Act X, The True Knight (Thirteen)
Thirteen
“I have good news,” Yakov said.
“I also have good news,” Schumacher said.
Yubi stared at them from the hot spring pool. "Is it some special day?" he asked, soaking wet, as he climbed onto the marble edge of the pool and asked Naya to dry him off. "Who wants to go first?"
Yakov sat there, glancing sideways at Schumer's bandaged eyes. "You go first." He lifted one foot and placed it on his knee, fidgeting restlessly.
“Then I shall gladly accept.” Schumeer raised his chin and cleared his throat. “Lord Jubius, today I have purchased an important spice shop for you. Guess whose it is?”
Yubi glanced at him, then at the absent-minded Yakov beside him. He slipped his arm into the sleeve that Naya had pulled up for him. "Whose house is this?" he asked curiously.
“It’s the Knicks of Smyrna.” Schumer proudly pressed his guide cane straight to the ground. “Your competitors are now annihilated, with no chance of ever rising again!”
“This, this is truly an amazing achievement!” Yubi stepped forward, dragging his open robe, and took Schumeer’s hand. “How did you do it? Didn’t that old man refuse to sell to us?”
“That was how it started.” Schumacher’s mustache twitched up at the corner of his mouth. “But then his children started driving up the price of spices—and you can’t blame them, otherwise their perfume business would have gone bankrupt and they’d have to sell their pots and pans. The old man was getting on in years and couldn’t go against his children’s wishes. I bought the shop from his eldest son and gave them a fair price.”
"You did a really good job," Yubi praised him repeatedly. "You remembered and took care of every single detail!"
Yakov glanced sideways at Schumeer—a terrible Jew, he thought, capable of destroying the livelihoods of one, several, countless families without firing a single shot. But the more Yubi uttered words of praise, the more Schumeer's back hunched, his smile turning into a near-tear—Yakov felt a pang of discomfort at the sight of such a servant's tearful gratitude towards his master. He was bewildered by how Schumeer had become like this in just a few years, and anxiously felt that his own good news wouldn't be as exhilarating.
“And the next piece of good news?” Yubi comforted Schumer, helping him sit down, then jumped over to Yakov’s side. “Your turn!”
Yakov guiltily averted his gaze, glancing at the mural of Aphrodite in the drawing room. "...I've found a way for you to seize territory in Egypt," he said, gazing at the goddess's long hair.
Upon hearing this, not only Yubi but also Schumeer on the other side was taken aback. "What method?" Yubi grasped his hand.
“Pet the emperor to grant you a city after his expedition.” Yakov stiffly withdrew his arm. “First…”
“How could the Emperor possibly do such a thing?” Schumeer interrupted him. “Wishful thinking!”
“First of all, you’re not allowed to interrupt,” Yakov said fiercely. “Let me finish speaking before you give your opinion.”
Seeing that the two were silent, he took a deep breath and began to speak from the beginning. "The Emperor is holding a grand jousting tournament." Yakov's eyes were fixed on the vase on Yubi's table, which contained no fresh flowers, only two peacock tail feathers. "I will participate in the tournament. If I win and become the champion, I will petition the Emperor not for the prize money, but only for a fiefdom and a title for Yubi after the expedition—not a high-ranking position like the governor of Cairo or Alexandria, just a city with a few hundred or a few thousand households. I think the Emperor will agree to this."
After Yakov finished speaking, a suffocating silence filled the hot spring. Yubi's face, already pale, turned deathly white, his expression frozen in terror and heartache.
"...What if we don't win?" he asked. "What if something happens to you?"
"Even if we don't win, don't expect to conquer any cities during our Egyptian expedition."
“…You are a Templar Knight, you cannot participate in the jousting tournament.” Schumeer spoke slowly, “You should know this.”
"I will disguise myself as a secular knight to participate in the competition, and then reveal my true identity at the end."
"The prize is for the winner, not for me..." Yubi said timidly, lowering her head. "Can you just say who it's for?"
“If I were truly a secular knight, perhaps not; but if I reveal my identity, the emperor would not grant titles and fiefs to the knights.”
“What if the emperor doesn’t give anything at all?” Schumacher asked again.
“He won’t.” Yakov unsheathed his sword and placed it on the table. “The Emperor must not be a miser in front of all the knights of Europe!”
Now that things have come to this, this outlandish idea actually sounds somewhat acceptable. The three of them pondered it for a while, but none of them could find fault with it, nor could they find any room for improvement or a better method.
“I think this idea, though risky, is worth a try…” Schumacher pursed his lips and surprisingly agreed first, “Even if it fails, apart from being ridiculed, there’s not much to lose.”
"...What if he gets injured!" Yubi cried anxiously. "What if he gets slashed by a sword or trampled by a horse!"
“It’s the same on the battlefield.” Yakov raised his eyebrows. “I can’t just stop riding a horse and wielding a sword from now on.”
“He’ll be fine.” Schumeer smiled as well. “You know that.”
Yakov was touched by Shumel's rare agreement. "I'll be fine," he said, taking his feet off his knees. "The competitors are just a bunch of young fools showing off their fancy armor and flags. How could I possibly lose to them?"
Yubi pursed her lips as she looked at the two of them, then rose from her chair and paced back and forth by the hot spring pool. The nobleman walked around twice, his fingernails digging into the thin silk robe, causing wrinkles.
“I don’t want to ask you to go, Yakov.” He crouched down by the pool, curling up. “But I have no other choice…”
"You shouldn't have so little faith in me."
Yakov had expected Yubi to argue with him, but his master simply stared at the flowing water, remaining silent. His gaze then shifted to Schumeer's face, noticing a strange smile on the lower half of the blind man's face. The Blood Slave could only watch his master's retreating figure, awaiting his permission.
"Are you going to sign up tomorrow?" Yubi turned to look at him.
Yakov breathed a sigh of relief, his anxiety lessening by half. "Tomorrow is too early," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I need to think of a pseudonym."
“…Then it’s settled.” Yubi stood up from the pool. “Rather than trying to stop you, it’s better to support you.”
This knightly tournament was divided into team battles and individual battles. The team battles were held on the outskirts of the city, in the hillsides and forests where the army could conduct drills; while the individual battles were held in the Great Arena. Yakov would go to the Great Arena with Oleg every day, and day after day, more and more new faces would appear there, making the foreigners who were already everywhere on the streets of Constantinople even more common.
"Do you prefer chariot racing or knightly duels?" Oleg crossed his arms, watching the workers digging sand on the field. They were replacing the coarse sand with fine sand. "To be honest, chariot racing is more interesting. Sitting in the stands, you can see at a glance who's in the lead and who's chasing."
“That’s not fair.” Yakov was carefully reading the competition rules in his hand. “Chariot racing is about who has more money to buy better horses and chariots, not who is more skilled.”
“But isn’t a knightly contest also about whose horse is stronger, whose lance is sharper, and whose armor is more durable?” Oleg shrugged. “How can that be fair?”
"At least in esports, individual skill is more important."
“According to you, people are born with different physiques, so wouldn’t that count as a personal skill?” Oleg nudged him. “Why do you always care about this kind of thing? It’s just a competition. The audience doesn’t care about fairness, as long as it’s entertaining. Even if there are some controversies, they’re just things to talk about over tea.”
“You can only say such things if you don’t participate yourself,” Yakov glanced at him.
"Sigh, as if you were some poor knight, coming to the competition with a weak horse and tattered armor. Shouldn't you be grateful that Lord Jubius bought you the best equipment, giving you an edge over the mediocre competitors?" Oleg grinned. "When can I see your new armor?"
"...The blacksmith's still working," Yakov said, looking annoyed. He suddenly became cautious, "Have you told anyone else I'm going to participate?"
“Please, I’m not stupid.” Oleg looked distressed. “If I cause you trouble, Lord Jubius will be very angry.”
"He's angry, but he can't do anything to you," Yakov thought dismissively, though it was a reassuring answer for the blood slave. "Back to the training grounds, continue training with me." He patted Daoud on the back beside him and ordered his attendants to prepare his horse.
“You just want an excuse to beat me up.” Oleg sighed, picked up his axe, and followed behind him.
They returned to the Knights' training grounds. It was nothing like the Grand Arena; small and cramped. Yakov dreaded poking at the small, rotating target with his lance on horseback; he hated the training—it was all show and no substance, offering no real combat value. After all, mounted archery practice was the most effective way to kill the enemy, but archery was forbidden during the tournament.
He practiced for a few laps, then dismounted to practice his swordplay when his horse grew tired. When Oleg also grew weary from practicing with him, Daoud set up a wooden dummy for him. Yakov assumed a horse stance, adjusting his hand positions and breathing evenly. The unsharpened steel hilt rubbed against the calluses on his palms, causing them to peel, bleed, and scab over repeatedly. Even the cries of the seagulls at Golden Horn Bay grew languid—Yakov looked up and wiped his sweat. He then realized that darkness had fallen, the purple-gold sunset drifting and obscuring the view, making it impossible for him to see the densely packed seats on the training ground.
A person sat quietly in the corner, their hair and face wrapped in layers of headscarf and veil, hiding in the shadows, watching him intently. As the setting sun gradually disappeared, the person walked straight towards him.
Yakov tapped Daoud's shoe with the hilt of his sword, waking the young servant who had fallen asleep sometime earlier, and urged him to leave. "When did you arrive?" The blood slave climbed up the low wall to the stands, leaving a smear of blood on his palm. "Don't go out during the day!"
“I’m just sitting here, I don’t get any sun.” Yubi took off her veil, her crescent-shaped eyes smiling as she looked at him. “I want to talk to you.”
The two sat down on the training field at night. It was quiet and deserted, with only the occasional rustling sound of dust being stirred up by the wind.
“You’ve worked so hard on this.” Yubi took his hand and stroked the edge of the wound on his calluses.
“This was my idea.” Yakov felt a cool, itchy sensation in his palm. “The outcome depends entirely on me.”
“…But are you willing to go? Are you willing to accept it, Yakov?” Yubi’s fingers stopped moving. “If you win, the spoils will be mine…Will you hate me for it, thinking I’m reaping the benefits without contributing anything?”
Yakov was shocked to realize he had never thought of this before. He turned and saw Yubi scrutinizing his expression. The knight's mouth hung open, unsure what to say.
"...Isn't what's yours mine?" Yakov was shocked that he could say such a thing so naturally one day. "I came up with this idea for you. If it weren't for you, what would be the point of me doing this?"
"All for me, not a single thing for yourself?"
“…” Yakov’s throat tightened as if something was stuck in it. His mark burned like embers. “…Not entirely.” He thought for a moment, “Honor, prestige, the applause of the audience, the envy of rivals. That’s what I want. Every knight wants that. Everyone wants that.”
“In that case,” Yubi sighed, both young and old, “the vain are the noblest.”
Yakov didn't know if this was a compliment or a taunt. "Everything depends on me winning." He clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking. "As Ambikia said, victory is far more valuable than spoils."
Yubi sat silently beside him, moving her lips as if trying to say something.
"You love me so much, you plan so much for me," the vampire spoke softly and slowly, his voice as ethereal as smoke. "Because of what?"
Love? Yakov disdained and was ashamed to speak of it. The word pierced him like a sharp sword, trying to shatter his armor. "Because of your mother's mark," he said mercilessly.
The moment the words left his mouth, the Blood Slave felt a sharp pain in his heart.
“Yakov, I think you understand this.” Yubi stared at his black fingernails. “The mark is something that varies from person to person. Even if Mother commands the blood slaves to ‘love’ me, they will always have all sorts of strange and varied ways of understanding that command. Some blood slaves take care of me, love me, and kiss me; while others control me, bind me, and kill me. None of them feel that they have disobeyed the command or the mark. Rather, it is precisely because the mark is so profound that their love is so profound that they themselves do things they cannot understand.”
Yakov didn't know what Yubi meant by saying those words. A sense of foreboding washed over him.
"Your mother never told you to love me, but you still love me... I think this is an emotion that arose in yourself, or it is your own understanding of your mother's command and the meaning of this imprint."
“I have no doubt about that, Yakov, I can taste it in your blood. But I really want to know… why do you love me? If I change one day, will you still love me? Will you want to kill me if I become someone you don’t like?”
“There is never a relationship in this world without preconditions,” Yakov said firmly. “If you change, become a scoundrel who enjoys harming others, become a scoundrel like Anbichya or Batur; or if you go mad, become insane, never speak a word to me all day, or speak in languages I can't understand, wandering off like your mother.” He stared at him, “How could I still consider you the same person you are now?”
Yubi looked up, stunned, into those cold, pure eyes. His mouth hung open, as if he'd heard something that had struck him like a bolt from the blue. "...Then what would constitute being different?"
"What do you think the answer to this question is?" Yakov questioned him. "I know you, and you know me. Don't you know it yourself?"
“But people change!” Yubi stood up. “I will grow up, understand things I didn’t understand before, and learn skills I didn’t know before. This is not even something I can control!”
Yakov swiftly grabbed his wrist, preventing him from escaping. "What do you want to become?" the blood slave demanded, pulling him back. "What do you mean by these words?"
“I’m not perfect, Yakov… There are many things in this world that can’t be had in perfect harmony. I didn’t understand many of your words before, but now I understand a lot. I often feel like I’m walking on the edge of a cliff, and one wrong step and I’ll fall…”
“Perfect?” Yakov laughed in exasperation. “Do you think I expect you to be perfect?”
“Even if I’m imperfect, you won’t leave me, right?” Yubi turned back. That endearing, vulnerable face made Yakov’s heart throb with a bittersweet pain. “Can you give me that promise?”
“…No.” Yakov gritted his teeth. “I’m not with you because you’re perfect.”
"Then what exactly is the reason?"
“You keep asking me this question, and what about you? Why don’t you just drive me away?” Yakov stood up, pinning his master against the brick railing of the training ground, his arms outstretched to either side. “Are you close to me because of my bravery, experience, high moral character, or gentle temperament? Do you think I’m the fiercest and most powerful warrior in the world, the most loyal knight? If you find someone more useful than me, would you immediately abandon me and turn to trust someone else?”
Yubi's eyes flickered and shimmered with light, like a crescent moon rising and falling on the sea.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" Yakov lowered his head, his beard almost touching his face. "Do you understand?"
His master raised his arms and embraced him. "Yakov, this is more important than anything else." Yubi buried his face in the crook of his neck. "This is the promise I need."
Yakov thought Yubi was going to bite two more small bloody holes in his neck. He wanted to scold Yubi for acting so recklessly in the Knights' open-air training ground—but the vampire turned into a puff of smoke and vanished instantly. His arms suddenly felt empty.
Blood Slave looked around dejectedly. The wound on his palm was itchy and stinging, but it had stopped bleeding.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
