MPNS Ch 35

Chapter 35

It was well known that a Hiohkan’s tail was considered a sovereign remedy for arthritis — yet, after compiling information scattered through multiple written sources, Nikiel had concluded that ingestion likely induced hallucinatory effects.

The references to such effects were so brief and dispersed, like faint threads woven into different texts, that no one seemed to have noticed.

Hiohkan tail bones were chiefly presented as tribute to the elderly, and so, when those recipients made nonsensical remarks under the influence of hallucinations, people simply assumed them to be symptoms of senility.

Cases of arthritis among the young were rare, and even when they occurred, the precious Hiohkan tailbone was reserved for the aged. This fit the national sentiment of Ossinis — that such remedies should be offered to elders — and so the hallucinatory side effects remained largely unknown.

‘With the Monster Subjugation Tournament right around the corner, before some fool decides to think of their aching joints and boil up a hallucination-inducing bone broth, I’d better lay claim to it myself. I can also put it to use as a research specimen.’

Thus, Nikiel decided he would join this ridiculous contest.

Moreover, the secondary prize was a potion said to boost stamina. Made through magic, and valuable enough to be offered in the royal palace as a prize, its efficacy seemed certain.

For someone like Nikiel, whose every goal revolved around increasing his physical endurance, it was the perfect reward.

True, he could simply reveal his identity now and command that the prize be handed over to him as the prince — but the Black Thorn Knights were potential allies or opponents in the upcoming tournament, and he preferred not to unnecessarily incur their dislike.

Given how many people already bore grudges against him, there was no sense in drawing further ire.

Scanning the area, Nikiel spotted the man taking competitor entries — a grey-haired individual in the black tunic of the Black Thorn Knights, seated and writing names in charcoal onto scraps of cloth. The scraps served as tickets; after each round, only the cloth of the winner was kept, while the others were soaked to wash away the charcoal. Paper being rare, unbleached cloth was used.

Before approaching, Nikiel plucked a slightly grimy, sweat-stained rag hanging from the belt of a nearby shouting knight and tied it over his head like a kerchief. It smelled faintly unpleasant, but as long as it concealed his platinum hair, his identity wouldn’t be exposed.

Since the man at the registration table was a Black Thorn Knight, Nikiel would claim to be with the Royal Guard. He made up a name on the spot.

“Royal Guard, Ni… Bendi. I’ll be entering the match as well.”

He used the name of the head chef at the Prince’s Palace. The knight, counting Kili coins hanging from a string of cloth scraps, gave Nikiel a quick glance.

“Better go home before you get hurt, kid. You can’t be unaware of how rough Sitata is. Who’s your patron knight to be putting a delicate little thing like you into the ring?”

…Delicate?

Nikiel bristled. Already irritable at how stubbornly his muscle mass resisted increase despite all his exercise, this insult touched a raw nerve.

His eyes gleamed dangerously.

‘These bastards are looking down on me? I was in the wrestling club until primary school.’

He had quit after entering middle school, when studies absorbed his time, but Nikiel had been a member of an elementary school team that had produced several thickset champions — and his coach had even praised him to his parents.

Even if the real Nikiel’s body lacked athletic coordination, in wrestling, he was confident. Wrestling might be a contest of weight, but above all it was one of technique. Extra bulk was gained only to make an opponent’s holds fail; weight alone did not win matches. Compared to these knights, he might not swing a sword as well, but in wrestling he believed he would lose to no one.

Nikiel narrowed his eyes at the man holding the charcoal.

“Stop flapping your tongue and write my name down. What kind of knight spends so much time wagging his?”

“What? Why, you—”

The grey-haired man started to rise in anger at Nikiel’s jeering — but then,

“What’s going on there? Did you not hear the Captain say no pointless fighting?”

From the platform at one side of the arena, a brown-haired man called out in warning. Judging by his tunic and beret, his position in the Black Thorn Knights was high.

“Apologies, Sir Ullik. This brat’s being so arrogant I—”

“No trouble. Just finish the registration. Captain’s orders take priority.”

“Yes, sir…”

The scribe muttered grudgingly, glancing toward Ullik, who seemed disinclined to intervene further and turned away.

Not recognizing him, Nikiel figured he was not Allewynn the Vice-Commander or Benedict the Left Commander — neither of the officers who had escorted him previously.

Nikiel tugged the cloth lower to cover half his face.

“You heard him. Your captain says no fighting with me. Now register me already.”

“You arrogant… Fine. Your match is sixth. Be ready, because the Black Thorn Knights will crush that pride of yours.”

Giving a sidelong glance toward Ullik, the grey-haired man leaned in to mutter this threat. Nikiel only snorted.

“Do that. Oh, and the prize really is the Hiohkan tailbone, right?”

“That’s right, you suspicious little brat. Beat it. We’ll call you when it’s your turn.”

Ignoring the man’s toothy growl, Nikiel headed to the waiting area.

In the arena, the Sitata match was in full swing; two oiled men, bare from the waist up, strained to throw each other by locking arms and smashing their shoulders together.

Just in case, Nikiel asked a nearby spectator about the rules. This time too, it was a member of the Black Thorn Knights.

“Excuse me. I’m a bit fuzzy on the rules — in Sitata, you win just by throwing your opponent down, yes?”

“What, you’re sitting here and don’t even know the basics?”

Whether due to the rivalry with the Royal Guard or personal attitude, the answer came in the same curt tone.

This man was shorter than Nikiel, but stockily built. Nikiel couldn’t guess his skill, but his fingers lacked the telltale calluses where thumb and forefinger join that marked long-time wrestlers — and his ears weren’t the swollen “dumpling ears” of a man who trained solely in Sitata.

He thought, I can beat him, and decided to stoke the man’s temper.

“You just need to say yes or no. Why so many words?”

“You little— Fine! I’ll be your opponent, and break that impudence of yours.”

The man stood and stalked to the grey-haired scribe, pointing back at Nikiel and speaking heatedly. The scribe looked at Nikiel, grinned, and nodded — likely agreeing to make them opponents.

Nikiel, who had wanted an easier first draw, only crossed his arms with a faint smile and looked away.

In wrestling or in this Sitata, strength mattered — but only when skill was equal. When two fighters matched in technique, weight class decided the outcome. But with superior skill, even less strength could suffice. Judging by the bouts so far, no one here was a professional-level player. Against these amateurs, his moderate strength and solid technique should do.

Just avoid coughing blood halfway through.

As long as that didn’t happen, he would be fine.

‘So it was Yullan Balt…’

Of course — if this was the Black Thorn Knights, their captain was Grand Duke Yullan Balt. The Hiohkan tailbone fetched a high price; it suited such a contest.

The question was why he had ordered the event at all.

Nikiel’s impression of Yullan was not of a man interested enough in daily trifles to personally host such a petty competition.

Surely the match was intended to divert the Royal Guard’s focus while something was done within the palace. The Guards on rotating patrols would be drawn to watch the arena, shortening their rounds from the necessary three circuits to only two before heading in for a change of shift.

What’s the reason?

While he was still speculating, his alias was called — apparently moved up the roster by the angry opponent beside him.

“From the Black Thorn Knights: Tom Shrecks, against the Royal Guard’s Ni… Bendi? What kind of name is Nibendi, anyway?!”

Nikiel tightened the cloth around his head, quickly stripped off his upper garment, and kicked off his socks.

He hid it well, but he too was fired up. Having trained alone all this time, he could now test how far his strength had come.

When he bared his torso, skin white and smooth as snow, there was a momentary hush across the arena.