“But why can’t His Highness the Prince see it?”
Bartholomew asked belatedly as if it were strange. Then the other three people made eye contact and burst into laughter at the same time.
"What? Why is everyone laughing but me?”
“Your Highness the Prince was unable to come to his senses until this morning due to a hangover.”
Cheraan giggled and answered as if it was funny just thinking about it. Franz added an explanation.
“It looks like he drank a lot of plum liquor.”
Plum liquor was so popular that it always appeared at the royal summer banquets, but it had the characteristic of being very strong compared to its sweet scent and light taste. Perhaps Rogero didn't know that, and that's why he suffered from a terrible hangover as soon as he woke up.
“I told Mary Anne to make you some drinks that are good for hangovers.”
Judith, who was laughing softly with her lips covered, said as if to tell him not to worry.
“In Tien, they say that if you mix a little bit of pickled peach honey with milk and eat it together, your hangover will go away.”
“The honey-pickled peaches and milk, compared to Rotair’s meal, it’s like eating in heaven. Isn’t that right, Franz?”
Bartholomew tapped Franz on the shoulder and said playfully. Franz nodded his head.
“That’s right. No matter where you go, you'll be hard-pressed to find anything weirder than Rotair's hangover drink. You mix egg yolk with watered wine and eat it.”
Judith and Cheraan, hearing those words, stuck out their tongues at the same time and made disgusted expressions. Judith asked.
“Have you and Bartholomew ever tried it?”
"Sure. When was it? We were about seven years old, right?”
“I guess so. We were curious about the taste of alcohol, so we secretly stole wine from the kitchen, drank it, and fell ill side by side.”
“The little things are boiling hot, and their breath smells like alcohol. In the end, Aunt Emerea had her servants make that horrible thing. If I think about it now, I probably wouldn’t have had to drink it, but I wonder if it was intentional.”
Judith and Cheraan looked at each other at Bartholomew's joking words. Thinking about the two of them as kids who drank out of curiosity and got sick, they couldn't help but laugh. The four walked around the square discussing what was best to eat the day after drinking.
As they were walking, they heard a loud shout from one side. The four people turned their heads in the direction of the sound without even thinking about who was first. People wearing various clothes were gathered in a circle and shouting something. From time to time, white dust rose from the center, which was hidden from view by people.
“What are they doing over there?”
Judith jumped to her feet with a curious expression. Neither Franz nor Bartholomew knew what they were doing, but Cheraan answered with a grin.
“It’s betting boxing.”
In the middle, sand was piled up to create a fighting surface, and people surrounding it shouted and waved coins or small tickets in their hands. Judith looked surprised when she saw two shirtless men fighting with their bare hands.
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Even though betting boxing looks like that, the rules are quite strict. You cannot use techniques that seriously injure the opponent. You bet on one of the two, and if you win, you get paid out.”
When large-scale festivals are held, including the Founding Festival, betting competitions are always held. It was more like a show of skills between people who wanted to fight rather than a full-fledged fight, so onlookers enjoyed it with a light heart. In fact, among the people watching, some were holding a child's hand, and others were leisurely whistling while drinking something with lemon in it.
“Look, Your Highness. You can go over there and see the player’s name and bet money.”
Judith tilted her head at Cheraan's words. Indeed, there were several people who appeared to be touts gathered on one side of the fighting table, and a person sitting in front of a small table was sweating profusely as he was sorting out a large pile of coins and a mountain of tickets. On the signboard next to the table, the player's winning percentage and win/loss status were written in stone.
“Hey, the one with the blue ribbon tied around his wrist. It looks like that person has already won five games. Look, Your Highness. It’s marked, right?”
When Judith looked at the signboard, she saw that there were five hatches on one side of the two-part board. The name was not written. However, when Bartholomew saw his face as he was brushing sand out of his hair, he made a strange expression. Then he pretended to stretch and said:
“I should go out too.”
Everyone looked up with surprised faces at Bartholomew's unexpected words. Franz said.
“What if you get seriously hurt? Your mother is going to faint this time.”
"Don't worry. Because I won't get hurt that badly. And I really want to hang out with that person.”
“Who are you, Bartholomew? Do you know someone?”
He grinned with an odd expression without answering, and without even listening to Franz stop him, he went to the table and applied for participation. A round was over while he wrote down the names and received a few coins, which were basically allocated to players. This time, the side that tied the blue ribbon won.
“This is truly amazing! Since I've been watching betting boxing, this is the first time I've ever seen a fighter win six rounds! And that too without using any despicable methods!”
After one game was over, the man who served as a tout and emcee talked like a clown and got people excited. Cheraan, who had seen Bartholomew taking off his top and tying a red ribbon around his wrist, looked back at Judith with a complex expression.
“What Bartholomew loses?”
“What if I worry about losing before I even start? Rather, does Bartholomew know that person? Your Highness, have you ever seen it?”
“No, I don’t know anyone. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
Although it was an interesting expression, Franz's face also showed concern. The three of them squeezed through the crowd and went to the front where they could get a better view of the game. While the sand was rising white, a shirtless Bartholomew appeared on the battlefield with a grin on his face. As people cheered, the host spoke excitedly.
“Now, here’s a new challenger! He is a young man with a very good physique! I’m looking forward to seeing if we can stop today’s undefeated streak!”
As the host made a frivolous gesture and left the fighting table, the two participants stood facing each other. The other person looked up, shaking off his mud-covered hands, and slowly blinked at the sight of Bartholomew standing there with his arms crossed.
“...Who is this?”
“It’s been a long time since I saw you, Sir Bibiyu.”
As the two people talked, the people watching started whispering to each other. It's not uncommon to meet an old opponent in betting boxing, but the atmosphere between the two was somehow strange.
A man who won six games. The person who faced Bartholomew was Neos Bibiyu. A few years ago, Queen Gilsis, out of revenge for Krald being beaten by Franz, forcibly expelled Bartholomew from the Combler training camp. At that time, the person who came to deliver the news to the Duke of Vergy was Neos.
“You were the leader of the 2nd Combler Knights, right? Isn’t it against the law to come out to a place like this?”
“I lost my wallet last night. I came out to get money for drinks on credit. Is there a problem?”
Bartholomew was teasing and sarcastic, but Neos' response was never pushed back. The posture of the two lowered slightly. It was a preparatory stance taken before starting a fight. The way they looked at each other was so serious that the people watching became nervous and fell silent.
“This is my first time seeing you since that day, Trainee Bartholomew.”
“It’s been a long time since I stopped being a trainee. You haven’t forgotten yet, right?”
“I would have told you then too. There will be a chance to return someday.”
“Did you really mean what you said back then?”
“I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Let’s take a look at the results of our training so far.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Neos attacked Bartholomew first. Bartholomew quickly blocked his swinging fist with his palm, turned his body around using his right foot as an axis, and kicked the back of his thigh with the top of his foot.
Thud!
The sound was quite loud, but Neos only furrowed his eyebrows and it didn't seem like he was seriously hit. Rather, Bartholomew's feet were tingling.
“You’re amazing.”
“Not everyone hears the sound of Rotair’s spear.”
The two faced off again. Watching Neos face off against Bartholomew, the previous match felt like child's play. The spectators who had been cheering and making noise just a moment ago also became quiet. It was the same for Judith, Franz, and Cheraan. Every time they heard a thud, their palms began to sweat.
“Are you prepared?”
Neos grabbed Bartholomew's shoulder. Bartholomew held his wrist, his bristling muscles writhing vigorously, and he moved his dirt-covered lips and grinned.
“What resolution are you talking about?”
“I am prepared to sacrifice my body to protect you.”
Bartholomew, who at most expected Neos to ask him if he was prepared to fight him, looked caught off guard. Neos did not miss the moment when his fingertips lost strength. He kicked his ankles, breaking one of his knees, and struck him once in the back with a rock-hard fist.
“Ugh!”
Bartholomew's body shook as if he had lost his balance. Bartholomew, who was balancing on one arm, let out a loud scream when Neos kicked his wrist, causing him to roll over and fall out of the ground.
"Ah? It's a shame! The challenger's momentum was good, but the card came out over the counter! With this, Mr. Nameless adds one more victory point! I can even hear the sound of dividends going up!”
While the host was talking wildly, Neos grabbed Bartholomew's hand and helped him up. Bartholomew was by no means short, but Neos had a higher standard than him. He said as Basholomew pretended to rub the tip of his nose.
“What did you mean?”
"What?"
“I’m talking about degradation.”
Neos looked at Bartholomew in silence. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, which was a mess of dirt and sweat, then took his handkerchief out of his pocket and rubbed his face.
“Are you asking because you don’t know?”
“You’re amazing.”
“Not everyone hears the sound of Rotair’s spear.”
The two faced off again. Watching Neos face off against Bartholomew, the previous match felt like child's play. The spectators who had been cheering and making noise just a moment ago also became quiet. It was the same for Judith, Franz, and Cheraan. Every time they heard a thud, their palms began to sweat.
“Are you prepared?”
Neos grabbed Bartholomew's shoulder. Bartholomew held his wrist, his bristling muscles writhing vigorously, and he moved his dirt-covered lips and grinned.
“What resolution are you talking about?”
“I am prepared to sacrifice my body to protect you.”
Bartholomew, who at most expected Neos to ask him if he was prepared to fight him, looked caught off guard. Neos did not miss the moment when his fingertips lost strength. He kicked his ankles, breaking one of his knees, and struck him once in the back with a rock-hard fist.
“Ugh!”
Bartholomew's body shook as if he had lost his balance. Bartholomew, who was balancing on one arm, let out a loud scream when Neos kicked his wrist, causing him to roll over and fall out of the ground.
"Ah? It's a shame! The challenger's momentum was good, but the card came out over the counter! With this, Mr. Nameless adds one more victory point! I can even hear the sound of dividends going up!”
While the host was talking wildly, Neos grabbed Bartholomew's hand and helped him up. Bartholomew was by no means short, but Neos had a higher standard than him. He said as Basholomew pretended to rub the tip of his nose.
“What did you mean?”
"What?"
“I’m talking about degradation.”
Neos looked at Bartholomew in silence. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, which was a mess of dirt and sweat, then took his handkerchief out of his pocket and rubbed his face.
“Are you asking because you don’t know?”
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