Helmut: The Forsaken Child - H.F.C Chapter 147 (Part 2):

Helmut flinched for a moment, which Michael misinterpreted and smiled gently.

“Ah, I see what you’re thinking. Carrying around a gift from mother like a child? Something like a pendant, so useless.”

Helmut didn’t respond. If that was childish, then he was no different. Michael explained with a smiling face.

“Carrying a pendant given by a mother holds a special meaning in the eastern and western parts of the empire.”

“What meaning?”

“It’s an old tale. There was once a famous knight in the empire. He had to march to a war where death was a constant threat. During the fierce battle, he was struck in the chest by an arrow. He thought he was surely dead, but he survived. The pendant around his neck had stopped the arrow. That pendant was a keepsake from his deceased mother.”

His voice continued softly.

“The knight who survived led the war to victory. This story spread, and it became a tradition for mothers to give pendants to their newborn children. Well, among the nobility, of course.”

Helmut’s pendant was also such an item. That meant his origins or his mother’s were from the eastern or western parts of the empire. The same was true for Michael.

“This pendant was given to me when I was born. It’s a very meaningful item.”

Michael opened the pendant and smiled. From Helmut’s angle, the inside was not visible.

“According to tradition, a pendant received at birth can ward off death once. I’ve already cheated death several times. Perhaps one of those times, this pendant played its part.”

Though Helmut didn’t quite believe in such stories, if his pendant had indeed saved his life, it might have been during his first fall into the Forest of Roots.

“…Perhaps.”

Helmut responded, turning away. The new information stirred him just as the revelation of Darien’s great-grandson had the day before, briefly unsettling him.

But soon, he calmed himself down.

“I’m going to eat now.”

The immediate concern was the upcoming preliminary round and filling his hungry stomach.

***

The martial arts tournament venue was bustling.

‘None here pose a threat to me.’

Helmut casually surveyed the surroundings and came to an expected conclusion. He had left his lodging early in the morning to participate in the preliminary rounds.

As it approached 10 a.m., Helmut was present at the tournament grounds. Participants were checked in at the entrance, so everyone here was a contender.

The number of participants in the preliminary rounds reached several hundred. The process was simple—just fight and win.

The actual method was a bit more complicated. Participants were divided into four groups for the preliminaries, followed by a tournament to select the final contestants. Including one or two from the losers’ revival matches, making it into the top 10 secured a spot in the main event.

Today, the first group went through two rounds of matches. The participants were informed at the entrance which group they belonged to, so those in the first group participated while others were free to watch or leave.

The main event would consist of 32 participants. 22 spots were reserved for proven skilled fighters, and the rest were open for knightly orders’ nominations.

Of course, if there were too many applicants from the knightly orders, they too had to go through the preliminary rounds, but that was rare.

Normally, participants were selected based on skill from among the applicants. With a losers’ revival match included, those unlucky but skilled could still make their way up.

An entry fee of 1,000 marks was no small sum. Reaching the main event meant getting the fee back, along with prize money at each stage, but failing in the preliminaries meant losing the money.

This setup meant only those confident in their skills or indifferent to losing 1,000 marks participated in the preliminaries.

Helmut stood out among the burly men with sun-darkened skins crowding the preliminary site.

That meant, to them, he looked like the latter type.

Naturally, snide comments flew his way.

“Got a lot of money, huh? Are you a young master trying to gain some experience?”

“Look at that sword and outfit, reeks of wealth.”

“Selling those would easily fetch 10,000 marks.”

They snickered among themselves, posturing, which wasn’t a problem. Helmut could tolerate that much. But this was different.

Helmut blocked an attempt to slap his rear with his scabbard.

“Oh, quick on the uptake, aren’t we?”

He disliked being touched. His sword flashed out lightning-fast, its blade pressing against the man’s throat.

“Pray you don’t encounter me in the preliminaries.”

Just this gesture was enough to leave him wanting to sever limbs. A mere touch was enough for the blade to draw blood, a true testament to its sharpness.

“What is this?”

The man’s face froze, and he backed away cautiously. That one move had clearly shifted the mood.

“Did you see how he drew his sword?”

“Almost didn’t see it!”

“Looks like the young one’s not just for show.”

The crowd backed away from Helmut, mixing curiosity with caution. In Basor, a land of warriors, strength commands respect.

‘Would’ve been easier if they could just recognize it at a glance.’

Expecting such discernment from these weaklings was perhaps asking too much.

Helmut involuntarily looked up at the sky. The sun blazed down fiercely, its heat almost tangible.

Soon, an official from the tournament announced,

“Participants of the Basor Royal Martial Arts Tournament, please listen. The preliminary rounds will begin shortly. Please conserve your energy and move to the tents to wait quietly for your turn.”

Not mentioning disqualification for brawling or disputes was very Basor-like.

Fortunately, waiting in the shade was an option. Despite the high temperatures, it wasn’t too hot if one stayed out of the direct sunlight.

Helmut, unfamiliar with being called Hyde, waited, repeating the alias to himself. His turn fortunately came quickly.

“Hyde! Please come to the stage.”

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