Chapter 21
After a moment of reverent silence from the crowd, a profound voice spoke.
"You may raise your head."
Riftan slowly lifted his head at the command. Standing in front of him there was the Pope, unexpectedly tall and imposing. It was hard to guess his age with his white face, pale golden hair, and intimidating dark green eyes under thick eyebrows. He beckoned for the knights standing next to him and then two young holy knights approached, carrying a long sword.
"To you, who now stand here for astonishingly defeating your opponents. As promised, I will reward you with the Knight's Sword." The Pope solemnly declared, with a voice reflecting nothing but indifference. "It is said that this sword was in the possession of one of the first knights, Sir Miguel. The hilt of the sword is made with wyvern leather and the blade was crafted by a blacksmith from the Umli tribe, casting steel and adamant."
Riftan slowly reached out and took the sword. When the unadorned leather scabbard slightly slipped off, a sharp, shimmering blade appeared before his eyes. It was almost unbelievable that a sword in such good condition was made in the ancient times. He looked down at it with awe and admiration, then a stern warning suddenly erupted from one of the knights.
"Sheath the sword right now!"
The paladin pointed the tip of a sword at him and gave him a cold look. Riftan meekly sheathed the sword back in the scabbard. Only then did the pope's monotonous voice continue.
"This competition is a significant event that serves as a way to decide who shall be the owner of the Knight's Sword. Your victory in this composition was accomplished through the will and guidance of God... Please do not tarnish it. Rather, respect the Knight's sword, use it only for honorable causes."
Riftan looked up at him, suspecting that the man was saying those words in a rather sarcastic manner. However, there was nothing in the Pope's eyes but infinite stillness and composure. It was like facing an ancient tree in the shape of a human. Then, he clasped his jewel-studded staff with both hands and rose from his seat, exclaiming reverently.
"May God be with you."
Thunderous cheers erupted from the audience. Riftan gazed down at the sword again, the Pope's words echoing strangely in his head. He now understood the people who begrudgingly opposed, spitting through their gritted teeth that it was not a thing that should be coveted by just anyone. It was too precious and significant just to fall in the hands of a lowly mercenary peasant.
Riftan rose from his position uncomfortably, while the nobles spectating were looking at him with great curiosity, like they were witnessing a rare animal. Then, he climbed down the stairs, following the instructions of the paladin as he ignored curious glances from everyone. People gathered from his left and right, throwing petals as he passed by. Finally, he went through the dark aisle, drawing away from the loud cheers of the stadium.
That day, the competition's winner was given an honorable invitation to the banquet of the nobles, but Riftan ignored it and didn't bother to go. He had no intention of being turned into a spectacle, not to mention he didn't have any clothes to match the occasion. It did cross his mind that the girl might come to the banquet, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself any longer.
He returned to the inn and rested for a night, then left his room carrying his belongings the next day. Ruth, who was crouching at the top of the stairs, waiting, jumped up and ran to him.
"Heeey! Good Morning, Sir Calypse. Today's weather is perfect for a journey!"
Riftan looked out the hallway's window. The sky was cloudy and gray, and the roads were foggy. He snorted lightly and walked past Ruth as he went down the stairs. The wizard followed naturally after him, cheerfully chattering.
