For Marquis Perkin, this year's military competition was far more than just a festival.
In the succession struggle for the throne, the First Prince's side had already suffered one defeat. The fallout had been immense; nobles who used to flock to his banner at the mere mention of the First Prince's name were now keeping an unmistakable distance.
That was precisely why they had to win here.
All it would take was for House Perkin to emerge victorious in the Founding Festival's military competition, an event where commoners from all across the royal capital gathered and countless nobles looked on. It would prove that the First Prince faction was not finished yet, demonstrating their might in a way visible to all.
What was more, the man who had been their greatest obstacle was absent from the drill grounds this year.
"That old man Eldran... He truly isn't taking the field, is he?"
Marquis Perkin cast his gaze toward a spot slightly removed from his high spectator box. Sitting there was Duke Eldran, the very man who had defeated them in the finals the previous year.
Despite his advanced age, his eye for reading the battlefield was razor-sharp, making him an exceptionally troublesome foe when directing troops. Had he been in direct command again this year, considerable resolve would have been required, but it was plain to see that the man had relegated himself to a spectator.
House Eldran itself was powerful... yet without that old man, they would not be the force they were last year. Nor had his own troops been idling away the past twelve months.
"...This year is ours."
Just as Marquis Perkin felt that conviction, his gaze shifted to the three hundred soldiers clad in dark blue who had stepped out for the first match.
—A silver wolf emblazoned upon their chests. House Razgrim.
Though their house had suddenly risen to prominence recently, the rumors circulating about their private soldiers were hardly impressive. Supposedly, they were a ragtag collection of former bandits, former mercenaries, and people who had nowhere else to go.
"It seems that Razgrim brat managed to at least get them looking the part."
Dress them in matching tunics, and they looked respectable enough from a distance. But a military competition was no place for a parade. In the end, a motley crew was just a motley crew.
—Or so he had thought... until the match actually got underway.
"...Oho?"
Marquis Perkin's eyes narrowed slightly.
It was not as though the soldiers of the Razgrim army were fighting in a flashy manner as individuals. And yet, their formation remained remarkably resilient.
When an order was barked, they moved instantly. If the center pulled back, the flanks adjusted in tandem, and if a soldier fell out of line, those nearby immediately filled the breach. Even when pushed back by the opponent and thrown into disarray, not a single man broke off to fight independently; by the time the next order was issued, their ranks were already reforming.
What caught his attention most of all was that, despite the force being predominantly former mercenaries and bandits, practically no one charged ahead in a reckless bid for personal glory. Men like that were the sort to hunt for personal kills the more confident they were in their own skill. Yet all three hundred of them were moving as one, answering to a single command.
The same held true even after they seized the flag and secured victory.
It would hardly be surprising for first-time tournament soldiers to get swept up in the moment after receiving such thunderous cheers from the stands. Yet the dark-blue soldiers, having raised a brief shout of triumph, immediately began dressing their ranks the moment a signal flew from their commander.
"...They're surprisingly capable."
Marquis Perkin tapped his fingers lightly against his armrest. If they were merely strong as individuals, they could never move like that. Nor was this an army assembled overnight.
At the very least, they had been drilled as a unified force of over three hundred men for quite some time.
At that moment, a sudden question arose in his mind.
—Since when?
Marquis Perkin searched not the drill grounds, but for Duke Razgrim himself.
He found him right away.
He was seated right beside the queen, with Duke Eldran on his other side. That alone drew enough attention, yet Vain himself was not boasting of his army's victory, but instead gazing down at the drill grounds with an air of languid detachment.
All around, murmurs regarding the Razgrim army were already flying back and forth.
"Are they really former bandits?"
"Wait, this is their first time competing, right?"
"Since when did Razgrim have soldiers like that under his command?"
Despite those voices carrying all around him, the man himself looked to be the least interested person present.
Marquis Perkin's brow furrowed slightly.
—His soldiers are drawing this much attention, yet he himself looks utterly indifferent?
Any ordinary noble would seize this moment to show off. It would hardly be strange for one to boast within earshot of everyone about how much gold they had poured in or how exceptional the knights they had assembled were.
That brat displayed none of that.
"...Could it be?"
A single thought crossed Marquis Perkin's mind.
What if this army had not been assembled for this tournament at all?
It had not been very long since Vain Razgrim inherited headship of his house... In that brief span, had he purged his corrupt retainers, rebuilt his domain, gathered people—and secretly trained private soldiers that no one in the royal capital had paid any mind to?
"Could he... have looked that far ahead?"
Looking back, shortly after the brat had inherited the family headship, nothing but scandalous rumors had reached the royal capital. He had summarily purged the retainers who had served for generations and hired people of dubious backgrounds one after another. He had even employed bandits as soldiers.
And above all—he was supposedly surrounding himself with young women and indulging in wanton play.
Marquis Perkin had scoffed at the time as well. He had assumed that a greenhorn who inherited his house after losing his father was simply running wild with his sudden influx of power.
—But... what if even that had been calculated?
"...No, it might actually be possible."
He had deliberately let the bad rumors fester to make others dismiss him as a foolish greenhorn. Surrounding himself with women, he posed as a playboy to lower the guard of other houses. In the shadows, he brought order to his domain, scooped up people whom nobody else wanted, weeded out all but the useful, and raised an army.
Then, he sided with the queen in the succession struggle, found himself made a duke before anyone realized... and only now had begun displaying one of the powers he had kept hidden to the royal capital.
Marquis Perkin looked at Vain once more. Resting his cheek against his fist, he was speaking to Alecia with a look of sheer annoyance. Just moments ago, he had seemed nothing more than a carefree youth.
Now, it was different... Even that posture appeared to be composure born of absolute confidence.
"A terrifying brat..."
—Of course, every single bit of this was a complete misunderstanding.
The reason Vain had purged the corrupt retainers was simply that working with incompetent fools was a massive pain that he hated.
The reason he had hired bandits and mercenaries was that they looked like they would work for cheap. And as for having numerous women around him, that was largely due to his personal tastes and dreams of a life of decadence.
He was hardly thinking about the future at all. In truth, he was a man who wanted nothing more than to return to his domain this instant and take it easy with a glass of wine.
However, there was no way Marquis Perkin could have known that.
"...All the more reason to crush him here."
A smile, entirely different from his earlier sense of leisure, surfaced on his lips.
There was no need to fear. No matter how far ahead he might be reading, the champion of this tournament would be House Perkin. If anything, now that the royal capital was turning its eyes toward Razgrim, defeating that army in a head-on clash would showcase the First Prince faction's might all the more powerfully.
"Very well, Razgrim brat. Let us see if you can entertain me a little!"
The initial contempt was the only thing that had vanished from his eyes.
◇
In a corner of the general spectator seats, there were those who watched the Razgrim army from an entirely different perspective.
"...So ya came after all."
At the voice coming from beside her, Elsa grimaced blatantly.
"What! Is it a crime to come?!"
"I just thought a girl lookin' an awful lot like the one who was makin' a fuss about 'goin' to sleep' and 'not carin' about the military competition' happened to be sittin' here."
"I just happened to finish work early today, that's all! I was bored just goin' back to my room, so I came!"
The Master Blacksmith said nothing, merely returning his eyes to the drill grounds with a smirk.
That smug look was infuriating... Elsa rested her remaining right hand on her knee and looked down at the three hundred soldiers in dark blue. While the surrounding spectators watched only how they fought, the Master Blacksmith was paying attention to a different detail entirely.
"Oho, that shield... That's the one with the reworked rim. Same goes for that sword over there. They're puttin' every last piece to good use, ain't they."
—Enough for three hundred men.
The arms and armor they had worked so desperately hard to finish in time were truly lined up across the drill grounds.
It was completely different from when the gear had been sitting in the workshop. Swords were slammed against enemy shields, armor took direct impacts head-on, and fresh scratches were rapidly accumulating on the shields.
One could tell they weren't just decorative ornaments, but were being properly used.
Watching this, the Master Blacksmith's mouth relaxed just a fraction.
"...They're really usin' 'em."
For a craftsman, there was no clearer answer than that. Elsa was also searching for the gear she had personally worked on. She didn't remember every single piece, but she could vaguely recognize the swords that had been terribly damaged or the armor that had been an absolute pain to repair, even from a distance.
The moment a soldier carrying one of those pieces clashed violently with an opponent, her body instinctively leaned forward.
"Hey! Don't take a hit so sloppily... I worked hard fixin' that!"
"...They ain't gonna hear ya from up here, y'know?"
"I know that!"
Even as she said it, she could no longer take her eyes off them.
Voices rose from the surrounding crowd.
"Razgrim pushed 'em back!"
"Damn, they're strong!"
"Are there really former bandits and mercenaries mixed in there?!"
Every time those words rang out, Elsa's mood inexplicably lifted a bit. It wasn't as though she herself was being praised. She knew that... and yet, a tickle stirred deep in her chest whenever the name Razgrim came up.
"...You've been lookin' kinda pleased with yourself for a while now, ain't ya?"
"I am not!"
"Heh... Sure ya aren't."
"What's with that face?!"
Even while the master chuckled, the match continued to unfold. The dark-blue soldiers flanked the enemy's side, and several men broke through toward the main camp. Elsa was practically leaning over the edge of her seat.
Her remaining hand gripped her knee tightly.
"Right there... Yes! Keep going just like that!"
One man intercepted the pursuers. Two more slipped past.
Right before their eyes was the enemy flag.
"Go! Come on, go...!"
She couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Right theeeere! Geeeeet it!! You can already see the flag! Don't you dare stop nooow!!"
Elsa sprang vigorously to her feet, her shout so loud that even the spectators in the row ahead turned around to see what was happening.
In the very next instant, the flag was pulled. The signal announcing the end of the match rang out.
"ALRIIIGHT!!!"
"Look at you, havin' more fun than anybody else here!"
At the master's voice, Elsa froze dead in her tracks. Looking around, she saw several people chuckling. Elsa sat back down as if nothing had happened and placed her remaining hand back on her knee.
"...The guy holdin' the sword I fixed was just dawdlin' around, and it pissed me off, that's all!"
"Yeah, yeah... We'll go with that."
"I told you to stop sayin' it like that!"
Still grinning, the master watched the three hundred dark-blue soldiers march off. Elsa, too, continued to follow them with her eyes until their figures disappeared from the drill grounds, even as she grumbled under her breath.