Chapter 132. The New Year's Tournament
While the medieval knights were discovering the delights of techno-magical development, time flew by unnoticed and the New Year arrived. Our whole group, with the exception of Oz, who was still sulking at me, left the kingdom and went to the tournament organized for the New Year. To the slight credit of the local lords, who refused to accept Mordred as their ruler, they still granted us seats in the royal box alongside the other lords. Thus, while Mordred and I took our places, the elder Artoria stood beside us like a loyal knight on guard, whereas I, the younger one, had decided to participate in the tournament together with my brother.
By the way, it wasn't for nothing that I'd bothered to change my image, right? So, dressed in a beautiful snow-white dress, just before the first stage of the tournament began—a mass melee "group versus group"—I rose from my seat, immediately drawing everyone's attention.
"Hear me, knights!" I began. "Show us all your martial prowess, fearing nothing, for today no one will die—that is my word!" After that, summoning Oz, I spread my pure snow-white wings, at the same time enveloping the entire area in a dome of reversed negative energy.
Silence immediately fell over the surroundings; the more devout people dropped to their knees at once and began to pray. And those who still had unhealed wounds noticed them closing up in an instant.
"An angel," someone whispered in stunned awe. And then the silence exploded into jubilant shouts. The most inspired of all were the knights who had entered the field, for this day promised to be truly glorious for whoever emerged the victor of the tournament.
Completely satisfied with the effect I'd achieved, I returned to my seat with a joyful smile on my face.
"It really is nice when people take you for an angel and not a demon," I remarked to myself mentally, to which Oz immediately replied.
"You are a demon! And I'm a raven! A raven, you understand?! How could you dye me white?! Now I'm like an outcast even among normal ravens!"
"Not an outcast, but one of a kind," I replied calmly, covering my mouth with my hand so as not to give away how hard I was struggling not to burst out laughing.
"I was one of a kind already! I… I… I've been desecrated! I'll never be able to get married now!"
"All right, that's enough. White suits your feathers just fine," I decided to put an end to his complaints. All the more so because, once everyone recovered from the shock, I began to feel far from friendly gazes directed our way, most of them filled with envy and greed. It was obvious these were the lords who hated the thought that, in addition to the sword drawn from the stone, Mordred now had a very high chance of gaining the support of the Church as well as all Christian knights. But one gaze stood out more than the others, and when I looked in that direction, I saw a woman whose face was strikingly similar to Artoria's. She was also blonde, except her hair was an even paler shade, closer to white.
"Morgana," Artoria said at once, looking in the same direction.
"I wonder what she'll try this time? No way do I believe she'll just leave things as they are," I remarked.
"It doesn't matter what she's plotting. She won't be able to influence me anymore," Mordred said confidently.
"By the way, do you remember exactly what she did last time?" I smirked.
"…" was my only answer, which wasn't surprising. Because last time, posing as Artoria's wife Guinevere, on the night when a child was supposed to be conceived, she snuck into her bed and committed an act of incest. And now the question: what will she do this time?
Sneak into her own child's bed, pretending to be me? Well then, in that case, a surprise will be waiting for her…
Imagining how I would deal with this queen of incest, I looked straight into Morgana's eyes, making her flinch and turn away.
Meanwhile, the tournament had begun. The knights, who in truth were not much different from wild barbarians dressed in armor—men who had merely learned to invent noble justifications for their actions—hurled themselves at each other like crazed beasts, blood and entrails dyeing the ground red. Only thanks to me were the victims quickly healed, and at the same time immediately thrown out of the arena as defeated. There were those who, like berserkers, raged and tried to rush back into the fight, but the guards stopped them; and there were those who, in stunned disbelief, kept touching the place where, just a moment before, a terrible mortal wound had been. Then, filled with reverence, they crossed themselves and raised prayers.
Soon this round ended, and among the remaining knights the second was to begin: mounted duels in pairs with long lances. This was extremely dangerous, since the lances were anything but blunted—they were real weapons, and such bouts often ended with the death of one of the participants. But today, knowing that nothing threatened them, the knights put on an even bloodier show. They were far less cautious, so the sight of a knight impaled on a lance, his body dragged along the ground by its weight, armor horribly mangled, was no longer a rarity.
"To be honest, I don't like this," I shook my head as another bout ended even more bloodily than usual. Both participants had decided that since nothing would happen to them, they could dispense with armor entirely for the sake of mobility. As a result, both exploded away from the collision in a fountain of blood, which led to a double disqualification.
At that moment, apparently having noticed my displeasure with what was happening, the archbishop approached us.
"I see that this spectacle does not please Your Excellency."
"I only wished to avoid unnecessary casualties, not to turn the tournament into a slaughterhouse," I sighed.
"I understand you. The Church has always disapproved of this cruelty. But knightly tournaments are too deeply rooted a custom to be easily abolished."
"Instead of abolishing them, they can be refined to reduce the mortality and brutality of what happens. There is no need to use weapons of war, especially in mounted duels. Even in a much safer form, a rider's weapon will still knock a man out of the saddle thanks to the horse's speed, which means we must devise safety measures so the knight does not die. Every knight is valuable."
"That is indeed something we must see to," Mordred nodded.
"You are undoubtedly wise," the archbishop flattered me, before asking what, judging by everything, he had actually come for. "Forgive me, but could you tell this humble servant what binds you together?"
"I am your king's future wife, and I will assist him in all his endeavors," I replied, and the archbishop's face lit up with joy. It was clear he already had a marvelous picture forming in his mind in which God had sent an angel to aid the new king of Britain. And the Church's influence would only grow stronger and stronger.
"Truly, a bright future awaits us!" the old man bowed before hastily taking his leave.