The Skeleton Soldier Failed to Defend the Dungeon-Chapter 307: Unearth (27)

Kirk felt satisfaction swelling from deep within his chest. A tingling sense of triumph spread across his skin like a pale fire. Nothing had gone his way until now, but seeing Rubia's white face, trembling with fear, finally made the world feel as though it had been set right.

That was the face a woman was meant to wear. The very idea of her walking about outside was absurd to begin with. A woman's place was either in a brothel or shut within a home. In either case, she needed a collar, properly trained and bound.

For a mere woman to wander freely, even reaching out for dominion, was a reality so outrageous it almost made him laugh. Above all, that ogress' sudden appearance, pledging herself as Rubia's bodyguard, had tilted the balance sharply against him. The fragile equilibrium of force had been tipped, entirely, to the other side. But now...

"It's done," Kirk whispered.

Through the lens of his spyglass, Kirk fixed his gaze on Rubia and smiled with grim delight. The plan had succeeded. At Grassmere's lordship ceremony, before all eyes, she would suffer humiliation beyond repair.

"Heh... that ogress can't even get back on her feet."

One of his men muttered at his side, "At this point, she's completely finished."

Indeed, the ogress who had always strutted her strength now lay groaning, unable to rise even with her mistress close at hand. It was the perfect opportunity to strike. This meant even the second phase of his plan, the hunt for the main prize, was entirely possible. He could not attempt it under the crowd's eyes at Grassmere, but on the return journey, the chance would come.

Since the ogress' arrival, Rubia had trusted her so completely that the escort had been greatly reduced. Now, the possibility was there. With help, the ogress was at last lifted into the carriage, wincing in genuine confusion and distress. Rubia's expression was the darkest of all.

Rubia looked like she was consulting with her companions, as though she considered turning back. Yet, in the end, she pressed on toward Grassmere.

"Follow them."

"Yes, boss!"

The wind was fresh. It felt as though its coolness soaked straight into Kirk's chest. His flabby belly churned with sticky excitement, boiling upward into his heart.

***

The announcer's magically amplified voice carried across the great parade ground packed with spectators.

"Thank you all for waiting!"

"Now, we will begin the special tournament commemorating Baron Chandler's ascension as lord of Grassmere! I am your host..."

"Waaaaaah!"

The roar of the crowd drowned out his name. The spectators' fervor set the outdoor arena ablaze with noise.

They shouted the names of the tournament's contenders one after another.

"Bredrin!"

"Fusta! Fusta! Fusta!"

"The event will be a joust! The first to fall from their horse loses! If both remain mounted, breaking a lance against the opponent's shield or armor scores points!"

Crash!

Two lances shattered at once against shields.

"A draw! They'll clash again!"

The more bouts passed, the hotter the crowd grew. The fever of thousands pressed against Kirk's body like a wave. More than a thousand voices created a wall of sound that could crush him. If he became lord, he dreamed of holding tournaments in Erast, but never on this scale. His fists clenched on their own.

"The victor... Bredrin!"

"Waaaaaah!"

"So handsome!"

"Love that brown-haired knight!"

The crowd cheered and showered the victor with adoration while they scorned and ridiculed the defeated. Even a fool could see the pattern. On the platform, the new lord of Grassmere and his father looked pleased, basking in the atmosphere of their grand festival.

Kirk's lips twisted into a wicked grin as he stole a glance at Rubia. Her face was clouded with worry. With Christina fallen, she had no choice but to lower her tail. It didn't matter what excuses she might give. If Rubia failed to field a champion for this tournament, the crowd's jeers would descend on her alone.

"Heheheh..."

The thought of her retreating in shame, tail tucked, made him smile wider. For his champion, Kirk had pulled strings to recruit a man under a special condition: he would be free to do whatever he wished with Rubia afterward. The man was barely a C-rank mercenary, but even that was enough. Against anyone but a freak like the ogress, victory was assured.

The tournament picked up pace. Knights thundered faster, and names were stricken swiftly from the brackets. The fever of the crowd peaked. When another match concluded, a bell rolled.

Ding ding ding!

The former lord of Grassmere turned with a sly smile toward Kirk.

"Boss! It's time."

"I'll go."

The mercenary he had arranged was already preparing below the stage, taking his place. Kirk smiled, gaze sliding toward Rubia. The ogress was nowhere to be seen. In her place, the lord of Yublam sat at his seat, wrist glittering with a golden bracelet.

The lord of Yublam was a fine spectator, but he posed no threat. Rubia's companions were all familiar to him. None had any particular skill.

What half-baked substitute has she dared to put forward?

"Heh heh..."

There had never been a moment when Rubia stood more vulnerable.

"Next! The special tournament! All eyes on the platform, please!"

The crowd, hungry for more violence, eager to shower glory upon a victor and scorn upon a loser, turned their gaze as one. The hunger in their eyes was so sharp it seemed they might devour anyone not offered up to them.

"Rubia Ray! Kirk Ray! These two rivals for the lordship of nearby Erast, have agreed to honor us with a friendly match! Each side will be represented by their champion!"

The announcer thrust out both arms, pointing to Kirk and then to Rubia. Thousands of eyes shifted to Kirk's seat.

Overwhelmed by the heat of those stares, Kirk let slip a small gasp. "Kyah..."

He could barely sit still, his rump twitching with nervous excitement, though he himself would not be fighting.

"Champions of both sides, come forth!"

"Of course."

The C-rank mercenary Kirk had hired waved lazily to the crowd before striding forward. However, Rubia, seated near the Yublam lord with no champion at her side, only wore a troubled expression.

"Ah! One moment! Lady Rubia, do you mean to say you have no champion to field?"

"Boooo!"

"Pathetic!"

Jeers rang out from every direction.

Behind Kirk, his men whispered, "Boss, wasn't that supposed to be our line?"

"Looks like today really is our day!"

"Say it, boss. Take the stage."

Kirk cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Does one who claims lordship not even have a knight willing to fight in her place?"

"He's right!"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Rubia's face flushed crimson, her shame so palpable she looked as though she might bolt from the grounds entirely. Kirk felt as if ten years of bitterness had been washed away in a single instant.

"Well then, flee if you wish. Or, will you fight yourself? Hahaha!"

Of course, it was a joke. She would never accept. Women were meant to be weak, to run, and even their flight was only fuel to whet the appetite before the inevitable hunt. That was the natural order. It was nothing more than words meant to make her lower her tail and quake in fear.

The Yublam lord, who had been lazily stroking his belly, chimed in softly. "Oh? Now that would be interesting."

Even the newly ascended lord of Grassmere, a boy said to have trained in the East, turned his head curiously, eyes flicking between Rubia and Kirk. He was not dissuading. Instead, he was merely intrigued.

"Fight! Fight her yourself!"

"Forget champions! Settle it directly!"

"Wooooo!"

A few sharp cries cut through the crowd, and soon the demand spread, amplified until the entire parade ground thundered with it.

"Perfect..."

It was as if Kirk had planted the voices himself. The reaction was frenzied and intoxicating. The situation was too perfect. Everything was aligning, every shout feeding his pride. He swayed with dizzy exultation. This could be the best day of his life, and a new beginning.

Shoving the mercenary aside, Kirk stepped forward as though bewitched, eager to bathe in the crowd's adulation with no intermediary.

"Will you run?" Kirk taunted.

"H-ha..."

Rubia lowered her head, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. She couldn't even form the words.

"I'll do it. I will fight," Rubia answered.

Kirk burst into booming laughter.

"Kill her, boss!" one of his men shouted.

The mercenary frowned. "Wait, no killing, I need to be paid..."

"You'll have your money," Kirk dismissed him and strode to the arena.

Rubia turned quickly to Grassmere's lord, requesting a suit of armor.

"An incredible development, ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer's voice, pitched higher with excitement, filled the field. "At the crowd's request, both Kirk Ray and Rubia Ray, rivals for Erast's lordship, will face each other directly!"

"Wooooo!"

"Whoever wins should rule!"

"Crush her!"

"The winner is one of us!"

Where did we find such a marvelous announcer?

Clack.

Kirk lowered his visor, hefted a wooden shield and lance, and mounted his docile steed.

A deafening cheer erupted, so loud it rattled his nerves, but it was not for him. "Uwaaaaah!"

Confused, Kirk lifted his visor and looked across the arena.

"That... insane... bitch..."

Has she truly decided to die?

Rubia sat astride a horse with no armor plate or even a chain. She wore only a gown, a silken dress, pure white with a faint silver sheen, dyed in the same hue as the Phantom Thorn Kirk himself had planted by the roadside. Her hair spilled over the gown in luminous waves, lending her an almost otherworldly aura. She bore no shield and only gripped a lance with both hands.

Even Kirk, whose eye for beauty had long since been burned away with his conscience, could only gape at the unreal sight.

"Wooooooo!"

The announcer asked her repeatedly if she was sure, and Rubia only nodded, tense but resolute. In that white dress, she was a vision far more eye-catching than Kirk in his heavy armor. The cheers that had filled him with pride moments ago now belonged to her. He swallowed hard, shifting in his saddle. Even if he won, this would look far from glorious. But it didn't matter.

He was determined to kill her. That was what mattered. His boiling excitement cooled to a dense, heavy determination. He decided not to showboat or take any risks. He couldn't afford an injury, not from that clumsy lance. He would kill her cleanly. When her corpse hit the ground, the frenzy of the crowd would return to him. This was the price of mounting a horse without armor, of showing such womanly folly.

Kirk gave the signal.

"Both sides ready! Then... begin!"

Dududududu!

Both horses surged forward at full gallop, accelerating with every stride. Even if Rubia's lance struck true, Kirk was confident he would not die. Even a simple collision would grant him victory. Defeat was impossible.

Dudududu!

Dudududu!

At thirty meters, he leveled his lance at Rubia's belly, assured of triumph.

Dududu!

Her lance wavered, pointing down toward the dirt.

What is she doing, aiming to plant that in the ground?

Twenty meters.

Kirk's horse let out a shrill scream unlike any sound he had ever heard. "Keeheeeiiigh!"

It buckled, halting abruptly.

Whump!

Kirk's massive body lurched forward, hurtling through the air. His head slammed against the fence.

Crash! Crack!

At that instant, Rubia's lowered lance caught his skull cleanly as she passed by.

Snap! Crunch!

The wooden shaft splintered, fragments scattering. Another sharp crack rang out from his neck.

Dudududu!

Clutching the broken lance in both hands, Rubia passed cleanly through and wheeled her horse around. Kirk lay crumpled, his neck bent grotesquely. He did not move.

Rubia glanced once at her white gown, now faintly stained where the Phantom Thorn dye had brushed it, then turned her eyes toward the stable boy who had secretly aided her. She smiled.

"Wooooooooo!"

The parade ground shook with the roar of the crowd. It was not the cheer of plants or partisans, but a pure, spontaneous explosion of awe, breaking even the announcer's practiced composure.

It begins now, Rubia thought, lips pressed tight as she looked out at the deafening sea of faces, and silently remembered the one person who lingered most in her heart.