A new round of knight selection for the Knights of Favonius had begun once more. As usual, the trials were the same as before: swordsmanship, horsemanship, archery, and practical combat. Passing three out of four meant joining the Knights.
These trials seemed simple, but in practice, they were extremely strict. In swordsmanship, even the smallest mistake meant failure. In horsemanship, failing to complete the course within the time limit meant failure. In archery, every arrow had to hit the bullseye. And the most difficult of all was the practical combat test—against a seasoned veteran. Truly defeating such an opponent was no easy task.
That was why Crepus had failed again and again, earning the title "swordsmanship failure" from everyone.
So before Diluc took the stage, Crepus warned him, "Stay calm. You've only trained for a little over a month. You haven't fully mastered everything yet. Consider this a familiarization run. Even if you fail, you'll succeed next time."
He was afraid that a single failure might discourage his son.
But Crepus had underestimated his own son. Diluc said confidently, "Father, don't worry. I guarantee I'll pass the selection on my first try."
Crepus nodded. "I believe in you. May the great Anemo Archor protect you."
The next moment, Crepus watched his son enter the selection grounds. On this important day, even the bard, who had been absent for a month, appeared outside the grounds and found Crepus.
"Eh heh, Master Crepus, what a coincidence—we meet again."
Hearing that familiar voice, Crepus turned and saw the bard who had left him the ancestral sword manual. He was overjoyed. "So it's you. My apologies for the poor hospitality last time. And thank you for that sword manual."
The bard grinned. "You're too kind. If you could treat me to a jug of wine, I'd be even happier."
Just thinking about Dawn Winery's wine made him crave it. After their last meeting, Crepus had grown quite fond of this peculiar bard.
He laughed. "Once my son finishes the selection, I'll treat you to the finest wine—all you can drink."
Drinking until full without getting drunk—besides this bard, who else could do that?
The bard beamed. "You'd better keep your word."
Crepus: "I promise."
The next moment, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the selection began.
First trial: swordsmanship. Though still a youth, Diluc demonstrated his ancestral sword techniques with near-perfect form, earning a perfect score and stunning everyone.
Crepus proudly declared, "That's my son!"
Passersby: "…"
Second trial: horsemanship. Unsurprisingly, the prodigy Diluc completed it flawlessly, scoring another perfect mark.
Third trial: archery. Despite having only practiced for a few days, Diluc shot like a master archer, every arrow hitting the bullseye—amazing everyone present.
He had succeeded. Though the selection wasn't entirely over, Diluc had already passed three trials and qualified to become a knight.
At this point, the crowd began to murmur.
"This youth's swordsmanship is decent, his horsemanship good, and his archery excellent. But those are just the basics. When it comes to real battle, it's all about true skill."
"In the fourth trial, he'll face a true elite knight of the Order. Let's see how he handles that."
"He'll probably be taken down instantly."
Even with perfect scores in three trials, some still doubted him.
But then, the fourth and final trial—practical combat—began. As a young prodigy, Diluc's opponent was a genuine elite knight of the Knights of Favonius. Defeating such an opponent was no easy task—even for a seasoned knight, let alone a boy who had only recently taken up the sword.
Yet when Diluc faced the elite knight, the outcome stunned everyone. Instead of being defeated, Diluc took down the powerful knight in under thirty seconds—earning another perfect score.
Without question, under the astonished gazes of all, Diluc passed the selection with the highest marks, becoming a true knight.
Watching this, even Crepus was dumbfounded. Before the selection, he had hoped his son might pass, but he had never expected it to be this effortless. Had the selection gotten easier? No—impossible. His son was simply too strong, even for him to believe.
Beside him, the bard saw Crepus's shock and chuckled. "Hehe, Master Crepus, don't be so surprised. Your son Diluc has awakened a Vision. Passing such a simple selection is naturally a breeze."
Crepus: "…"
A simple selection? He had tried and failed multiple times—and they called this simple? He was completely baffled.
He muttered to himself, "Visions are truly miraculous. If only I had a Vision."
If Crepus had a Vision, he too could have passed the selection and become a great knight.
The bard laughed. "Enough of that—hurry up. You promised to treat me to a drink. Don't go back on your word. I'm going to drink my fill today."
He was already eagerly striding ahead.
Crepus: "…"
Just as Crepus was celebrating his son's success and preparing to drink with the bard, he felt something pressed into his hand.
"Who's there?"
He looked around but saw no one suspicious. Yet in his hand was a crumpled piece of paper.
Frowning, he opened it. On it was a single word that sent a jolt through him.
Delusion.