Volume One: The Knight of the Forest Chapter 78: The Duel of Judgment (VI)

Amid the cheers of the crowd, Beryon lifted his eyes and swept his gaze around, finally catching sight of a graceful figure on the viewing platform—Jessis, leaning against a pillar, her eyes glistening with tears and smiling joyfully at him. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting instant, they understood each other's hearts. Beryon quickly looked away; mutual understanding was enough, there was no need to let others know, lest it bring further trouble.

At that moment, the bishop, seeing the outcome was settled, slowly ascended and announced to the gathered assembly, "Before all our eyes, Sir Beryon has triumphed over Sir Sorg. This is the will of the Fire God and cannot be defied. I declare that Sister Myura's charge of heresy is invalid, and the suspicion of Lady Puli from the Count's household as a witch is hereby lifted. Brothers, release this innocent girl from the pyre and grant her freedom."

The bishop's words were met with thunderous applause. Amid the ovation, Beryon strode toward the pyre and personally untied the rope suspending Puli. Weak and frail, Puli collapsed to the ground as soon as she was released, and two monks hurried forward to remove her shackles. With tears in her eyes, Puli choked out, "Thank you, Sir Beryon."

Beryon helped her to her feet and whispered, "If you wish to thank someone, thank your lady. It was she who sent me to rescue you. She has gone to great lengths on your behalf; cherish her well from now on."

Puli nodded earnestly. "You and my lady are my benefactors. I will never forget the grace you have shown me."

"Come now, girl, go and rest. You have suffered enough; return home and recover." With that, Beryon helped Puli down from the execution platform, where her parents were already waiting.

Upon seeing Beryon, Puli's parents both dropped to their knees in gratitude. Beryon quickly lifted them up and entrusted Puli to their care, smiling gently. "There is nothing happier than a family reunited. Take Puli home and let her heal; she has endured much."

"Yes, yes," her parents replied, tears streaming down their faces, and then led their daughter away from the arena.

Beryon watched their retreating figures, a look of contentment on his face. He turned and returned to his place, awaiting instructions from Count Gri and the bishop.

Upon regaining his seat, Beryon noticed Sister Myura glaring at him venomously. Her hatred was palpable, as though she wished to devour him alive. Her carefully laid plans had collapsed, and she trembled with rage. Beryon met her gaze with a fierce, unwavering stare. Having just vanquished a formidable foe, his eyes showed resolute anger, unsettling the guilt-ridden nun.

Justice always holds greater power than evil. Sister Myura, though a servant of the gods, engaged only in clandestine schemes. Now, hoist by her own petard, she even dared attempt murder with a mere glare—how utterly ridiculous.

Count Gri then stepped forward to the speaking platform, taking over from the bishop. He looked at Beryon with admiration and addressed the assembly, "Friends, citizens of Yangvikshor Province, today we are gathered to witness a splendid trial by combat."

"No lives were lost in today's trial; the great Fire God has shown mercy to his people. The will of the Fire God must not be defied, and we have followed his command by freeing poor Puli. My countship will provide her with a hundred dinars for nourishment, aiding her recovery. Moreover, she will continue to serve as my daughter's personal maid. May the Fire God bless her!"

With these words, Count Gri traced a triangle over his heart in reverence, and all those present followed suit, praying for Puli’s protection.

"Besides witnessing the will of the Fire God, we have seen the valor, kindness, and integrity of a young knight. Sir Beryon is not only unmatched in skill but also embodies the virtues of chivalry. Let us cheer once more for this remarkable knight!" Count Gri called out.

"Sir Beryon!"
"Sir Beryon!"
"Sir Beryon!"

A wave of cheers and shouts erupted, shaking the arena. Though Beryon had lived two lifetimes, it was his first experience being hailed by admiring masses, their voices raised in adoration. Truth be told, he felt a little embarrassed.

But having just fought fiercely, his face was smeared with sweat and dust—none could see his blush.

While the crowd celebrated Beryon, Sir Sorg, crippled in his right hand and left leg, was being carried away on a stretcher by his attendants. After a hasty bandaging stemmed the blood, he lay pale and weak, staring at Beryon, his teeth grinding with fury. The victory and glory that should have been his had been snatched away.

His bloodshot eyes nearly blazed with fire. He could not accept such defeat, nor the fate of becoming a knight with a broken hand and leg—a life henceforth spent in bed? With this thought, Sorg closed his eyes in pain and lay quietly, refusing to look at Beryon basking in honor.

When the cheers finally faded, Count Gri announced, "To honor Sir Beryon's chivalry and punish Sir Sorg's disgraceful conduct, I revoke Sorg's championship and prize for this year's Northern Knight Tournament, and award them to Sir Beryon!"

The crowd erupted anew with deafening cheers and applause. The spectators now despised the once-beloved Sorg with the same intensity as their earlier adoration, just as Beryon had seen in a past life, when a star fell from grace—their love turned to scorn when the idol’s true nature contradicted their ideals.

Not only was Beryon rewarded, Count Gri also announced the upcoming banquet. "In commemoration of this tournament, two days hence, I will host a grand feast and ball at my estate. I will introduce Sir Beryon to nobles who could not attend today’s contest, so they may witness the hero born on our Yangvikshor field!"

With that, amidst the cheers, Beryon bowed in thanks to Count Gri.

The banquet would typically be held that evening, but was postponed two days due to the Sabbath and Sunday. On the Sabbath, city officials rested with their families; on Sunday, such festivities were forbidden as disrespectful to the Fire God, so the celebration was moved accordingly.

For Beryon, it was just as well. He could use the time to learn the steps, for he hadn’t yet mastered dancing. Raised away from his parents, serving Sir Logan at the Valonbray court, he had witnessed many balls as a guard, but never danced himself.

Jessis wished for Beryon to wear the clothes she had made for him and dance together. He dared not let his beloved down, but where could he find a good teacher?

After some thought, Beryon decided to seek help from his only reliable friend in Yangvikshor, Gamgee. He had already troubled him many times; one more would hardly matter.

After waiting for Count Gri and the bishop and other dignitaries to depart, Gamgee and Bran led their horses to Beryon. Beryon greeted them with warm embraces, and they returned the gesture.

Gamgee, after hugging, punched Beryon's chest and laughed, "You rascal, you weren't honest with your friend. You had a way to win, yet acted as though you were ready to die. You really are full of tricks!"

"Honestly, before stepping onto the field, I wasn't sure I could win. If I had no confidence myself, how could I tell you? Besides, a good idea loses its magic if revealed before it works. Gamgee, if you're angry over this, you undervalue our brotherhood," Beryon replied with a smile.

"Master, Mr. Gamgee, you needn't discuss this here. Look, if we don’t leave, neither will the crowd," Bran reminded them, nodding toward the stands. The guards wouldn't let anyone out until they had cleared the field.

This was due to a past tournament disaster, where frenzied spectators had surged and trampled the champion knight to death. Since then, Yangvikshor's tournaments had adopted this precaution, as had today’s trial.

Medieval folk were superstitious, believing that touching the champion or taking his belongings would grant the Fire God's blessing, more potent than any triangle given by a priest. Despite the guards, a few mad spectators were already trying to climb the barriers toward Beryon.

The scene was daunting; Beryon quickly mounted his horse, with Gamgee and Bran, and fled the arena. He did not wish to become another victim of the crowd’s fanaticism, crushed in their scramble for luck.

The three raced toward their lodgings; with most people stuck in the tournament grounds, the streets were nearly empty, allowing them to gallop freely.

For Beryon, it was the first time riding fast through a great city’s streets. Fresh from victory, he was exhilarated, showing off his mediocre riding skills to Gamgee and Bran—cutting corners, overtaking carts, dodging donkeys—he indulged himself. Thankfully, there were no traffic officials in this era; otherwise, he would have lost more than a few points—perhaps his license, if there were such a thing.

Seeing Beryon so jubilant, Bran was alarmed, fearing his master had been struck senseless in the duel and was about to ride over and stop him.

Gamgee held him back, explaining, "He’s fine—let him be wild for a bit. He’s been under immense pressure these days and needs to let off steam. Imagine wagering an innocent girl’s life and your own on a fight with little chance of victory—would you feel at ease?"

Bran shook his head. "I’d lose sleep for nights, but my master has been sleeping well."

Gamgee laughed, "At his age, that’s a good mindset. He’s suppressing it for now, knowing only calmness brings victory. That’s the mark of someone destined for greatness."