Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 66: Please Call Me the Top Patron

As he spoke, Berion approached the lance rack, explaining enthusiastically to Bran, "Look at this jousting lance. Its design tapers from the rear to the front, placing the center of gravity toward the back. This way, when the rider holds it, the balance is improved, allowing for better control. The lance is divided into several parts; let me tell you about them.

Let's start with the tip. The head is usually called the coronet, and you see how its metal design resembles the petals of a flower. Don't be fooled by its elegance; its purpose is quite cunning. It's meant to pierce deeply into your opponent's shield, so the lance doesn't simply glance off. This allows the tip to grip the shield firmly, transferring the full force of your charge to your adversary.

Following the shaft back, you'll notice a round disc here—the hand guard. Behind it is the finger guard, which protects your fingers. Even if you're clad head to toe in armor, your opponent's lance can slide along yours, and without these guards, your fragile fingers could be struck by the coronet. Can you imagine what your fingers would look like after being hit by the lance tip?"

Bran laughed, "Master, if my hand were struck by the lance tip, I fear I'd lose use of it entirely."

Afterward, Bran posed another question. "Master, whether you can topple your opponent, does that depend on how well you control the lance?"

Berion pondered and replied, "It depends on how much force you can bring to bear against your opponent. The strength you can use is determined by your weakest point. If your riding skills are poor, when your lance strikes your opponent, the lance might not even break, and the powerful recoil could throw you from your horse."

"Then I must practice riding well. Perhaps someday I might enter a knight's tournament myself. I heard at dinner earlier from the neighboring table that even knight's squires can compete," Bran said with some anticipation.

Berion lightly tapped the boy's head. "Those squires who enter tournaments usually started training at seven or eight years old. Only after ten years of practice do they dare compete. If you want to enter, you need to train hard.

And to sit securely in the saddle, its quality is crucial. A comfortable, well-made saddle enables you to maintain the proper posture during a joust, so you can transfer all your charging power to the lance tip and deliver a decisive blow."

"Master, could I use the prize money you gave me to commission a good saddle for myself? The saddle on the horse I ride now belongs to Uncle Bess and is much too big for me," Bran looked at Berion with pleading eyes.

Berion had given his young squire thirty denars, the standard prize for the guard, which was enough to commission a saddle. So Berion nodded, and Bran's joy was obvious.

"Honored lord, if your squire wishes to commission a saddle, we can provide that. Many knights and their squires who compete commission their saddles from us. Choose our shop, and you won't be disappointed," said the merchant, who had, without notice, roused himself from his earlier drowsiness.

"Very well, bring me a saddle to inspect," Berion said.

The arms dealer, as if performing a trick, spun the rack behind his seat, which was filled with swords. Behind it hung more than twenty saddles, stirrups, weapon bags for use on horseback, and other complete gear.

Taking a saddle, the merchant introduced himself, "My lord, I am the owner of the Double Ring Armory, the finest smithy in Yongvikso City. You may call me Jed."

Jed, as he was called, explained every detail from the saddle tree to the front and rear arches, the seat, saddle bag, stirrup straps, flaps, and padding, impressing both Berion and Bran. Berion was quite taken with Jed, realizing he was not only a merchant but also a craftsman and a master salesman who understood both technique and customer needs.

After Jed's thorough explanation, Berion immediately paid to commission two saddles—one for himself and one for Bran. The pair cost fifty denars, as, at Jed's suggestion, Berion's saddle was lavishly crafted from fine deerskin and would be inlaid with his name in silver.

It helped that Berion had recently come into a large sum, so he readily agreed to these upgrades for comfort and prestige.

Jed, delighted, took the purse, pulled out a piece of gray straw paper bearing his shop's double ring insignia, wrote down the product details and delivery date, and melted sealing wax with a nearby candle. Berion pressed his signet ring into the wax to imprint his crest.

Once the wax cooled and hardened, Jed cut the paper in two, handing one half to Berion. Later, Berion could send someone with this slip to collect the saddle.

After leaving the arms shop, the two wandered the streets until their seafood meal was well digested, then settled at a food stall selling wine and snacks for a late supper.

At this hour, the night market was lively. Groups sat drinking and chatting; minstrels played lyres and sang captivating tales, filling the air with merriment.

Berion and Bran ordered two large mugs of beer, salted pork, roast rabbit, and other fare. In the cool autumn breeze, listening to the minstrel's stories, they enjoyed their food and drink in great comfort.

When the minstrel finished his lengthy ballad, he descended from the wooden platform built from crates at the center of the stall, hat in hand, soliciting tips from those eating and drinking nearby.

At such festive moments, people were generous; soon his hat was filled with copper coins. Berion had Bran contribute ten coppers as well, respecting the artist's labor.

The minstrel, holding his heavy hat, returned to the stage, ready to perform a new ballad about the knightly tournament. His timely proposal was met with applause and cheers. With the northern knights' tournament about to open, everyone was eager to learn more.

The minstrel began, singing in the first person:

"I am a knight from the western lands of the Velyn continent. My name is Henry, and I am about to compete in the knight's tournament.

This jousting is not merely a sport; it is hailed as 'the king's contest,' for the servants of the Fire God—the preachers—dislike such bloody games. Only rulers eager to expand their realms are passionate about hosting them.

It is a great challenge against fear, reserved for the brave and the proud who dare to raise the lance. You must charge forward on horseback, never cower like a wild dog.

Warriors grasp their lances, sit tall in the saddle, aim at their foe, and charge with all their might, striking the opponent's shield. Lances shatter, adversaries fall from their horses, and the victor earns honor, wealth, and the favor of noble women!

Such sacred and perilous contests are for us knights alone. Only we can afford fine armor to encase our bodies in steel and protect ourselves well.

Not just armor—without a magnificent steed, one cannot enter the knight's tournament. A horse with power, passion, and beauty is the key to a knight's victory.

With good armor and a fine horse, horsemanship becomes essential. It is the ultimate test for knight and steed. They must become one, minds united, fighting for the same goal!

Even if before you lies the infernal flames of demons, savage ogres, or the edge of a cliff, you must charge onward without hesitation, to the ends of the earth, to the end of mankind!

When you mount your horse, you are no longer someone's son, husband, or father; you are one thing only—a warrior charging for victory!

Charge, my warriors! Lower your lance, strike the opponent's shield, splinter it upon their armor, topple your foe! This is the pinnacle of human strength!

As a knight, I have seen many a corpse trampled into mud by hooves, clinging to the earth like ink-red octopi.

Just as bandit soldiers carry off the heads of the defeated, the flowing crimson is like ribbons honoring the souls of the fallen.

Battles ignite in autumn, and by winter, rats and wild dogs have gnawed the dead clean. Come spring, village children play games with the new year's bones, smashing the river ice.

I have met beautiful maidens—golden hair, enchanting fragrance. She rode with me, and I could hear her nervous breath.

We crossed spring brooks, autumn fields, bathed in summer storms, kissed winter snowflakes. Come the next spring, I bid farewell to my beloved maiden, embarking on a quest for honor and fortune. When my deeds are done, I shall return to share joy with her…"

The minstrel's ballad was passionate and moving, not only imparting knowledge of the knight's tournament, but reflecting on war, and expressing longing for love and family.

His voice was melodious and his stories captivating; the audience forgot their drinks, even passersby stopped to listen.

When he finished, the applause and cheers were thunderous. This time, his hat collected even more tips. When he came to Berion's table, Berion dropped two denars into his hat.

The minstrel, seeing two silver coins, instantly brightened, his fatigue from two long ballads vanished.

He bowed deeply to Berion. "Honored sir, thank you for your generosity. Drew, the wandering bard, offers you his sincerest respect. Thank you for your reward—may the Fire God bless you and your family with health and longevity."

Berion's lavish tip, like that of a benefactor, delighted the young bard Drew. The tips from his previous song had barely reached two hundred sorrie, yet this one person's tip exceeded all that. How could he not be pleased?

Berion smiled, "Drew, you travel far and wide; have you ever visited Nolan Castle in the direct county?"

"Oh, my lord, I've heard of that place. The lord of Nolan Castle has won two duels with a single move, and he also crushed the three notorious gangs on the southern bank of the Karl River," Drew replied.

"Could you compose and sing a ballad about him? Focus on the things you just mentioned, but make the song entice people to trade or settle in Nolan Castle. Is that possible?" Berion asked.

Hearing this request from his generous patron, Drew considered for a moment. He did not answer immediately. Seeing his hesitation, Berion invited him to sit and poured him a cup of wine.

"Yes, I can, but I have a question—are you from Nolan Castle?" Drew agreed, then asked curiously.

"The man before you is Sir Berion, court knight, lord of Nolan Castle, and deputy constable of the direct county," Bran whispered, introducing him.