The Female Knight of Doom

This was a momentous occasion long anticipated by many, a milestone that had eluded eager hearts for over a decade.

Numerous knights had dreamed of such an opportunity since their earliest days, yearning to showcase their talents and claim the spotlight. Year after year, they trained and prepared, yet each attempt ended in disappointment.

For those who had waited from their teens and twenties into their thirties, this conference finally arrived—a moment when they could shed the label of rookies and stand among the best.

Among them were also seasoned knights, whose past victories in martial arts competitions had earned widespread acclaim, and who had since faced countless battles beyond the arena. Yet, their unwavering dedication and fervor remained unchanged, as if time had woven a spell that transported them back to the passionate days of their youth, fueling their pursuit of excellence with the same ardor as ever.

Among all, the ladies and noblewomen of West Felix harbored an even greater enthusiasm than the knights themselves.

Though West Felix boasts considerable wealth and experiences fewer conflicts than the southern regions of the kingdom, much of its land remains rural and quietly removed from the vibrant cultural scene.

In the more isolated villages, one might search in vain for a bard’s melody within the tavern’s walls. Occasionally, a wandering poet, lost in unfamiliar territory devoid of foreign travelers, would be discovered. Such a fortunate soul was often taken to the noble estate, where they would reside for half a year, providing the local aristocracy with a welcome respite from their otherwise mundane routines.

While the duchess might journey to the royal capital to indulge in the thrills of the social season, not every lady in West Felix possesses the means to reside there for half a year.

In such circumstances, the tournament becomes a treasured diversion—an exceptional occasion for ladies to behold the young, handsome knights up close, their brows glistening with sweat and their presence charged with vitality. As they witness the knights endure the pain of injury, blushes rise and hearts quicken with excitement.

Each lady came to the castle meticulously prepared: carrying two dozen meticulously embroidered handkerchiefs bearing their initials and family crest, a vial of fragrant smelling salts, a freshly tailored gown, and all the pocket money they could muster from their dressing case.

Of course, the new dresses are a given; the pocket money might buy lottery tickets; the smelling salts serve to prevent faintness from overwhelming excitement; and the handkerchiefs serve multiple purposes—whether to tend to wounded knights or to be discreetly left behind, inspiring reverie in the young men who remain unaware of their silent admirers.

The duchess had graciously summoned a thrice the customary number of servants to prepare the castle, ensuring every chamber was meticulously cleaned to host the esteemed guests attending the conference.

The barracks wing, once sparsely occupied, now brimmed with visitors, while the guest chambers, though not entirely full, had been allocated well in advance to accommodate the influx. Nearby villages, too, opened their doors to merchants and townsfolk eager to partake in the festivities.

The scale of the gathering was so grand that Cloudmist Castle and the surrounding countryside teemed with activity—spectators, traders, and dignitaries alike converged in a vibrant celebration.

Some advised the duchess to consider relocating the tournament to Ferren, the capital of West Felix, where the noble spectators could be more comfortably housed and the city’s prosperity further stimulated.

The proposal was, in fact, quite reasonable; however, the duchess ultimately declined the suggestion. Her reasoning was both thoughtful and valid: Cloudmist Castle has long served as the emblem of martial spirit in West Felix, hosting all the knightly martial arts conferences since time immemorial.

Relocating the event to Ferren would, in her view, diminish the very soul of the martial traditions it represents.

Her decision did not deter those attending the conference, as the influx of nobility and merchants continued unabated from every direction.

Some nobles, unfamiliar with the cold grandeur of the castle, chose instead to set up tents in the open grounds outside, taking advantage of the late summer’s warm and sunny weather. The outdoor space, cool and inviting, proved more comfortable than the castle’s cold stone walls.

Among those who pitched tents outside, a spirit of friendly rivalry prevailed; each noble strove to outdo the others in opulence, constructing tents of extraordinary beauty and grandeur.

The merchants and gamblers who had assembled here emulated the noble’s grandeur by establishing their own tents in the neighboring villages’ squares. While these tents were modest in comparison to those of the aristocracy, they possessed a charm all their own.

Vendors lined the entrances, offering tantalizing snacks, and the tantalizing scent of grilled sausages and roasted potatoes wafted through the air, irresistibly tempting all passersby.

Beyond the castle’s gates, the scene resembled a lively carnival, vibrant with energy and anticipation.

The atmosphere within the castle grew markedly more solemn. Following registration, twelve official teams were confirmed to partake in the competition, accompanied by three provisional squads—bringing the total to fifteen teams, comprising thirty-five individuals.

These provisional teams consisted of rural knights without lords, men who lacked both noble lineage and the means to forge proper armor. Yet, some enterprising merchants recognized the potential opportunities these underdogs represented and extended their support, funding armor adorned with store insignias. Though humble in appearance, this armor granted them the right to compete on the field.

A few victories could catch the eye of a noble patron, offering these men a chance at new beginnings—an opportunity to be recruited into noble service and transform their destinies forever.

Each knight possessed a general sense of their own standing and could roughly gauge their position within the broader hierarchy. Yet, this understanding was often but a hazy approximation.

Outside in the village square, within humble tents, the spirit of anticipation and rivalry had already taken hold, as betting on the likely victors commenced in earnest.

Two sizable boards displayed the anticipated rankings—one listing the fifteen teams, the other the forty-five knights—serving as focal points of excitement. Long before the official commencement of the contest, this humble tent became the most vibrant hub of activity.

People from dozens of miles around, often with little more than their curiosity and hope, gathered around, passionately discussing their favored contenders. Even villagers with modest means would part with a few copper coins—money originally set aside for wine—to cast their votes for the team they believed would triumph.

The knights would also gather here, not merely for the thrill of gambling, but primarily to observe where they were projected to place.

Alice’s team was ranked ninth in betting odds—positioned ahead of only three wildcard teams and a handful of distant regional competitors.

Even many villagers who held great affection for the duchess refrained from backing her to win outright.

“Support is support,” they admitted plainly, “but gambling is another matter… You can’t deceive yourself, can you?” Their words subtly conveyed a lack of genuine belief in their victory.

The individual predictions, while somewhat more favorable—Kent at 23rd, Alice at 16th, and Knight Philo at 7th among the 45 competitors—still placed all within the top half. Yet, these rankings revealed a sobering truth: those engaged in betting had not truly contemplated the possibility of triumph.

Kent was consumed with fury, feeling that despite his youth, he possessed considerable strength and should not have been ranked twenty-third. To soothe this handsome young knight, who was the youngest among all the competitors, nearly a third of the castle’s ladies purchased his tickets, thereby elevating his position by five places to just behind Alice.

Notably, although Alice was also the same age as Kent and among the youngest in the contest, the ladies paid little heed to this coincidence.

While Alice did not garner the same attention from the ladies as Kent, her status as the sole female knight in the competition made her a highly controversial figure.

Opinions about her ranking were sharply divided. Some believed she was unworthy of her sixteenth-place position, arguing that her rank was solely due to her gender and that she was no match for the other competitors.

Others considered her age and mercenary background, deeming her placement appropriate.

Still, dedicated supporters argued that her rapid progression—being capable of reaching a top-tier mercenary level within three years—suggested she could master the fundamental skills of knighthood in mere months and thus deserved a higher ranking in the contest.

Alice accepted her sixteenth-place ranking with quiet assurance. She understood her own abilities better than anyone else and recognized that her deficiencies were profound. After all, mastery in archery could not be achieved overnight, especially since her focus was predominantly on mounted combat, leaving little room for improvement in her archery skills.

Nevertheless, she was deeply perturbed by the predictions that her team would only secure ninth place.

Driven by confidence and determination, she invested a substantial sum of one gold coin in a wager on her team’s victory. Her unwavering belief inspired others to follow suit, collectively elevating their team’s standing by a single position.

Amidst the thrill and camaraderie, however, some less desirable elements made their presence felt.

Initially, the medical team was led by Lady Meredith, the esteemed mage associated with the duchess. Comprising two skilled magicians and three compassionate nurses, their duty was to tend to the injured knights amidst the competition.

Lady Meredith’s exceptional magic potion possessed the remarkable ability to swiftly mend all non-fatal wounds, ensuring that the knights could promptly return to the next round without delay.

Generally speaking, the populace harbors a deep-seated fear of magicians, often suspecting that their magic might bring misfortune or transform them into toads. As a result, people would typically bow from afar and hastily retreat to avoid any perceived offense.

The magicians, accustomed to such distant deference, maintained an air of proud detachment, remaining unmoved by the crowd’s reactions.

In addition to the magicians, another contingent has also arrived at this place.

While the mages continue to pique the curiosity of onlookers—who, hidden in the shadows, observe silently—these newcomers evoke a different reaction altogether.

Their presence prompts only silence and discomfort; they are seldom spoken of openly. At most, upon glimpsing their black robes and masks, observers might furrow their brows and murmur in disdain: “That vile crow.”

These ominous servants of death, forever cloaked in black, seem to follow wherever darkness resides.

They are often whispered about as “crows,” symbols of dread and finality.

A grand event of such magnitude naturally drew the attention of the crows.

Historically, nearly every martial arts tournament bore witness to the tragic loss of knights in unfortunate accidents. When fallen knights had loyal lords, their lords would ensure they received proper burials; without such guardians, their bodies risked becoming prey for the scavenging crows.

Moreover, the bustling carnival atmosphere inevitably led to mishaps—drunken revelers tumbling into the river or rivals stabbing each other in the chaos of gambling.

Such incidents, though regrettable, were almost unavoidable.

Those unable to afford funeral rites faced the grim prospect of their bodies being claimed by the crows. These birds, often whispered to be necromancers, were believed to utilize human remains for sinister experiments. Some even speculated that many of the “crows” were, in fact, reanimated corpses.

Imaginative minds spun tales of seeing the faces behind the masks—faces of long-lost acquaintances—adding a layer of terror. These stories, told with chilling fervor around campfires, served to frighten and awe, weaving a tapestry of fear that lingered long after the shadows fell.

These grim tales were likely woven into the fabric of the revelry, unchallenged by those around them, for the Crows seldom spoke, their presence marked by silent wandering as they sought out fallen victims to exploit. Their realm was partitioned from that of ordinary folk by a dense, impenetrable barrier—transparent yet formidable—whose breach was rare and often accidental.

Indeed, at this very moment, Alice herself stood on the precipice of crossing into the domain belonging to the Crows, unaware of the thin line she was about to cross.