The Female Knight of Doom - TFKOD 54: Martial Arts Tournament (4)

“Miss Quint?” Alice had never been addressed like that before, and she felt a bit bewildered.

It was only after some time that she came to the realization that the other individual was truly reaching out to her.

The young lady standing at the door was embarrassed by her reaction, “Ah… no, it should be Knight Quint.”

Knight Quint was the name Alice used in formal occasions, and she didn’t use it often in her daily life.

Alice smiled at her, “You can call me Alice… Don’t block the door, come in and sit down.”

The lady standing at the door nodded, closed the door for Alice, and sat on the only chair in the room.

Judging from the way she sat, she was a real noble lady.

“What’s the matter?”

The young lady remained silent at first, her cheeks flushing with a delicate crimson.

After a moment, she finally spoke  “My name is Miranda. I watched your game today… you were truly outstanding.”

Alice offered a vacant nod, uncertain of the girl’s intentions.

In truth, she had never been adept at navigating interactions with her peers—she had seldom encountered girls her own age. As a child, the neighborhood girls had shunned her, and later, the young women she met at the tavern were invariably older. Subsequently, her life as a mercenary brought her into contact with even fewer girls.

Moreover, these noble-born young women were so markedly different from anyone she had known before that Alice found herself at a loss to understand what Miranda truly sought to convey.

She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to speak.

The girl named Miranda lowered her eyes, pursed her lips, and finally mustered up the courage to say loudly to Alice, “I want to be a knight too!”

The delicate and shy girl in front of her did not look like a “knight” at all.

Alice was really surprised to hear her say that, and did not know how to respond for a moment.

“You are the only female knight I have ever met, so I want to ask you, how did you become a knight?”

Her process of becoming a knight was quite complicated.

She omitted the part that was not suitable for outsiders to know, and simply said, “I was originally a special agent mercenary of the Mercenary Union,” she said. “Her Grace took a fancy to my ability and specially invited me to West Felix to serve as her knight.”

Miranda’s eyes widened, and it was hard to tell whether she was surprised or disappointed, “But you… you… aren’t related to Her Grace? I thought…”

Alice realized that it was her surname that had led the young lady to make a small mistake.

The young lady, who had been held captive in the inner chambers, probably couldn’t have known this information. She saw that she had the same surname as the duchess on the list and mistakenly thought she was also of noble birth.

Alice shook her head, “No, I’m an orphan without a surname. When Her Grace knighted me, she gave me her maiden name.”

After hearing her explanation, Miranda blushed even redder, “Oh, is that so… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I never thought I could become a knight.”

Had circumstances allowed, she would have gladly lingered a while longer in conversation with the girl. Yet, she was soon to seek out Knight Philo and lacked the luxury of time for prolonged words in her presence.

After offering a few comforting words to Miranda, and noting that her spirits had somewhat lifted, she gently remarked, “I’m about to leave, and you should be returning as well. If others saw a lady of your stature lingering near a military camp… it might cause concern.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, yet ultimately rose and accompanied Alice out of the chamber.

The walk from the castle’s barracks area to the grand hall was quite lengthy, and it would be rather impolite to leave such a lady to return alone. If Alice had no pressing matter, she would have gladly escorted her.

However, looking for Knight Philo promptly was paramount, and delaying might prove unwise.

After a brief moment of hesitation, she noticed Kent, her neighbor, emerging from his doorway.

In that instant, Alice perceived him as her savior, “Kent, would you kindly escort this lady back to her chamber? I must seek out Sir Philo before it’s too late.”

There was nothing unseemly in a lady being accompanied by a noble knight.

Kent gazed silently at the exquisite lady before him and simply nodded.

Miranda courteously curtsied, “Then I must trouble you.”

Alice bade farewell to her companions and set forth alone toward Knight Philo’s residence.

The servant at the door welcomed her inside, inviting her in.

The weary old knight, having faced two formidable opponents that day, was exhausted—so much so that he had foregone dinner and retired early to rest. He bore the wound inflicted by the wandering Knight Bennett—a superficial stab with a blade adorned with a small ball at its tip— which, while not penetrating deeply, left a painful bruise on his ribs.

She expected Knight Philo to be depressed by his defeat, but he remained calm, “I’m old, there’s no denying that. The wandering Knight Bennet fought well. If I were 20 years younger, I could have fought him and decided the outcome. But a 60-year-old knight shouldn’t cling to past glory, but should instead dedicate himself to the next legend.”

Alice felt extremely uncomfortable, “Don’t underestimate yourself. You used up too much energy in this morning’s battle…”

He shook his head, “This is something that only old men can do. Even if I were 10 years younger, I wouldn’t be in this state. Even if I fought 10 people in a row, I wouldn’t lose my strength from fatigue. After this match is over, I will entrust myself to Her Grace and return to the royal capital one more time before I die.”

Knight Philo bowed his head as if he was thinking about something, “Old men often want to return to the place of their birth before they die, but don’t you think that’s actually necessary?”

She had a very bad feeling about what Knight Philo had said, so she didn’t dare reply.

Fortunately, the old knight quickly changed the subject and gave her plenty of advice for tomorrow’s game, “You don’t need to worry about Arnold. His swordsmanship was taught to him by Pulan, and it’s a bit… well, a bit stiff. No disrespect to Pulan, of course. He’s the captain of the knights of Cloudmist Castle, and a very loyal and respectable man, but his swordsmanship is terrible, I must say.”

His face was so odd that Alice couldn’t help but laugh.

“But you must worry about Bennet,” the old knight continued. “This young man is not like Arnold. He’s probably experienced many special dangers in his life.”

He addressed Bennett as “young man,” yet from Alice’s perspective, Bennett was well past thirty and, in truth, quite seasoned.

Over more than a decade of wandering as a knight, he may not have engaged in combat as frequently as Alice’s mercenary times, but his noble background, extensive travels, and years of experience endowed him with qualities and skills that Alice’s own training could not fully rival.

Knight Philo paused thoughtfully before adding, “Even if I’d faced him this morning while I was at my freshest, I doubt I would have emerged victorious.”

This remark alone heightened her caution. Despite months of rigorous instruction under Knight Philo’s guidance, which had markedly sharpened her swordsmanship, she still felt a twinge of nervousness at the prospect of facing him—especially knowing that he had bested Knight Philo himself.

However, she had her own advantages. Her physical strength was not only far superior to that of Knight Philo, but also to that of all the world’s inhabitants.

The strength of the God of Valor, Bertucci, might be stronger than that of Cecilian, but he could never bestow all his favor on a single person like Cecilion.

She looked at Knight Philo, “Do you think I can win?”

He said flatly, “It will be difficult. In five years—no, maybe just three—your swordsmanship will surpass anything I have ever seen. But right now, I’m afraid you will find it difficult to win.”

Having gleaned all the wisdom she sought from Knight Philo, she gracefully bade the venerable knight farewell and turned her gaze back toward the castle.

As she journeyed, her thoughts remained deeply engaged with the matter at hand.

Now that she had ascended into the top three and Knight Philo himself ranked among the top six, they had already amassed a significant number of points. Even if victory in the swordsmanship competition eluded them, it seemed unlikely to hinder their overall triumph in this stage.

Yet, after hearing the his counsel, an unwavering resolve ignited within Alice’s heart.

A fierce desire to win now burned brightly within her—an unquenchable aspiration to emerge victorious.

The competition was tomorrow, and it was too late to start training hard now. She didn’t know how to make her wish come true.

But at this moment, Cecilion’s voice sounded in her ear, “Do you want me to help you?”

His voice was quiet, but to Alice, it sounded more like a demon’s temptation than help from the gods.

The competition rules didn’t say that participants couldn’t use the gods’ power, so even Cecilion’s intervention wouldn’t be considered cheating.

If luck was part of strength, then winning the gods’ favor was probably within one’s capabilities. But Alice vaguely felt that by asking him for help, she would be losing something very important.

So she refused, “No, I want to do it myself.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cecilion said, without changing his tone and not at all discouraged by the refusal. “When you need me, just call me.”

“Thank you.”

The following morning, Alice arrived at the field, where she and the other two knights drew lots to determine the order of the competition.

Fate favored her, as she drew the second and third matches—allowing her to observe her opponents’ battles first and then face them individually. Such a fortunate draw, she dare say, might have been subtly influenced by Cecilion’s discreet hand.

Meanwhile, the wandering knight Bennett drew the first and second matches—a most unfavorable pairing. This meant he would not only miss the opportunity to witness his opponents’ encounters beforehand but also have little time to rest.

Yet, he appeared unfazed by this setback, “It doesn’t matter,” he said with a calm smile, “whether I go first or last.”

Though he seemed easy to converse with, it was evident that his words concealed a deeper confidence—no matter the draw, he believed in his ability to emerge victorious.

Arnold maintained a composed and reserved demeanor, attentively hearing his opponent’s words while offering only a subtle smile—an expression that revealed little, yet conveyed a quiet confidence.

A glance into his eyes betrayed his skepticism regarding the wandering knight’s claimed prowess; he clearly did not consider his adversary a true threat.

As the stalemate concluded and the crowd gathered in anticipation, the fencing final commenced, marking the beginning of an exhilarating contest.