gentlemen!! Welcome to the Great Knight Territory Knights' Major Tournament! I'm your host, Mob! After two rounds of qualifiers, a total of 52 knights have entered the main event! Today, they will once again shed blood and sweat for an invitation to the finals! Who will earn that qualification? Let's wait and see!"

"Everyone, take out your terminals, support your favorite knights, and win generous prizes!!!"

"Contestants, enter the arena!!!"

The people's fervent tide showed no sign of stopping, their cheers echoing throughout the arena.

"Go, Plastic Knight! I bet everything on you winning!!!"

"Left Hand, show them what you've got!!!!"

"Rust Copper!!! Tear them apart!!!!!"

"In the first round, the contestants will be divided into four groups of thirteen for a free-for-all! Eliminating one opponent earns three points! The top six scorers advance!!!"

"It's started," Claude murmured, though it was unclear what he meant.

The blonde female knight instinctively glanced at him.

A New Beginning: Rising to Fame

The sunlight was brilliant without being harsh. Dew clung to the arena grass as it welcomed a group of guests. Yet they were destined to be unwelcome guests, destined to spill blood across the grass, trample it beneath their feet, and leave the neatly trimmed lawn in ruins.

Claude tightened his grip on his lance as he walked at the rear of the group. Dew soaked his surcoat, staining the black fabric an even deeper shade. Like it's been soaked in blood, Claude thought.

The audience's cheers continued—they would never quiet down.

The thirteen of them had drawn this field. It had a vast expanse of grassland, highly suited for ranged knights and Kuranta knights to show their skills.

They walked to their designated positions and waited. Thirteen zones formed a circle with a radius of twenty meters, spaced far enough apart to give everyone time to react.

"All knights have entered the arena. Fifty-second countdown, begin!!"

"5! 4! 3! 2!"

"1!!!!"

His breathing was loud and damp inside his helmet, moisture streaming from the vents. He lowered his body, gripped his lance, and tucked his smooth, silky tail low. Claude launched his charge. His powerful legs, clad in iron boots, tore up the turf as he sprinted forward, the scenery racing past his eyes.

A ranged knight had just crouched down to load his crossbow when he heard heavy, rapid footsteps. He looked up to find the cold gleam of a lance tip already before his eyes. So fast!!! The thought had barely crossed his mind when the lance tip flicked, shattering the intricate compound crossbow. The shaft spun in an arc, and the striking head beneath the blade slammed into the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. In that instant, Claude did not slow down at all and charged toward the next opponent.

One strike, then gone. Never missing. Only after he brought down the third opponent did the encirclement targeting Claude from the very start finally take shape.

"Should I say I expected this?" Claude looked at the circle of nine knights around him. From the beginning, this match had been aimed at him. It was not a team free-for-all, but him against the other twelve knights. When he rejected the corporations' offers, he had known what he would face. This thirteen-man free-for-all was the best opportunity to rig things, with a perfect excuse—the knights believed he was too strong and had decided to eliminate him first.

The three ranged knights who posed a threat had already been dealt with. Now, let him see how determined the rest were.

His lance swept out, forcing back three men. With a twist of his wrist, the lance point shattered one man's knee, then flicked sideways and sliced open another's flank.

He stepped back, evading a massive axe that came down past the tip of his nose, then drove an elbow backward. The hard elbow guard smashed through a visor and broke the man's nose.

The lance shaft struck backward, its butt cap denting a gorget. The attacker clutched his throat and collapsed.

His movements flowed like water. He attacked with effortless calm, while his opponents seemed to be cooperating with him, offering their vital points into his hands.

Surrounded by four men, he discarded his lance and drew his longsword. His hand clenched, and golden lightning wrapped itself around the blade. The sword danced into a blossom of steel, cutting through flesh exposed between armor plates. A blinding flash of electricity burst forth, and another man fell.

Feints, blocks, deflections—his steps crossed and turned. His blade became streak after streak of cold light, his body dancing amid the chaotic blades without his armor ever being touched.

His steps came to a halt. Claude looked across the field, where only he remained standing. He turned to leave, but a cold gleam suddenly flashed behind him.

Lightning flashed, and an arm flew into the air trailing blood. The longsword drew another flourish, blood and grease painting an arc across the ground, while the blade remained spotless as new.

"The... match... is over. The victor, Night Knight... 36 points..."

The cheers the audience had been holding in their throats exploded at last. Some had forgotten even to breathe as fanatical cries surged into the sky.

"Whooooo!!!!!! Wah!!!!!!!"

"That was so cool!!!"

"Amazing!"

"...!!!"

No one stopped, even after their throats had gone hoarse and their mouths dry.

Claude looked toward those who were truly cheering for him. At that moment, they were not upset over prize money, nor were they merely enjoying his performance. They were genuinely fervent over his valor, admiring and worshipping him. This was the true honor of a knight.

Claude sheathed his sword and bowed in response.

The cheers became even more deafening.

"Night Knight! Night Knight! Night Knight! Night Knight! Night Knight!!!..."

"Wah!!!!!!!!"

Cheers thundered just as loudly from another field. The dazzling radiance around Margaret slowly faded, and not a speck of dust stained her body. She too was the only one left standing.

"Wah!!!! Ha!!!!!!!"

The suddenly swelling cheers startled her. A man emerged from the other arena, his bloodstained full helmet dipping toward her. She hurriedly returned the salute, then watched him turn toward the exit tunnel.

A sudden urge to get to know him rose within her. Just as she was about to catch up, she remembered Kazimierz's unscrupulous media, especially the Wine Press. If she chased after him, countless scandals would surely be printed. She had no choice but to stop.

Claude knew he could no longer stay in his old apartment. Remaining there would bring no small amount of trouble. After settling his expenses with the landlord, the man said nothing more, perhaps because of the blood on Claude's face.

After packing his belongings, he had only one travel bag. He turned and left, searching for somewhere to spend the night. Preferably somewhere more secluded. After all, he was now rather famous, and he wanted to avoid unnecessary disturbances.

Night fell, but the Great Knight Territory remained brightly lit. People came and went with excited expressions, talking about the matches of Night Knight and Margaret. Some busybodies had already given Margaret the title "Radiant Knight," to contrast with Claude's "Night Knight."

Meanwhile, the "Night Knight," Claude, was worrying over where to stay. Everywhere else was either absurdly expensive or far too bustling. He simply could not find a suitable place.

After a while, hunger drove Claude to decide he should eat first. For some reason, food in his previous world had always been hard to swallow, with crude cooking methods. It was as though people had devoted all their wisdom to war and had no mind left for anything else. Even noble food had not tasted much better than commoner fare.

After the food of his previous life, Claude was now interested in all delicious cuisine. Remembering the meat stew from that day, he unconsciously headed toward Martin's bar, planning to have a good meal.

Margaret headed toward Uncle Martin's bar, intending to visit her younger sister, aunt, and other friends. They gathered there every Sunday night.

As she walked, she thought of the black knight from today. Such formidable skill. If only I could exchange views with him about Kazimierz...

She pushed open the door and swept her gaze across the room. Then she froze.

P.S. I think this title is better.

A New Beginning: A Place to Settle

Margaret looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar young man in the bar. Familiar because she had met him more than once; unfamiliar because she had never seen his true face. He had always worn a helmet made of steel.

Unless necessary, Claude would never remove his helmet in an open area. It would make for a perfect opportunity for elven archers. The elves of that world looked nothing like how most people imagined elves. They had yellow-green skin and gaunt cheeks, high cheekbones, narrow foreheads, sharp, slender eyes gleaming with malice, thick braids, and small noses. By no standard did they fit human ideals of beauty.

Their archers were not particularly strong. Mastering a bow required both a powerful physique and superb skill built through years of practice. Yet elven archers appeared to wield bows when, in essence, they were using magic. Their bodies were extremely slender, lacking the strength to draw a powerful bow. However, this race's talent for magic was unmatched. Their mastery over the elements was extraordinary; even the stupidest elf could skillfully use low-level magic.

An elven longbow was essentially a kind of staff, using wind magic to propel their arrows. Combined with their naturally exceptional eyesight, they could accurately strike an enemy from nearly a thousand meters away. In truth, because of their absolute reliance on the elements, once an elf exhausted his magic, his weak body meant even a newly enlisted recruit could easily kill him. But if his magic was not depleted, he could easily kill hundreds of recruits.

The black-haired young man sat on a bench, his hair meticulously combed and his smooth forehead exposed. Warm light shone over his face, giving it the texture of jade. His sharp phoenix eyes gained a touch of softness beneath the warm glow. He sat with his back straight, black armor covered by a black surcoat, while a pair of black horse ears flicked away insects drawn by the lamplight.

Claude wore a gentle smile as he conversed with Kowal.

Margaret had never imagined that the face beneath the helmet would look like this. In her imagination, it should have been weathered and worn, like that of any battle-hardened warrior. Yet this face looked so refined. He did not seem like someone who belonged in this bar drinking alcohol at all, but rather in a magnificent palace, chatting and laughing with richly dressed guests.

Margaret walked to the bar and naturally pulled out a stool to sit down.

"Margaret, you're here. Want something to eat?"

Martin brought over food and placed it before Claude, then turned to ask Margaret.

"A glass of juice for me."

"Hello, Mr. Claude." She brushed aside a lock of golden hair from her forehead as she spoke to Claude, who had turned to look at her.

"Hello, Miss Margaret." Claude responded with a faint smile. She reminded him of the girl with the black ribbon. Perhaps they were sisters.

"I didn't expect to run into you here, Mr. Claude."

"The food here is very good, especially the creamy beast-of-burden meat stew." As Claude replied, he speared a steak from his plate with his knife and fork. His movements were not elegant, but efficient. This was a set meal the owner had recommended to him. It included two steaks, three fried eggs, three large pieces of bread, along with some taro and greens. The steaks were covered in thick gravy, half-set yolks flowed from the fried eggs, and the bread and taro were roasted a light golden brown.

"Mr. Claude, your martial skill is exceptional. I didn't expect you to be so young in person."

"My level is nothing worth mentioning. Miss, you are the one who truly surprised me." To possess such strength at her age could only be described as extraordinary talent. Even in his previous world, tempered by the hardships of war, few young people had such gifts.

"My swordsmanship comes only from the training grounds. But Mr. Claude, your sword carries the scent of blood."

"It should indeed carry the scent of blood." A smile involuntarily touched Claude's lips.

Margaret's expression turned serious. "Mr. Claude, as far as I know, you did not accept an invitation from any corporation. Then why are you participating in knight competitions? Please answer me."

"For money." Margaret's expression immediately went blank.

"What did you think it was for, Miss? I still owe Master Kowal quite a bit of money." Claude could not help laughing.

"Wouldn't cooperating with a corporation get you more money?" Margaret hurriedly asked.

"It would. But if it means selling my honor, I would rather not get a single cent. If I defeat my opponents fairly, win the match, and make the audience cheer for me, then that prize money is rightfully mine. I have no need to wag my tail and beg contemptible people for it."

"But if you refuse to cooperate with corporations, won't they target you?"

"Then let them come. Since when did knights need to fear vile men?" Claude's expression was calm and composed, as if he had spoken an indisputable truth.

Margaret looked at the young man before her in surprise. He appeared to be about her age, yet he was so confident and proud. Like a battle-hardened general looking upon a rabble, he seemed ready to bury his opponents with an upright formation. He was dazzling.

"And you, Miss? What are you participating in this competition for?" Claude asked in return.

"The spirit of knighthood should be a light that protects the weak upon this land, but now it has been corrupted by consumption and capital. There is nothing more shameful than that. I want to change this." Determination shone in Margaret's eyes.

"It seems you have already made up your mind." Claude's expression turned serious.

"Yes. Even if it is childish, even if it is naive, I still want to do it!"

"Then do it. Do not betray your own determination."

"Y-you support me?" Margaret looked deeply surprised.

"A warrior who has made up his mind is the most dazzling kind of person. How could anyone insult that resolve?"

"But I'm worried about my family. If they are harmed because of me..."

"Then let me help you."

"Huh!!" Margaret stared at him in shock. Powerful resolve flashed in Claude's eyes, as if he were making an oath to her. "A knight is never alone. There will always be like-minded people who can help you."

"Well said, young Claude! We old folks can still be useful too." Kowal stretched out his broad hand and patted Margaret on the shoulder. "That's right. Since you've made up your mind, go do it bravely," said the old knight named Baatarbayar. "Sigh, you lot..." Old Martin smiled helplessly from the side.

"Of course, it would be nice if you could give me a portion of the final prize money so I can pay off my debts. After all, if I don't ask for something, you probably won't feel at ease." Claude smiled.

"Of course, Mr. Claude." Margaret smiled warmly.

A New Beginning: What the Nearl Family Eats Today

Margaret left. Before departing, she invited Claude to visit her home tomorrow. Claude agreed without the slightest hesitation. He would never refuse an invitation from someone with good intentions. Besides, he was also curious what delicious dishes the Nearl Family might have. Of course, that was secondary.

He used the last piece of bread to wipe the gravy clean from his plate, then tossed it into his mouth. Claude's plate was as clean as if it had been washed. Then he downed the warm ale in one gulp.

"Really not having another? You don't look like a lightweight to me." Old Martin promoted his alcohol as usual.

"No need. I prefer keeping a clear head." Claude refused as usual.

His food problem was solved; next came the problem of lodging. Claude had an idea. He should ask Old Martin. The man had lived here for many years and ought to know where housing was cheaper. "Martin, do you know of any good places nearby for rent? I need somewhere to stay for a while."

"A place? You don't have anywhere to stay now?" Martin looked somewhat surprised.

"I used to, but that place was too conspicuous, and it was too expensive."

Old Martin pondered for a while before saying, "I happen to have a basement here. It's a little dusty, but it's fairly comfortable to live in. I used to live there myself. I can move out the clutter and let you stay there, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind. As long as I have somewhere to stay." Claude naturally had no objections. He had slept under far worse conditions before. For instance, tying himself to a griffin's saddle and falling asleep in biting winds—he had never been picky about such things. Besides, this place was highly convenient, and food and drink would be easy to come by. "How much rent should I pay you?"

"No rent necessary. It's only a shabby basement. Stay as long as you like."

"I should still pay you. Moving the clutter out means finding somewhere else to put it, so I'm causing you quite a bit of trouble."

Seeing how insistent he was, Old Martin said, "Then just give me three hundred a month. I won't take any more than that."

Claude smiled and shook his head, accepting the man's kindness.

Late that night, Kowal and Baatarbayar also bid them farewell, while Martin and Claude cleaned up the basement together.

Though it was called a basement, the living conditions were actually good. It was not damp at all, but rather quite dry. They moved out the clutter and piled it in a corner, then swept the basement clean and sprinkled some water to settle the dust. Martin found a single bed and a solid wooden shelf.