Unknownfate
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Chapter 64
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 03:34:08 +0000 UTCThe excitement in the air shifted instantly. The melee, the swordplay, the archery—they were all grand, but the joust was the true heart of the tournament. The test of both power and control, of honor and resilience.
Before I could say more, Blessed’s booming voice shattered the anticipation into sheer exhilaration.
"OH HO, YOU HEARD IT WELL, DEAR PEOPLE! THE KING CALLS FOR THE NOBLE JOUST, AND WHO ARE WE TO DENY SUCH A GLORIOUS DISPLAY OF MIGHT AND SKILL?!"
The ground rumbled as warhorses were led onto the field, the knights stepping away from the archery range to prepare.
I stepped back, my gaze sweeping across my Round Table—each one a legend, each one a warrior unmatched.
I turned to them, raising my chin. "You have all proven your skill with the bow, but now let us see your mastery on horseback. Let Camelot and all of Albion witness the true splendor of its champions!"
A resounding cheer erupted from the knights, and as they moved to mount their steeds, Blessed took the stage once more, sweeping his arms grandly as he began his introductions.
The tournament grounds transformed in moments.
The wooden lists were set, running down the center of the field, separating the two charging lanes. The arena, once filled with the hum of arrows and cheers of archery, now rumbled beneath the hooves of warhorses, knights adorned in richly detailed barding astride their mounts.
Blessed did not simply introduce the knights. He exalted them, making every man, woman, and child in the crowd feel as if they were about to witness the legends of old ride to battle.
"AND NOW—AS THE SUN HANGS HIGH AND OUR BLOOD RUNS HOT WITH ANTICIPATION—WE WELCOME THE GREATEST KNIGHTS OF OUR AGE AND AGES BEFORE US TO THE FIELD!"
The crowd exploded into cheers.
"THE WHITE KNIGHT OF CAMELOT! UNPARALLELED IN HONOR! THE PUREST SOUL TO EVER GRACE THE FIELD OF BATTLE—SIR GALAHAD!"
Galahad, clad in immaculate silver and white, took his position, his lance held perfectly upright, his warhorse, pristine and trained beyond fault.
"THE WARRIOR OF THE SUN! HIS STRENGTH DOUBLES AS NOON APPROACHES! A MAN WHO HAS NEVER KNOWN FEAR IN BATTLE—SIR GAWAIN!"
Gawain strode forward, his emerald-green cape fluttering as he mounted his destrier, nodding at the roaring crowd.
"THE BLACK KNIGHT, UNYIELDING AS IRON, SHARP AS HIS WORDS—SIR AGRAVAIN!"
Agravaine rode forward, silent, controlled, his lance never wavering.
"THE WANDERING KNIGHT! LOVED AND FEARED IN EQUAL MEASURE! A MASTER OF BOTH CHIVALRY AND PASSION—SIR LANCELOT!"
Lancelot’s mount trotted forward, controlled, powerful, his mere presence igniting roars of admiration and murmurs of expectation.
"THE RED KNIGHT OF TREACHERY—BUT OH, HOW GLORIOUS IS HIS STRENGTH! THE MOST RELENTLESS WARRIOR AMONG THEM—SIR MORDRED!"
Mordred smirked, his crimson cape billowing as he rode forward, his red armor reflecting the midday sun.
"THE SHADOW OF CAMELOT, THE KNIGHT OF GRIEF! THE ONE WHO NEVER FALTERS, NEVER WAVERS—SIR TRISTAN!"
Tristan, ever composed, guided his horse forward, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet.
One by one, the knights rode forward, each a legend, each carrying the weight of their name upon their shoulders.
When the last of them took their positions, Blessed took a deep breath, then roared:
"CHALLENGERS! TAKE YOUR LANCES! STEEL YOUR HEARTS! AND READY YOURSELVES—FOR GLORY!"
The arena fell into an anticipatory hush as the first match-up was called:
Gawain vs. Agravain
The two knights took their places at opposite ends of the list.
Gawain, the Warrior of the Sun, his emerald-green cape fluttering against his gleaming gold-and-silver armor, exuded calm confidence. His warhorse, a massive destrier, stomped the earth impatiently, sensing the charge ahead.
Agravain, in stark contrast, was stone-faced, his black-and-gold armor severe, his steed standing perfectly still, awaiting the signal.
Blessed’s voice boomed across the field.
"AND SO, THE FIRST CLASH OF THIS GRAND JOUST BEGINS! TWO TITANS OF CAMELOT—THE UNYIELDING WALL THAT IS AGRAVAIN, AND THE KNIGHT WHO GROWS STRONGER WITH EVERY PASSING MOMENT—SIR GAWAIN!"
The trumpet sounded.
And like thunder rolling through the field, they charged.
Their lances locked forward, the sheer weight of their charge shaking the ground as they thundered toward one another, speed unrelenting, power unstoppable.
For a moment, time itself seemed to slow.
Then—
CRACK!
A deafening impact echoed through the tournament grounds as Agravaine’s lance shattered against Gawain’s shield. The great knight barely wavered, but it was Gawain’s strike that landed true.
Agravain was sent crashing off his horse, hitting the ground with a force that kicked up a cloud of dust.
The crowd exploded in cheers.
Blessed roared. "AND LIKE THE DAWN SCATTERS THE DARKNESS, SIR GAWAIN CLAIMS VICTORY!"
Gawain reined in his horse, his face calm, but his presence undeniable.
Agravaine stood, dusting himself off, nodding once before walking off the field without complaint.
Next up.
Lancelot vs. Tristan.
Lancelot, his purple armor gleaming, his every movement poised, calculated, perfect.
Tristan, the Knight of Grief, was no less formidable, his muted silver and deep crimson cloak whispering in the wind.
"THE KNIGHT OF THE LAKE! THE MAN WHO HAS NEVER BEEN BESTED IN SINGLE COMBAT! AGAINST THE WARRIOR OF GRIEF, WHOSE SKILL WITH THE BLADE IS MATCHED ONLY BY HIS UNWAVERING HEART!" Blessed declared, stirring the crowd into fevered excitement.
The signal was given.
Their charge was not one of brute force, but of precision.
Their lances struck clean, the force of the blows splitting wood against tempered steel.
Neither fell.
Neither faltered.
The second pass.
They charged again.
CRACK!
Tristan wobbled—Lancelot’s lance had hit true. He remained seated, but his loss was clear. He gave a short nod to his opponent before riding off, accepting the result without bitterness.
Blessed let the moment breathe, then roared, "THE LEGEND OF THE LAKE REMAINS UNSHAKEN! SIR LANCELOT ADVANCES!"
After those two powerhouses came Percival vs Bors the younger.
Percival, the knight famous for finding the Holy Grail, was a mountain in silver, his spear held with immovable certainty.
Bors, known for his honor and steadiness, was no easy opponent.
They charged.
CRASH!
Percival’s sheer strength was unmatched. His lance struck like a battering ram, and Bors—though he resisted—was forced from his mount, landing in the dirt.
"AND WITH A MIGHTY STRIKE, PERCIVAL STANDS VICTORIOUS!"
Following those two was the adorable Gareth, the only female knight, other than Mordred and myself, who faced Sir Kay.
Sir Kay was formidable, but Gareth was faster.
Their first pass was tight, their second explosive.
Gareth landed the deciding blow, unseating Kay with a strike that sent splinters flying.
"THE KNIGHT OF KINDNESS SHOWS SHE IS NO LESS DEADLY THAN HIS PEERS!"
Mordred vs. Galahad
The crowd held its breath for this one.
Galahad, the purest knight, his white armor unblemished, was a picture of divine grace.
Mordred, the Red Knight, was aggressive, fierce, an embodiment of the chaos within chivalry.
"THE SON OF THE KING AGAINST THE HOLIEST OF KNIGHTS! A MATCH FOR THE AGES!"
They charged.
Their lances struck at once.
Galahad barely shifted—but Mordred’s blow was relentless.
The knight in white remained mounted—but his grip tightened.
The second pass.
Mordred’s eyes burned.
They rode again.
CRACK!
This time, Galahad wavered. The force of Mordred’s strike unseated him, and though he landed gracefully, the loss was clear.
"AND THE KNIGHT OF TREACHERY CLAIMS HIS RIGHTFUL PLACE AMONG THE STRONGEST!"
Mordred reined in his steed, rolling his shoulders in satisfaction before trotting off, victorious.
The crowd roared, knowing that the true battles were yet to come.
Blessed, still laughing heartily, raised his arms once more.
"AH! WE HAVE SEEN POWER! WE HAVE SEEN MASTERY! AND NOW, ONLY THE STRONGEST REMAIN! WHO SHALL STAND SUPREME? WHO SHALL CLAIM VICTORY?!"
As the tournament crowd roared with anticipation, the remaining knights took their places, their gazes locked onto one another as the quarterfinals loomed. The clashes had already been spectacular, but now, only the finest remained—each one sharpened by battle, their victories well-earned.
I was glad the crowd seemed to enjoy it, I had worried. After all, Jousting wasn’t anything new; it could be seen as fairgrounds around the world.
And while my own Knights couldn’t be compared to those performers, what was seen on the field looked very similar.
After all, no matter how great my Knights were, half of this discipline depended on the horses, and these were just regular animals. Which limited the display of my Knights.
Blessed raised his arms once more, his voice carrying across the stands.
"AND NOW, THE GREATEST AMONG THEM WILL TEST THEIR METTLE FURTHER! THE NEXT ROUND BEGINS!"
The matchups were called.
Gawain vs. Gareth
The elder knight and the youngest among them. Gawain, the warrior of the sun, undefeated in battle when the light was strong, against Gareth, the swift and relentless prodigy.
This matchup had even me pay more attention, after all, while Gawain was the stronger of the two by far, Gareth’s saint graph was that of a lancer, giving her a big advantage here. Even if both had the same rank of Riding B.
Under countless eager eyes, they took their positions, their warhorses stamping the ground impatiently.
Blessed’s voice boomed: "THE GOLDEN KNIGHT OF THE NOON SUN VERSUS THE KINDHEARTED KNIGHT WHO STRUCK TRUE AGAINST SIR KAY! CAN KINDNESS BEST RAW POWER?"
Everyone held their breath, waiting for the moment of their charge, and then the trumpet sounded.
The two knights surged forward, lances held firm, their mounts galloping like the wind. Gareth, the smaller of the two, angled her approach, her lance aimed precisely for Gawain’s shield. Gawain, however, was steady as the mountains, his strength unshaken.
Their lances met—
CRACK!
Gareth’s lance struck well, but Gawain’s was overwhelming. The sheer force behind his strike sent Gareth reeling, knocking her from her horse.
She hit the ground hard, but to her credit, she rose quickly, rubbing at her shoulder before offering a respectful bow to her opponent.
Blessed let the moment sink in before declaring, "SIR GAWAIN STANDS VICTORIOUS ONCE MORE!"
The crowd cheered, though many still applauded Gareth’s valiant effort.
I too applaud lightly, I was sad that Gareth was out, but she had a bad matchup, there was no doubt she hit Gawin well, her aim was perfect, her form flawless. Yet Gawain was just too strong, able to use his overwhelming strength to withstand the blow.
Still, she had done well, and proven herself, not that she needed to, I knew the worth of my Knights.
The next match was one of legends—Lancelot, the undefeated champion of single combat, against Percival, the man of unwavering faith and strength.
"THE KNIGHT OF THE LAKE FACES THE SEEKER OF THE HOLY GRAIL! A CLASH OF DESTINIES!"
They charged.
The ground thundered beneath them as their lances struck with terrifying precision. Neither fell.
A second pass.
This time, Lancelot adjusted—his aim sharper, his speed refined.
CRACK!
Percival wavered, his balance disrupted just enough to unseat him. He tumbled from his steed, landing with a heavy thud.
Lancelot reined in his horse, offering a short nod before trotting away.
"AND SO, SIR LANCELOT REMAINS UNYIELDING!" Blessed roared, the audience responding with equal enthusiasm.
I expected that outcome; even though Percival did have the advantage of his class, Lancelot was just better, even his riding skill was superior, and his skill with weapons was something even I respected.
And then, a match many had been waiting for—raw aggression versus sheer power.
Mordred, still smug from his victory over Galahad, rolled his shoulders as his steed pawed at the dirt. Gawain, however, remained composed, adjusting his grip on his lance.
I had no doubt Gawain was excited to go as well, after all, the relationship between the two was anything but good, Mordred having not only killed Gawain but also his king.
"THE RED KNIGHT, UNLEASHED! THE WARRIOR OF THE SUN, UNBREAKABLE! WHO SHALL REIGN SUPREME?!"
The trumpet blasted.
They charged.
The force of their impact was like a hammer striking an anvil.
CRACK!
Neither fell.
The second pass.
Mordred narrowed his eyes, teeth bared in a grin as he adjusted his approach. Gawain, ever the veteran, did the same.
They met again.
CRACK!
This time, Mordred struck first. His lance shattered against Gawain’s chest; this time, Gawain wasn’t able to absorb the force, and the momentum of Mordred hit him hard, sending the larger knight tumbling from his horse.
The crowd roared.
Blessed raised a hand. "THE RED KNIGHT CLAIMS YET ANOTHER VICTORY! SIR MORDRED ADVANCES!"
Gawain stood slowly, nodding before walking off the field. Mordred, still grinning, lifted his lance in acknowledgment before turning away.
The Final Match—Lancelot vs. Mordred
The tournament had led to this moment.
The undefeated knight against the relentless warrior.
"THE FINAL CLASH OF THE JOUST! THE LEGENDARY SIR LANCELOT! THE UNSTOPPABLE SIR MORDRED! ONLY ONE WILL EMERGE AS THE CHAMPION OF THIS TOURNAMENT!"
The two knights faced one another, their gazes locked.
Lancelot’s expression was calm, unshaken. Mordred’s was alight with excitement, his smirk never fading.
The trumpet sounded.
They charged.
Two titans, clashing in the center of the field.
The moment their lances met—
CRACK!
A shattering impact.
And then—
Mordred wavered. His grip faltered. His momentum broke.
The Red Knight, so dominant in previous battles, was sent flying from his horse.
The dust settled. And while everyone was waiting, they held their breaths, they waited, and the entire place was silent.
Soon, the arena would be filled with cheers, and even I stood up to offer a few words to both the winner and those who had lost. Yet, it wasn’t cheering, nor anything else expected, that broke the silence; instead, it was laughter.
