A knight duel was a method of battle that came about because whether or not you had knights—war machines—decided victory or defeat.
Anything below knight-level strength didn't step in. From one-on-one duels to many-on-many fights, it was knights alone who went out and fought.
The side that lost acknowledged defeat. In truth, once you'd lost your knight force, winning was a distant prospect anyway.
By having only knights take the field, it prevented armies from clashing and producing mass casualties. And instead of dragging a war out, it decided victory or defeat in a short span—reducing each nation's expenditure of strength and cutting down on consumption of war supplies.
***
On top of the palanquin, the High Pontiff's thick beard covered half his face like bristles, and he was so huge it made you think that kind of face suited him perfectly. His forearms, exposed between the loose folds of his clothing, were packed with scars that proved the life he'd lived. Even sitting still, a faint aura of force pressed down on everyone present.
Everyone here, Enkrid included, watched and studied him.
'His fingers.'
Enkrid caught the most distinctive part of the man's body. Training with Jaxen always started by finding the oddity. This time was no different.
'Thick.'
If you looked closely, it wasn't just his fingers. His abs, glimpsed for an instant through the slack of his clothes, his forearms—everything was thick, like solid steel.
The five senses and a sixth sense honed through sensory techniques, plus the eye he'd gained running with the Frog, all came together at once.
It wasn't for nothing that he thought "like steel." You could see traces of strength built through some special method of training. The muscles looked hard yet flexible—trained enough that Audin would've loved them.
As Enkrid observed, Rem did the same.
'Would you look at that?'
People always look hardest where their interest goes. Rem was no different. He focused on the High Pontiff's nature.
'He's got shamanism in his body.'
Rem didn't know which shaman had worked it, but the High Pontiff had taken a portion of soul-working into himself.
He could feel a refined soul. This wasn't some half-baked trick.
'Work of a southern tribe?'
Shamanism wasn't the West's exclusive domain. In the South there were tribes that had developed it differently than the West. Rem had never met them—only heard of them—but he knew they existed. And now he was catching a glimpse of their traces.
'The way it's manifested isn't wildly different.'
The big category was the same. You borrow the power of souls and gods and wield it. Even so, it was hard to predict what effect the shamanism lodged in that body would show.
'Curious. Should I toss an axe just once?'
The curiosity rose, and his hand went to his axe on its own.
Ragna shifted his gaze indifferently, then fixed on the knight standing below the High Pontiff.
The owner of the hexagonal club.
An opponent she'd already clashed with once.
"You still not dead? I figured you'd have died of shame already."
Ragna put on an Enkrid-style provocation. Of course, if Enkrid heard someone say he learned it from him, he'd tilt his head.
"Where's my delicate provocation in that?"
That's what he'd ask. But no matter what anyone said, the root of this sort of technique really did trace back to Enkrid. The old Ragna would've swung his sword first instead of talking.
"You crazy bastard."
The club's owner answered back. He showed white teeth through black skin—a smile full of anticipation.
"If you lost, then die quietly."
Ragna spoke again. The man's eyebrow twitched. In truth, they'd never properly judged who'd won or lost, but why did he look like the one who'd been beaten?
"You're definitely gonna die."
That was what he followed with. He wasn't skilled at trading words. Instead, he just put strength into his eyes and glared. A vicious momentum lay in that stare, as if killing intent flew like a blade and stabbed you.
Ragna responded appropriately.
"Pff."
He lifted only one corner of his mouth and tossed out a sneer.
Even Rem had to admire that response. He stopped observing the High Pontiff and looked at Ragna.
"I'll kill you with my own hands."
The black-skinned knight said.
"Pff."
Ragna raised the opposite corner of his mouth and sneered again.
"You're a noisy bunch."
The High Pontiff, who had been watching, finally spoke.
Cypress and everyone else turned to him. With thick fingers, he tapped the armrest.
That alone gathered all eyes.
The overwhelming violence you felt from him made it impossible to look away from any movement he made. It felt like he could leap off the palanquin at any moment, grab someone's skull with his bare hands, and crush it.
In a way, he stood opposite Crang. Crang drew eyes in with innate charm, but the High Pontiff made you think of death if you didn't look.
If one side captivated you into watching him, the other forced you to watch through pressure and compulsion.
Should you say there was no difference, in that both had the same pull?
No.
That wasn't it.
"If you're staking your neck, will you step up yourself?"
The High Pontiff asked.
At some point, he'd propped his chin on his right hand. The motion was extremely natural.
Enkrid recognized again that the High Pontiff was no easy opponent.
'It's not just his body.'
Well, if you trained your body to that degree, it was only natural your technique would be honed to match. Audin's words came to mind.
"Anyone who trains their body beyond a certain level will, by necessity, polish the techniques that suit it."
At the High Pontiff's words, Crang stepped forward.
In a way, you could say he truly had no fear.
"I don't know how to fight."
"A knight duel, when you won't even step out yourself? Big mouth."
"Didn't I stake my neck, though?"
"You've got nothing to lose because of oaths and vows. You're not even a knight—what value do your words have?"
The High Pontiff's attack was sharp.
'Not just someone who knows how to fight…'
Is his vessel big, too?
His logic stabbed Crang.
Crang didn't raise a shield.
"Fair."
He agreed, just like that.
Ingis watched tensely and nearly went limp. Admitting it here? What kind of reaction was that supposed to be?
Crang opened his mouth again.
"Then if you won't even believe my words, why did you come out here?"
He meant: I spoke in the king's name—so you reacted, didn't you?
The High Pontiff didn't waver.
"You think I came out because of you?"
Will rode on the High Pontiff's deep voice.
If you stood before him, it would feel like your whole body was being squeezed tight.
Even from a short distance away, Ingis had to suppress the urge to draw his sword.
"Ah. If not, then not."
Crang answered in a tone like he was playing some prank.
What kind of insane talk was that?
Ingis was confused.
And yet, he felt something anew.
'What an incredible man.'
Even a knight would find it difficult not to tense up before the High Pontiff, but the master of his kingdom spoke with the enemy as if it were nothing.
Wasn't that, by itself, enough to be respected?
'That's our king.'
It was a side of him Ingis had never imagined, a situation he'd never predicted. Maybe that was why, but Ingis saw the size of his king's vessel and couldn't help admiring it.
"So if you say it isn't, then I'll have to tell you why I came all this way?"
The High Pontiff asked.
"You already know, so I won't say more."
Crang nodded.
The High Pontiff stared at Crang silently.
How many people here truly understood what this situation was?
"Impudent."
The High Pontiff spoke again.
"So will you fight, or not?"
Crang spoke as if victory were guaranteed, as if he'd left success in someone else's hands.
Was what he had right now confidence? Arrogance? Or reckless bravado born of ignorance?
None of those.
The High Pontiff saw it.
Crang opened his mouth again.
"Instead of me, my close friend will fight. Instead of me, the guardian god of the kingdom will step out. Instead of me, the kingdom's knights will step out. And I will stake my neck on them. Now—what will you stake?"
He trusted them. He believed in them.
That was why he staked his own neck.
All at once, Cypress barked out a laugh.
Enkrid smirked, and Rem lifted the corner of his mouth.
Who held the advantage in this war?
Objectively, you'd give it to the South.
On the surface, the scales were heavily weighted to one side.
Behind the High Pontiff, presences that made the hair on everyone's skin rise began to reveal themselves one by one.
The South's hidden strength showed itself.
Among them were six knights dressed exactly like the Faceless Order of Knights, and there was also a knight with a thin scabbard hanging at his waist.
A few more faces emerged.
Those were the order of knights the southern High Pontiff had raised.
Their very name was the Final Order of Knights.
The Final Order of Knights that would unify the continent and even seize the Demon-lands.
"I'll make myself believe your words. However."
The High Pontiff was no pushover.
He didn't need to settle things by trading words with a cheeky bastard like Crang.
But he wasn't about to be dragged along, either.
"However?"
"If you accept this greeting, I will accept the knight duel."
Before a fight, the High Pontiff did everything he could to shave down the enemy's strength.
That process had been the two detachments that infiltrated deep into enemy territory, including the gryphon unit.
Everything had failed, but it wasn't as though he'd gained nothing.
This "greeting" was the process of confirming that.
The High Pontiff met Crang's eyes for most of it, but right before he left, his gaze stopped on the one with black hair and blue eyes.
"Were you called the Madman Order of Knights?"
The High Pontiff asked.
"Yes."
"Enkrid of the Madman Order of Knights."
A short introduction.
"And I am his betrothed, Shinar Kirhais."
The fairy cut in from beside him.
He might have said something, but the High Pontiff didn't even shift his gaze once.
In a way, that too was impressive.
If it were Crang, he wouldn't have been able to help either asking what that was supposed to be or laughing. Of course, it would've been a laugh of disbelief.
"If you lose the knight duel, come under me."
The offer was quite unexpected.
Did that mean he rated him that highly?
"Why would I?"
Enkrid asked back.
There was no hesitation in the question. It was a response with a clear meaning.
"How about we put the subordination of each order of knights as a condition on the outcome of the knight duel?"
His eyes were on Enkrid, but the question was aimed at Crang.
"High Pontiff, you might see knights as possessions, but I don't. I can't decide that by my will."
Crang answered.
"Even if I win, I won't take the king's life. Instead, come under me. Enkrid of the Madman."
The High Pontiff didn't easily change words he'd already spoken.
He spoke only after he'd finished his calculations.
Which was why, to those behind him, this was a surprising thing.
Of course, among knights, no one's heart would waver over something like this.
Knights were those who surpassed limits with steadfast minds and robust bodies.
In any case, it was an offer of that magnitude.
The High Pontiff held Enkrid in high regard—enough to show greed like this.
The ones who reacted to the High Pontiff's words were on this side.
"You rotten potato even monsters wouldn't eat—how dare you speak like that before us? Do you even know whose face you're speaking in front of?"
Shinar Kirhais showed a razor-sharp momentum.
A fairy rarely showed emotion, so it was uncommon for her to display such clear hostility like this—unless the opponent was a demon.
"Hey, why don't you just take the king's neck quietly?"
Rem cut in, too.
Crang felt a little hurt by that, but he didn't cut in like Rem did.
'It'd be nice if you treated my neck like it was precious, too.'
That was how he felt inside, but outwardly his expression stayed calm.
"Who decided that?"
Ragna stepped up as well.
Well, by now, this sort of thing was everyday life.
Dunbakel bared her fangs, and Pel put his hand on the Idol Slayer.
Behind them, One-Eye came down and stared at the High Pontiff without a word.
"So that's what they say?"
Enkrid shrugged.
The High Pontiff smiled.
"No matter what you want, it will be better to stand beside me than beside your frail king."
Rather than lingering, he said what he wanted and tried to turn away.
To his back, Enkrid spoke.
"This side is stronger. Don't be mistaken."
"That's exactly why we're gathered here—to find out."
The High Pontiff answered without turning his head.
The two gathered forces pulled away.
Right before they fully parted, Baerlich spoke toward Cypress.
"Next time, you won't get out."
Cypress answered without yielding.
"That's my line."
Then the High Pontiff's "greeting" came flying.
Flap, flap.
The sound of wings made some soldiers remember a brutal stretch of time.
Up in the sky, the dots rising higher played in the air.
It was the gryphon unit.
"That's a greeting?"
Lien clicked his tongue.
They were disgusting—so unpleasant to face.
For someone who specialized in close combat and found it easier to deal with a single knight than an army, an army that flew was a real nuisance.
"You call it a knight duel proposal when you can't even stop something like that, Lien."
Cypress added.
As he spoke, he looked toward Enkrid.
Not just him—others caught his eye, too.
They were worth watching.
Enkrid, too, happened to be looking at him.
"Will you suffer one more time for me?"
Cypress asked.
"It'll be less suffering than Sir Cypress's."
Enkrid answered, then climbed back onto One-Eye.
Somehow, the moment One-Eye flew, a chance to move so violently it bordered on excessive seemed to arrive.
Well—good is good.
There were more than fifty gryphons.
But unlike before, none of them carried knights.
One-Eye, carrying Enkrid, ran again.