How to Live as a Swordmaster of the Enemy Nation

Recursion

Lost in various thoughts as he walked down the road, Gregory found that time had passed once again. Before he knew it, he had arrived at Britannia, the capital of the Blandi Kingdom.

The road to Blandi's capital was rough and narrow, leaving him to wonder if he was even on the right path. The solitary atmosphere made the journey feel lonely, but a brief scuffle with some bandits along the way—where he showed them some "hospitality(?)"—offered a moment's respite for his body and mind.

Though he had wandered, the road was one that he had traveled countless times in his previous life, so eventually, his body was naturally drawn toward the site of the martial arts tournament.

Upon arriving at the tournament venue, the outskirts matched his expectations exactly. The center of a crowded thoroughfare. Here, the streets bustled with merchants selling all sorts of goods and throngs of passersby.

"Hmm...."

Yet, at the heart of the city, it was filled with wealthy-looking merchants and commoners. The soldiers were marched around like slaves, not letting a drop of water through their ranks. The whole act made it hard to believe this was a nation preparing for war.

Surely, if they were hosting such a significant event, it would be natural to pay even closer attention than this.

No, really. Was this the time to be worrying about another country? After all, Gregory was no longer a citizen of the Blandi Kingdom.

As Gregory passed through the bustling market streets toward the tournament venue, it didn't take long for the place to come into view, as the marketplace and the venue were quite close. A roof piercing the sky. An old-fashioned grand mansion, exuding a vintage atmosphere.

This was the place. The site where he would eat, sleep, and compete in the tournament for the time being. Surprising, since it was even larger than the Radiant Light Order's compound. He distinctly remembered that the tournament site was actually Radian's villa.

From the moment Gregory laid eyes on its overwhelming size and imposing atmosphere, he felt a sense of being pressed down.

At that moment, a sharply dressed person approached him.

"You must be the guest from the Arme Kingdom. Welcome."

Just by seeing Gregory's formal attire, she instantly recognized he was from Arme; her perceptiveness suggested she was likely Radian's deputy, overseeing the tournament.

It meant she was competent enough to immediately distinguish which kingdom a state guest belonged to.

Radian's deputy was well aware of the strained relations between the Kingdoms of Blandi and Arme, relations fraught with tension to a level that could spark anxiety.

Therefore, she regarded Gregory with some suspicion, wondering why someone from Arme would travel all the way to Blandi to participate in the tournament.

Her already sharp eyes were fixed on Gregory. It's never easy to gauge someone's mind with only a glance and not a word, but it was difficult to stand still under her gaze that seemed to drip with suspicion.

Gregory promptly took out the letter of introduction written by Hemingway to participate in the tournament and handed it over.

As she broke the wax seal, she confirmed that the sender was Ashborn, the renowned swordsmanship house of Arme. While Hemingway was also the head of the Radiant Light Order, it was only natural that he maintained his duties as the current head of Ashborn.

Afterwards, she stored the letter in a case and pointed toward the interior of Radian's villa.

At present, it was the time for tournament registration. There was a chance other participants might arrive to register, so she couldn't leave her station to escort Gregory herself.

Gregory accepted the room key from her, then opened the grand doors of the mansion and stepped inside.

If only to ensure that everything that had led up to this moment did not go to waste. If only to prevent war. Gregory reminded himself of the gravity of his mission and calmly made his way inside.

The moment he opened the door, he had no choice but to cross the banquet hall, since it was located at the very center of the villa.

As he entered the hall, resounding music filled the air, and a ballroom atmosphere reigned. To an outsider, it might have seemed as if the tournament had already ended and a victory banquet was underway.

Gregory chose not to intervene, preferring instead to go his own way. He believed it was far better to put down his luggage in his assigned quarters and train his body, rather than participate in an ostentatious ball.

Other nobles regarded Gregory with contempt.

To them, Gregory was insignificant—for the simple reason that he was not a familiar face among their noble circles.

They reasoned that if he were truly capable, there would be no way they wouldn't have encountered him at previous noble gatherings.

The other nobles saw Gregory merely as someone tarnishing the refined air of the banquet hall.

Though they looked at him with disdain, they did not stop their dancing. Their sole desire was for that insignificant person not to approach them.

'How tedious.'

Gregory clicked his tongue at their reaction. It was clear they looked down on him, leaving no room for refutation.

Still, it wasn't as if he couldn't understand the responses of the other participants.

This was a tournament open only to the children of nobles. Normally, talk of the honor of a famed swordsmanship house would have been meaningless; under Verk's curse, he would have been bedridden and frail, unable to even set foot here.

Those people were nothing more than vanity-stricken, showy fools, and, knowing that, Gregory wasn't particularly offended.

He was simply determined to put them in their place quickly and stop the war. He believed that was the only way to survive.

Avoiding the nobles' gazes, Gregory made for his room. Maybe it was the prolonged journey. Maybe it was the restless sleep he had endured while traveling. An overwhelming sense of fatigue suddenly swept over him.

"I should rest first."

Entering his room, the entire space came into view.

A soft, welcoming bed. A warm fireplace. Tea set out on a table by the headboard. After hanging his clothes in the wardrobe, Gregory quickly fell asleep beneath a blanket as soft as wool. With about a week left before the tournament started, he could afford the rest.

***

Waking from a deep sleep, he headed for the training grounds to loosen up for the first time in a while. Beside Radian's villa was a vast training ground as wide as the villa itself, equipped with wooden dummies and space for sparring.

But what use was such a space? Under these circumstances, Gregory was the only noble from Arme participating in the tournament, and he had no memories of forming friendships with nobles from Blandi to begin with.

All he could do was strike the wooden dummies with a wooden sword in solitary training.

Nearby, nobles from the Blandi Kingdom were chatting and laughing boisterously as he overheard them.

"I heard there's some fool from the Arme Kingdom participating in this tournament?"

"As if anyone would be stupid enough for that."

"That's what I'm saying. Does he not know how bad relations between Arme and Blandi are right now?"

"It's a pointless endeavor. As if joining a tournament would suddenly stop a war—only a fool would think that."

They were, of course, talking about Gregory. He had always been ill and unable to attend events or tournaments, so none of them had ever even seen him.

To them, among the tournament circles, there were no unfamiliar faces. Therefore, some unknown participant entering the tournament was bothersome.

Gregory pondered. It was clear they were taunting him, having already seen through to his objectives.

Those boys weren't nearly foolish enough to mutter so openly unless they were trying to provoke him.

Gregory looked directly at the Blandi nobles. They were obviously scorning him.

The boy who'd spoken first glared at Gregory.

"What are you looking at?"

"That's funny."

"Funny?"

"......"

Gregory ignored them. Not out of fear, but because nobles ought to avoid improper conduct and unruly attitudes. These childish fools were acting out simply because they had the chance to participate in the tournament.

Gregory vowed to soon break their arrogance. For now, as he hadn't had the chance to reveal his skill yet, they could swagger as much as they liked, but once the tournament ended, the tables would turn.

Fortunately, there seemed to be some rules in place at the sparring ground, so they only threatened him with words and did not take things any further.

As Gregory had often experienced such feelings before, they did not shake his resolve.

In silence, he relentlessly battered the wooden dummies, training his body again and again. As he climbed in skill, he adapted to the growing flow of mana and his sculpted muscles, repeating his training over and over.

Thus, the daily cycle of eating, sleeping, and training repeated many times, and the day of the martial arts tournament drew near.

In total, there were 140 participants, reduced to 128 after byes, forming a tournament in a knockout format.

All the participants gathered at the direction of the deputy, to hear an explanation of the tournament.

The rules were simple.

The match ended as soon as someone was rendered unconscious or unable to move. No one was permitted to harm an unconscious opponent, and no outside intervention was tolerated during the match. The tournament was to be judged by swordsmanship only.

Additionally, there were various other rules required for the smooth running of the tournament, but none that would cause anyone to receive unfair treatment.

After the explanation, she began to organize the tournament bracket.

The method: drawing lots.

If you were to draw the bracket, it would normally be a matter of transparency to make the process public.

But the brackets were all rigged anyway. The wealthier nobles would pull strings from behind the scenes, and the objections of a few voices crying "unfair" would be disregarded.

No one dared challenge the outcome of the brackets.

That was how things had always been in Blandi. Even among nobles, those with more money had a much easier time—such was the way of this capitalistic world.

'Why does nothing ever change? Or no—maybe, since this is even further in the past than then, this should be considered the beginning.'

He could tell how things would play out just by returning to his room and waiting for the results of the brackets.

Knowing that this matter was a significant challenge to overcome, Gregory reminded himself one last time.

'For now, war has been temporarily avoided by participating in the tournament, but if I don't take first place, I won't win Radian's favor...'

He thought he wouldn't be nervous, since he had participated in several tournaments before. However, knowing that the fate of Arme might depend on this, and that perhaps many people's lives hinged on the outcome, he felt a slight bit of tension.

Outside his otherwise quiet room, a powerful female voice resounded.

"The bracket draw is complete! Sir Radian's martial arts tournament is now officially open!!"

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】