The Female Knight of Doom - TFKOD 58: Another Final

The god had already departed from the creature’s form and, in a voice tinged with innocence, inquired, “What truly constitutes cheating?”

“You withdrew when my opponent was about to strike.”

“I couldn’t simply stand by and watch you be harmed,” Cecilion interjected calmly. “At that moment, I was your steed, entrusted with your safety. Even if it was your Grumpy, I knew it would have acted with the same resolve to protect you.”

While it may have appeared somewhat unusual to ascribe the phrase “responsibility to ensure safety” to a horse, his assertion was not without its justifications.

“Such a competition would never be entirely fair. Some have family armor, others have to borrow it from the armory. Some ride tall warhorses, others skinny old nags. You may have no money, but you are protected by a god, so it is only natural and proper to have a horse to help you dodge spears.”

“Yes, I suppose,” said Alice with a sigh. “You are right.”

“What is the matter with you? You do worry about such things. It is not like you.”

“A little, yes,” she admitted. “I have been spending too much time with Sir Philo lately, and he has influenced me a little.”

“Philo is a man who takes the code of chivalry very seriously. It is funny, people who really believe in Bertucci and the God of Light are less worried about such things.”

“Now that I am a knight,” Alice asked, “should I do as he did?”

The god’s answer was as always, “There is no should or should not. Everything depends on your own choice.”

Alice offered no further words, and the following day, as she prepared for the competition, she mounted the horse that had been transformed from him.

The black steed possessed a rare and unparalleled advantage—his deep attunement to her mind and emotions, granting her an almost supernatural connection.

The origins of her extraordinary mount remained a mystery, fueling the envy of the knights who had previously removed Grumpy’s nails. Driven by jealousy, they covertly infiltrated the stables under the cover of darkness, only to discover that the striking black horse had vanished without a trace. Disappointed, they returned empty-handed.

Meanwhile, Alice continued to excel, her prowess shining brightly as she dominated the competition.

Despite her inaugural participation in jousting, her remarkable reflexes enabled her to swiftly synchronize with the rhythm of the event. By the fourth round, her performance had nearly reached its zenith. Exhibiting exceptional agility and rare strength, she skillfully unseated her opponent in the very first round. After four exhilarating contests, she once again advanced to the final stage.

Meanwhile, Kent faced less fortunate circumstances; after securing a spot in the top six, he faced the formidable wandering knight Bennett. This enigmatic knight had proven to be the most captivating dark horse of the entire tournament. With a second-place finish in the sword-fighting segment and commendable archery results, his overall score slightly surpassed Alice’s, placing him at the top of the leaderboard.

It is easy to foresee that, once the competition concludes, he will become a sought-after contender among the noble lords from various regions.

Although he had yet to choose a master to serve, he continued to wear armor sponsored by merchants—adorned with vibrant advertisements for food establishments—and his horse, long past its prime, was so gaunt that it appeared rescued from the butcher’s block, lacking teeth and frail in frame. Yet, none of this hindered his swift and spirited performance in the competition.

Even his aging steed, fueled by a fierce, almost reckless energy, charged forward with a frantic urgency, its very momentum enough to intimidate his rivals. After each victory, he would make his way to the village tavern, where he would raise a glass of light ale in celebration.

Fond of regaling the patrons with stories, he often toasted the grocer who sponsored his armor—playfully calling him “my lord”—with a jovial spirit that endeared him to all.

Kent and Bennett were remarkably well matched. After three rounds, each had struck the other twice, and neither had been unhorsed. Ultimately, the decision was made based on the extent of damage inflicted upon their lances.

Since Bennett’s lance sustained more breakage, he was declared the winner and advanced to the final.

“You’re a fine young man,” Bennett said earnestly. “If you were my age, you would have taken this match.”

Such genuine praise was rare from him, but Kent remained immersed in his own regret, pondering how he might have triumphed with a little extra effort, and he chose to say nothing.

The other finalist was Knight Philo, who entered the competition starting from the third match. Having just recovered from illness, his face still bore a pallor.

Alice and Kent assisted him in donning his armor, which was passed down through his family and weighed twice as much as the modern armor. Without help, he would have struggled to mount his horse; so, with their support, he was helped into the saddle.

His breathing was noticeably labored as he settled into place.

His condition was deeply concerning, and Alice and Kent awaited anxiously, their nerves taut as they watched him ride. Yet, despite his fragility, he triumphed in both matches.

He sat upright, his face obscured beneath his helm, concealing any signs of vulnerability. Though his strength waned, his vast experience and mastery proved sufficient to defeat his opponents in no more than two passes.

A wounded lion remains a formidable beast, and some knights, intimidated by his formidable presence, hesitated to even charge.

The seasoned knight struck with precision and force, once even knocking a knight’s helm free to earn two points in a single blow. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, honoring this valiant veteran.

At the village’s entrance, the individual score prediction listed his name at the top—an enduring testament to a legend that has not yet faded. Even as the sun sets, casting a golden glow, it reveals the lingering brilliance of bygone greatness.

Knight Philo and Alice are in the same group, but according to the rules of the tournament, they must play against each other to determine the winner.

Alice draws her first two matches, and so she faces off against Bennett, and then Knight Philo.

Bennett is the toughest opponent she has ever faced, and she never expected to face him again.

The jousting contestants’ preparation areas are on opposite sides of the arena, and they are not allowed to meet before the match. However, Bennett makes a point of coming over to her tent.

“We meet again,” he says, smiling at Alice. “I’ve watched all your matches so far, and I’m amazed at how quickly you improve…it’s so entertaining.”

While Bennett’s words were perfectly ordinary, there was an unsettling note in his smile—one that lingered uncomfortably. His gaze upon her was tinged with a possessiveness, as if she were a coveted prize rather than a person.

Alice sensed that his presence was not driven by a desire for recognition, but rather by a simple enjoyment of the competition itself.

Throughout the encounter, Kent’s intense glare never wavered, and after Bennett’s departure, he took a moment to assist Alice with her armor and offered her encouragement, “You must defeat him and avenge me!”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his words.

When they first met, Kent appeared distant and mature beyond his years, yet over time, she realized that beneath that exterior was simply a child. Judging by the current circumstances, it seemed that without encountering certain trials, he might never truly grow up.

Prior to this match, Alice experienced a sense of calm that contrasted sharply with the nerves she had felt during her previous sword fighting contest. She attributed this newfound composure to her growing bond with Cecilion.

In the days leading up to the joust, she sensed their connection deepening profoundly.

Previously, her relationship with Cecilion had been characterized by spontaneous appearances offering assistance, or her reaching out directly whenever she faced a problem. Often, even without words, He could effortlessly read her thoughts, creating a remarkable convenience. Yet, this intimacy came with its own drawbacks: it left her with little room to conceal her true feelings before him.

He knew her so intimately, yet she knew nothing of his thoughts. Such a dynamic—this unspoken understanding—was, inevitably, somewhat unsettling. After all, He was a god, unseen and mysterious, unable to reveal himself fully.

This inherent limitation prevented Alice from gaining deeper insight into his true nature, rendering their connection both powerful and elusive.

As the contest commenced, an unspoken shift quietly unfolded.

Cecilion, once an elusive god, now became the mount beneath her, and she could see him, touch him, and perceive his emotions through his actions. Naturally, his behavior had become remarkably akin to that of an ordinary horse, yet Alice, who had cared for Grumpy for so many years, knew well that horses possess distinct personalities.

Through the horse’s form, He revealed his true nature, and she was attuned to these subtle signals.

Though this intimacy was expressed in the traditional “knight and horse” bond, the delicate connection forged was unlike any before—deep, nuanced, and unbreakable, transcending mere familiarity to establish an enduring union.

The contest between Alice and Bennett did not quite live up to the audience’s heightened expectations.

Bennett demonstrated remarkable technical prowess, while her profound bond with her horse rendered both of them resilient—neither easily dislodged from their mounts. Their reliance hinged on precise target strikes to determine victory or defeat.

In the initial pass, neither scored a hit, as both riders appeared to conserve their strength and vigilantly observe each other’s movements.

The second round saw each rider land a blow on the other’s armor, resulting in a deadlock with one point apiece, leaving the match poised for a decisive third round. Though the spectators’ nerves were slightly frayed, the competitors on the field maintained an impressive composure.

Of course, anyone clad in a full suit of armor weighing over ten pounds and fully concealing the face would appear unfazed—such was the nature of their discipline.

With one final surge, they prepared for the decisive moment.

Bennett focused his aim on Alice’s shoulder, a target he had discerned from their previous exchanges to be her most vulnerable point. Confident that this calculated strike would prevail, he watched her closely. Yet, her eyes drifted unpredictably, as if she was still deciding her next move, which subtly unsettled him.

Nonetheless, he knew hesitation was a luxury he could not afford in this tense moment.

As their distance diminished to its closest point, he executed his carefully planned attack on her shoulder. At the instant of contact, through the visor of his helmet, he glimpsed her spear hurtling toward his face.

His vision blurred, and an abrupt emptiness enveloped his head—Alice had successfully dislodged his helmet.

A sigh of disappointment escaped him as the crowd erupted in applause, marking Alice’s victory in the first game.

Alice’s contest against Knight Philo was scheduled for the following day, and after careful contemplation, she resolved not to rely on Cecilion for the occasion. Instead, she chose to ride Grumpy into the match.

While harnessing divine power to secure victory might not constitute cheating, it felt different when confronting him.

Knight Philo, her mentor and guide, deserved to be challenged and defeated through her own skill and resolve.