Many people may think that wearing heavy armor would be cumbersome, or even make movement difficult.
But in truth, depending on the number of pieces, plate armor is not as heavy as imagined. Its total weight is roughly between forty-five and eighty pounds. This figure is far less than the "marching load" of modern armies, and not decisively different from "combat load" either. Since the weight is distributed across the whole body, it feels lighter than it actually is.
As for difficulty moving, that is even more of a stereotype. The battlefield is the cruelest place there is, where life and death are decided in an instant. How could inferior equipment be tolerated there? Wearing armor, one could easily perform all kinds of physical movements, including running quickly, standing up after lying flat, leaping onto a horse, and rolling like a lazy donkey. Its mobility was quite excellent.
After putting on a padded gambeson, draping chainmail over it, then donning Toussaint knight's armor, the outside was covered by a black-and-gold checkered surcoat. Embroidered on the chest was a shield, and at the center of the shield was the red-and-white Umbrella family crest.
"Is that you, Victor? By Lebioda's beard! You look truly imposing in that outfit. Countless beauties of Beauclair will be moved by your charm!"
Beside the arena, there were awnings set up to provide contestants with a place to adjust their condition before entering the field. Sitting on one of the chairs, Palmerin de Launfal, whose family crest was a cross and a golden lily, cheerfully waved to the witcher.
After Victor's careful treatment, the knight had gone from bald to short-haired, looking ten years younger, but he still insisted on keeping his Elvis sideburns.
The young man leisurely walked closer. "Good morning. Thank you for the compliment. I didn't expect to meet my dear sir here. You came to participate in the tournament! Could it be that you also have hopes for the championship title?"
"Haha, does that even need to be asked? I will compete against Rainfarn of Attre! The former champion whose knightly career was ended by him last year was a friend of mine. I must grind him down from that position!"
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to get past me first, because my goal is also the championship." Victor sat beside him and picked up a wine cup to drink. It was a light fruit wine.
If not for Palmerin's invitation, he really would not have dared drink it. There were endless cases of people drinking the wrong thing before a competition and becoming dizzy and blurred-eyed. Although witchers were immune to the vast majority of poisons, there was no need to torment his body.
"No matter who it is, in short, Rainfarn cannot be allowed to retain the championship this year. That would be a disgrace to the knights of Toussaint!"
"I think I've heard people mention that as well. Everyone knows this man of Attre is ruthless. Does the duchy have no way to restrain him?"
The baron spat angrily. "Who can point fingers at a Nilfgaardian? The fact that he surrendered immediately after Cintra fell already tells you this is a fellow without the slightest sense of honor..."
The young man looked at the sky. There was still a while before he had to go onstage. Listening to the knight chat and gossip was not a bad way to pass the time.
...
Toussaint's knightly tournament was held over three days. On the first day was the archery contest. Participants first had to pass the preliminary selection, hitting the bullseye with eight out of ten arrows from fifty yards away, before they could participate in the second stage, a one-on-one elimination match.
Passing the preliminaries without wind or rain, Victor stepped into the crowded archery range. Amid the sea of spectators, the hornblower sounded loudly, announcing that the single-elimination rematches were about to begin.
Wearing a long dress in dark green and bright yellow, Vivienne de Tabris stepped onto the platform to host the opening. The young lady's bearing was graceful and poised, without the slightest shyness or timidity. "I salute you, knights of exquisite skill. May you all bring out your strength and fight with all your hearts. The victor will receive a generous reward! I look forward to your splendid performance!"
After speaking, she sat down amid enthusiastic applause. Then the horn sounded again. It was the name-caller, responsible for heating up the atmosphere, making his entrance.
"Ah! The very first match of the archery contest is already this exciting. What will we do if nothing afterward can compare? Let us warmly welcome the Prince of Maecht, Horm Akerspaark. This is his fourth time participating. Audience members, you are far too lucky. The divine archer who once struck a willow branch from a hundred paces away, today we shall witness him together! The arrow he fires later will strike the center of the blue target."
Raising the hunting bow in his left hand, Horm enjoyed the cheers of the crowd at the center of the arena. Victor, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, found it amusing and could not help asking quietly, "Hey, Prince of Maecht, are you really as impressive as he says?"
Unfortunately, before he could wait for the other man's answer, the name-caller began introducing the young man.
"And naturally, the divine archer's competitor cannot be some unknown newcomer. He is Skellige's first, and perhaps also last, honorary knight, Victor of Kaer Trolde! Although he looks rather young, the fact that he has gained such a great reputation surely means he cannot be an undeserving fraud! The arrow he fires must hit the red target!"
Hearing the mocking implication in the emcee's words, clearly not favoring him, Victor raised an eyebrow. The crowd also burst into malicious laughter.
"Hey! Skellige bumpkin, are you really as impressive as he says?" His opponent, Horm, turned his head and taunted him.
Victor smiled indifferently. "No need to be impatient. You'll know the answer soon."
His taunt collided with that calm attitude, and Horm's expression immediately darkened. "Then we shall see, barbarian!"
"Now, both contestants, please proceed to the target area. The match is about to begin!" Not long after the name-caller shouted, the hornblower sounded the horn amid cheers. This time, it represented the start of the match.
The rematch for archery was a one-on-one scoring contest. Three rows of dummies, differing in height, distance, and position, had their chests painted alternately red and blue. Once struck by an arrow, they would fall.
Only hitting the correct color scored points. Hitting the opponent's target by mistake did not count toward one's own score, but could reduce the opponent's total.
In theory, this design was quite favorable to bows, which had faster shooting speed.
But... that was only theory.
In reality, the moment the match began, Horm was stunned by the strength shown by the bumpkin. The hand crossbow was as light as a toy in that man's hands. The loading motion, which normally required several seconds, was forced by him into a firing rate close to one bolt per second. His hand speed was so fast that afterimages seemed to appear around the crossbow mechanism, leaving onlookers dumbstruck.
Added to that, the right hand holding the crossbow was terrifyingly steady, as though there were almost no recoil at all. The clacking of the mechanism and the whooshing of crossbow bolts joined into a single continuous sound. The dummies near Victor's side, whether red or blue, were all rapidly shot down.
Then he began shooting at Horm's side!?
Awakening from his shock, Horm hurriedly drew his bow and shot, but the outcome had already been decided. Everyone knew the prince's pursuit was meaningless.
"Ba, ba-ba, ba-ba-ba, ba!" Very soon, the small trumpet sounded again. It was the signal that the match was over.
The announcer declared loudly, "There is no need to count. Anyone with eyes can see that victory belongs to Victor of Kaer Trolde. His crossbow bolts were like a storm, sweeping across every bullseye! Poor Mr. Horm must surely feel as though he has been trapped in a nightmare, with wounds in his heart that will be hard to heal!"
This time, the sound from the crowd was no longer malicious laughter, but stamping feet and applause, expressing their cheers for the victor.
Victor looked at Horm and smiled with effortless calm, just as he had before the match began. "That's how impressive. Do you know now?"
This attitude provoked the man even more than fierce mockery would have. The Prince of Maecht's face turned livid. He hatefully snapped his bow in half, threw it to the ground, and left the arena without looking back.
After a short while, the clamor gradually slowed. Vivienne de Tabris descended from the platform to the arena, holding the prize in her hands, a finely made hand crossbow. In the circular groove above it was the "Umbrella" emblem that a painter had just drawn on.
Walking to Victor's side, she said, "Please accept the prize for your victory, Lord Corion. Congratulations on your win!" Her brows and eyes curved, her smile brimming with delight.
The witcher shrugged. "Thank you, miss. After seeing my match, do you still doubt my victory now?"
"Before seeing it with my own eyes, I truly couldn't believe someone's hand speed could be that fast. Angoulême told me you only practiced for fifteen days, and your hands already developed thick calluses. As expected of this year's fastest shooter!"
"Thank you for the compliment. Tonight, when you and your friend enter the forest, be careful not to be followed."
When the serious matter was mentioned, Vivienne agreed earnestly.
After the award ceremony, she returned to the platform, and Victor also left the arena.
...
After sunset, the witcher, who had eaten dinner early, sent Angoulême away and then stepped alone into the small forest beside the tournament grounds.
Activating his supernatural senses, the fruit of his second mutation, "magical sense," gave him a sensitivity to the distribution of magic concentration close to that of a mage.
This forest was indeed filled with Chaos magic. Following the flow of magic, the witcher arrived beside an unknown pond, the place where the forest's magic gathered. There, he meditated and waited for Lady de Tabris, and for her nonexistent friend.
After offering advice several times, when Vivienne said she wanted to invite Victor to the forest to meet her "friend," the young man knew that she intended to lay everything out.
"Witch... witcher!"
After some time passed, a familiar voice came from behind. Victor turned his head, but he did not see Vivienne, only a beautiful "bird person" standing in the distance.
The colors of her feathers were dark green and bright yellow, which directly made Victor think of the clothes Vivienne usually wore.
So he smiled and nodded. "Good evening, Lady de Tabris."
"You aren't surprised at all?" A bird's beak had replaced her nose, but her lips were still human, and so was her voice.
"When consulting someone about a sensitive issue, using the name of a friend is a very common approach."
"All right... then you have seen it with your own eyes now. Is there any way to solve my problem?"
As she spoke, the bird person kept her distance from the witcher. In her steady tone, a trace of trembling could be heard. This form made her uneasy and embarrassed.
"Before you tell me the whole story, I cannot promise you I can solve the problem. But I can promise that I will not draw my sword against you, and that I will keep your secret."
She kept her distance and considered in silence. Her body was covered in bright, gorgeous feathers that hid the sensitive areas, making her look like the queen of a masquerade ball.
As for her lower abdomen, most of her back, and the skin below her knees, they were dazzlingly pale under the moonlight.
Victor propped his chin on his hand, admiring the rare and beautiful bird person.
"You won't betray me, use what I say against me, or tell anyone else, will you?"
"I swear on my grandfather's honor!"
Vivienne said irritably, "No sincerity at all! Use something else. You don't even have a grandfather!"
"Then shall I swear on my 'first love,' Lafite?"
"Hahahaha!" Finally, she was amused into laughter, and the tense atmosphere relaxed. Vivienne slowly walked to Victor's side, hesitated for a moment, then sat down.
"You really aren't afraid at all? Previously, in court, someone accidentally saw me. That lady screamed terribly!"
"I've seen far more frightening things. And to be honest, this form of yours is rather beautiful, with a charm all its own. East of Zerrikania, a slight transformation of this degree is very popular. Cat-eared girls, in particular, are extremely precious."
Vivienne shot him a sidelong look with her green eyes. "Wretched Bell Town man, keep making up stories all you like... Her Enlightened Ladyship isn't here, so I can only choose to trust you. Of course, if you weren't so young, I would have more confidence! How did you know this pond could let me temporarily return to my original form?"
"Look into my eyes. I am a professional witcher." This kind of doubt did not require bringing out a prophet. His "eyes" alone could convince the other person.
Perhaps also drawing confidence from the Rinnegan, she sighed. "Then let it be so. As agreed, I will tell you everything my mother told me when I was a child.
"A long time ago, when she was pregnant, she often picnicked with my father in this forest, beside this pond. Mother...
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