Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 73: The Trial by Combat (Part One)

After struggling inwardly for a while, Berion gritted his teeth and said, “Alright, I agree to your request. I’ll take part in the trial by combat.”

Hearing Berion’s acceptance, Jessis was overjoyed. Her tears turned to laughter as she hurried to his side, her voice trembling with excitement. “Thank you, Sir Berion, truly. I’m so touched—I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“To save an innocent life is a knight’s duty,” Berion replied, catching a whiff of her delicate floral scent. A gentle warmth blossomed in his heart.

Jessis looked up at him, gazing for a while before breaking into a smile. “You’re not just capable, you’re actually quite handsome, too. It’s just that you don’t care for your appearance—your clothes are always a mess. Let me make you an outfit myself.”

“What?” Berion was so startled he nearly jumped.

Jessis saw his alarm and lowered her head to hide a laugh behind her hand. “Sister Myra taught me to embroider and sew. My needlework isn’t bad at all, you’ll see.”

“Thank you, fair lady, but shouldn’t you measure my height and shoulders first?” Berion asked, half amused, half exasperated.

Jessis raised her head and gave him a brilliant smile. “No need. You’re almost the same size as my father. I’ve made him several outfits before—don’t worry, it’ll fit perfectly.”

As a man with little experience dealing with women in either of his lifetimes, Berion was completely at a loss. The idea of Jessis making him clothes left him dumbfounded, uncertain what to say or do.

Watching him stand there scratching his head in confusion, Jessis laughed. “Alright, I won’t disturb you any longer. By tomorrow at the latest, I’ll send word to you.”

She had just stepped outside when she turned back, saying, “May the great Fire God bless you, my brave, kind, and upright Sir Berion.” With that, she ran off.

After Jessis left, Berion stared blankly at the doorway for who knew how long. Before he realized it, Bran had quietly appeared, grinning foolishly but not daring to make a sound, afraid of disturbing his lord.

Still, Bran’s presence pulled Berion from his reverie. Flushing, Berion feigned severity and scolded, “Where have you been? A distinguished guest arrives and you don’t even come in to serve? Don’t you know any manners?”

Bran, lounging under a nearby tree, chuckled. “Master, how could I barge in and ruin your precious time alone with such a lovely lady? If I’d been so tactless, you’d have made me pay for it afterwards.”

“I’ll make you pay now!” Berion threatened, pretending to strike him, but Bran darted away so quickly that Berion didn’t bother to chase.

Returning to his lounge chair, Berion poured himself a cup of honey water to calm his nerves. He intended to seek out Gamgee for a talk—after all, Gamgee knew the inner workings of the count’s estate best.

After instructing his deputy captain, Broda, to summon Bran, Berion led the boy to a nearby street where Gamgee’s mistress lived. Gamgee had bought her a decent house there.

On his last visit, Gamgee had spent over five hundred denars for a night with this woman; this time, he’d spent over a thousand, and the widowed lady had become his mistress.

The previous night, Gamgee had drunk heavily. Broda and the others had carried him back here, so he was surely still inside.

When Berion and Bran knocked and entered, Gamgee’s guard looked embarrassed and motioned toward the bedroom. Curious, Berion approached and after a few steps, heard the unmistakable sounds of a man’s guttural shouts and a woman’s breathless moans.

Even if he’d never tasted such pleasures himself, Berion instantly understood. With a wry smile, he clapped Bran on the shoulder. “Not for children, so don’t get too close. Hey, why are you straining your ears? Go on, get away from the door.”

Bran, still bewildered, asked, “Master, what are they doing in there? Why is that woman suddenly shouting in the middle of the day?”

Berion ruffled the boy’s hair and smirked. “She’s taking a beating—how could she not cry out?”

“A beating? Master, what do you mean? Is Uncle Gamgee hitting her?” Bran persisted, thoroughly confused.

Berion stroked his chin and nodded. “You could call it that, but in this case, both the beater and the beaten are quite happy. They both consent to it.”

“What? There’s such a thing? Uncle Gamgee is really odd!” Bran exclaimed.

Berion couldn’t help but laugh and nearly let the topic drop, but since there was nothing urgent, he decided to elaborate. “Give it a couple more years, two or three at most. When you’re older, you’ll come to like such things yourself.”

Bran shook his head emphatically. “No, Master, I’ll never enjoy anything like that, never. I swear it by the Fire God.”

Berion couldn’t help himself; he rapped the boy’s head again and teased, “We’ll see in a few years. Right now, you know nothing.”

They hadn’t been whispering long when Gamgee emerged, looking a little unsteady. Berion noted to himself that Gamgee’s stamina must be lacking—it hadn’t taken him long at all.

Gamgee’s mistress soon followed, her face flushed and her eyes resentful. Clearly, she blamed Gamgee for his lackluster performance.

Gamgee, spotting Berion, coughed awkwardly and shot his mistress a glare. “I have business to discuss with Sir Berion. You, wait for me tonight, and don’t bother me.”

He strode toward the door, but his legs gave out at the last step and he tumbled to the floor. His mistress rushed to help him up, but Gamgee, blushing furiously, shook her off. “Mind your own business and get back inside.”

Berion and Bran almost burst out laughing at Gamgee’s display, but mindful of being guests, they turned away and stifled their mirth.

Once Gamgee joined them outside and his mistress had closed the door, they let loose and laughed heartily.

Gamgee, red-faced, pleaded, “Come on, my good friends, spare me your mockery, won’t you?”

He led Berion into the garden pavilion and asked, “You must have a reason for coming to see me today. What is it?”

Berion recounted Jessis’s request for him to join the tournament. As Gamgee listened, his eyes lit up—he looked at Berion as if he were a treasure chest overflowing with gold.

Berion, unnerved by the scrutiny, protested, “Hey, enough staring. I’m asking you about the inner workings of the count’s estate, not to admire my looks.”

Gamgee, Bran, and the caravan guard all burst into laughter at Berion’s remark. Gamgee said with a grin, “Brother Berion, if you win this tournament, you might become Count Gree’s son-in-law. Miss Jessis clearly likes you—she even wants to make you clothes! How enviable. Why can’t I have such luck? Is it because I’m not as handsome?”

“Get lost! No more teasing. Tell me about the count’s estate,” Berion pretended to grumble.

Gamgee laughed even harder, but soon his expression turned serious. “Berion, my good brother, to be honest, I don’t recommend you enter the tournament.”

“Oh? Why not?” Berion asked.

Gamgee sighed. “If you were the son of some powerful count or viscount, I’d absolutely support you fighting for Miss Jessis. But even if I joke, with your background and abilities, if she were to show affection for you, it could be dangerous. Do you know how many noble families in Bric have their eyes on her?”

Berion shook his head despondently. He’d never admitted it, but he was indeed drawn to this noble maiden.

“From our sovereign’s only son Charles, to Earl Rolf’s second son, to the Minister of War’s heir, and the eldest son of the Grand Knight Commander—all the top families have unmarried sons watching Miss Jessis. If they learn that a mere knight dares vie with them for her hand and the lands of Yanguick Province, you can imagine how those powerful men would deal with you. A mere gesture from them, and not only you but your entire Tucker family could be wiped out,” Gamgee cautioned.

Seeing Berion fall silent, Gamgee sighed and revealed another secret. “Do you know who Sister Myra, Jessis’s governess, really is? She’s a close friend of Lady Elina, our sovereign’s wife. She was sent here to keep an eye on her chosen future daughter-in-law.”

He poured Berion a cup of water. “You should know the sovereign wants to expand his direct domain. What could swell his holdings more than swallowing up this rich province? The sovereign and his wife have long coveted Miss Jessis. For a minor noble like you to compete with them is suicide, my friend.”

“Thank you for your advice, brother. But I’m still going to enter the tournament,” Berion replied with resolve.

“What? After everything I just said—you still…? Fine. I’ve said all I can. How you proceed is up to you. You’re a young man of rare wisdom; I trust you’ll consider things more thoroughly than I.”

Berion rose and gazed into the distance. “I gave her my word, so I must see it through. Besides, she hasn’t shown any special affection for me—no need to overthink it. Those great men you mentioned, if they’re not fools, won’t believe Miss Jessis would fall for me so easily. And marriage is not something she decides alone; it’s up to the Count and Countess. All I aim to do is win the tournament, save the girl named Pru, and then we’ll return home. I doubt I’ll ever come to this city again.”

Gamgee clapped Berion on the shoulder. “If you’ve made up your mind, do it. I support you, brother.”

That evening, Berion made his way to the Twin Rings Armory, where he found the owner, Jed, to commission some equipment. He’d only brought a set of cloth armor and his sword, as his original plan was simply to enjoy the tournament’s spectacle.