"He wants Lord Jiang Ning to join the competition?"
"Didn't he just advance to the Knight realm recently? I think it's still too early for him to compete with other Knights."
"Is he that confident in his nephew's skills?"
"Lord Jiang Ning is one of the greatest talents in the empire, but I don't think he can match veteran Knights just yet. Experience is everything in real combat, and talent alone can't bridge that."
The guests murmured among themselves, their voices rising and falling like ripples across the hall.
Ren Ning frowned subtly as he studied his younger brother, Qin. The glint in that man's eye was never innocent. He had invited trouble into his son's celebration, and he knew it.
Sensing the weight of his brother's gaze, Qin smiled thinly and gave a small, harmless nod.
Too harmless.
Jiang Ning stepped forward before his father could speak. "Since my uncle has already spoken," he said evenly, "then I hope everyone doesn't mind if I join."
Gasps scattered through the crowd. For someone who had just advanced to the realm of Knight, accepting a challenge like this was nothing short of audacious. But it also made them straighten and look at him differently, with respect. Even the skeptical nobles had to admit, the boy didn't lack courage.
Ren Ning's expression softened slightly. He had seen his son's technique first-hand. Jiang Ning might lack battle experience, but his marksmanship was razor-sharp and deliberate, was already on par with men who'd fought for decades.
He'll be fine, as long as he stays smart.
Ren clapped his hands once, drawing attention. "Since my son has accepted, let me announce the rules while the participants prepare themselves."
His voice carried over the courtyard, firm and commanding.
"The rules are simple. Since this is a friendly competition, the use of mana is prohibited.
You must not kill or inflict severe injury upon your opponent. If you are incapacitated or admit defeat, the match is over. Failure to comply with these rules will be met with immediate execution."
The air grew taut for a moment, even friendly games under the Ning banner were not without weight.
"Any objections?" Ren's eyes swept across the hall.
No one spoke.
"Good." He gestured to the audience. "To ensure fairness, I will ask for a volunteer to handle the drawing of lots."
One of the noble guests, an old merchant lord with no stake in the contest, came forward and conducted the draw. The names and match pairings were arranged quickly, the participants lining up with tense anticipation.
Jiang Ning's first opponent was a Knight named Cole Woodman. From his weathered face and build, he looked to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties. The man's stance was steady and conservative, sword resting lightly on his shoulder, the mark of a veteran who relied on experience, not flair.
I don't recognize him. He should just be an ordinary Knight, Jiang Ning thought, quietly analyzing the man's movements.
While he waited, the first few matches began.
Fights between Knights without mana were short, decisive, and brutally honest. Every swing, feint, and counter reflected instinct and training. The outcome was often decided in seconds.
The first match ended in less than ten heartbeats.
The second went a little longer, a clash of footwork and precision, but still brief.
The crowd roared with each finish, nobles shouting bets and commoners cheering like it was a festival.
As the day progressed, one of the attendants raised his voice.
"Next up, Lord Dylann Heinrich of Redonia!"
A sudden wave of cheers rose, particularly from the noble ladies in the stands.
Dylann stepped forward with easy grace, removing his coat and rolling his sleeves.
Jiang Ning couldn't help smirking.
Well, I don't want to admit it, but he's a bit more handsome than me.
The comment earned him an inward chuckle. Even in a crowd of Knights, Dylann stood out, not just because of his looks, but because of the calm confidence that radiated from him.
Unlike most who carried longswords or greatswords, Dylann's weapon of choice was unique, a short saber paired with a sleek pistol holstered to his thigh. It wasn't unusual for Knights to carry firearms, but few used them in close combat.
Most saw guns as supplementary tools for ranged support.
Dylann made his part of the dance.
Ah, that's right, Jiang Ning recalled from his memories of the past timeline.
He participated in the Civil War, a Transcendent Knight by then. A genius rider and a strategist… but above all, a man who fought like a storm.
Dylann's opponent stepped into the ring, a spear wielder, quick on his feet and light on defense. A good counter to a swordsman, in theory.
"Begin!" the officiant called.
The spear Knight lunged immediately, tip slicing through the air in a blur.
Dylann sidestepped, the wind of the strike brushing his vest. Without missing a beat, he drew his pistol with his off-hand and fired, not at the man, but at the ground beside him.
Bang!
The shot struck a loose tile, sending dust and shards up into his opponent's eyes.
The crowd gasped.
The spear Knight staggered back, cursing.
Dylann pressed forward, sword flashing in a clean horizontal cut. His opponent blocked, just barely, the two weapons locked, and sparks scattered between them.
Dylann twisted his wrist, drawing the Knight in, then fired again, this time beside the man's ear. The deafening crack made him flinch.
And that half-second of disorientation was all Dylann needed.
He pivoted sharply, shoulder checking his opponent's balance. Then, using the hilt of his saber, he slammed forward, striking the man's armored shoulder with enough force to make him stumble.
Before the spear could recover its guard, Dylann pressed the edge of his saber to the man's neck, his pistol leveled but still pointed harmlessly away.
"I–I admit defeat!" the Knight gasped, hand raised.
The entire hall went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted in cheers.
"Did he just fire at the ground to throw him off?"
"Who even does that?!"
"That's insane… but it worked!"
Dylann holstered his pistol and sheathed his sword with a casual spin. "You fought well," he said, bowing slightly to his opponent.
It was unorthodox, even reckless, using sound, recoil, and shock as part of a rhythm, but it was effective.
A method not of chivalry, but survival.
Jiang Ning's lips curved upward.
Not bad, Heinrich.
The next participants were called.
One of them was the Knight who everyone believed would come out as the victor of this competition. His name was Anthony Olliver, a veteran Knight from Vale. He was nearing his sixties, but his appearance showed no signs of aging. His gaze was like that of an eagle, sharp and intense. The muscles on his arms bulged as he took out his weapon, a sniper rifle that was almost as tall as him.
Contrary to his age, Anthony looked like someone in his forties. He was as tall as Galanar but was more muscular than him. Scars were visible on his exposed arms, a clear sign that he had been through many battles.
With one look, anyone would be intimidated by him.