My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World

Two pairs of champions became a crowd of three as a pale male Fey joined the fray with euphoric eyes gleaming gold. Following this same pattern, the third was superseded by the fourth, nearly tripping on his robes as he eagerly scurried his way forth. 

The number of scrolls was in a steady decline, as was the number of battle crests available. If my maths was right, and if middle school education has yet to fail me, I surmised that each camp had at least a dozen champions on either side.

An even number of participants, for an even number of princesses, but only one odd winner, for only one odd prize. It's like poetry, it doesn't even rhyme… it's sure as hell poetic though.

Speaking of poetry, what are these names even? Philips of Elis? Steve of the Bards? Ragnar the Red? I'm pretty sure that last one was from a different game entirely. Is this why you guys had us dance for like a year and a half? Just so you could come up with as many 'the (blank)'s' as possible?

These folk really do love their immersion, don't they?

Anywho, I came to find after numerous bouts of applause and roll calls that my theory was proven true. In gradual increments, four became six, six turned eight, eight to a copious ten… before eventually, the ten became a dozen, a hefty number divided as soon as each individual went off on their separate ways, their separate allegiances.

Six scrolls left strewn atop the flat timbered surface, six more coats of arms, six more yet-to-be-named contenders until there was none. Seriously, the tension upon that revelation being realized by the crowd was a tense one. Many had their fists clenched, their fingers crossed, their teeth grinding. 

I won't lie, even I was starting to feel the mounting pressure… I know my placement was guaranteed. After revealing myself to the judges as the titular boyfriend to one of their colleagues. I was pretty much a shoo-in to compete.

But then after I tried persuading those judges to go along with my request, that all changed in an instant. Like at least two of them outright refused, and the other two just shrugged and muttered a faint, 'We'll see', that doesn't really inspire much hope. 

After writing my name, and them wishing me the best, I had confidence they wouldn't disappoint. Even right here, right now, as the number dwindled to a five, as the relief and the joy washed over the next chosen champion's face, I still retained that confidence.

If there was one thing I learned about these judges from my time being here was that they loved to put on a show… and it was that one thing, the only thing they were convinced of that I can guarantee. 

Magnus of the Bane whittled the choices to a measly four. 

I still held out hope.

Frederick the Friar did a little jig when his name rang out as one of the final three. 

Following the crowd, I clapped along as he took his place beside the throne.

Celes the Scion took the final black crest, her high-pitch glee only equaled by the tiny rapid claps of her hands. 

One scroll left, lifted up from the now non-existence pile. One scroll left, slowly unfurled in burly hands. One scroll left to a crowd of metaphoric millions, their gazes steady, their silence deafening.

Look at them up there on their thrones. So pristine, so high-esteem, also very much in suspense… and unless I was just seeing what I wanted to see, they also looked quite tense. Their eyes all this while kept scouring through the sea of people with slight, sharp furtive glances - searching. 

It'd be the ultimate arrogance to say I wasn't flattered. I was far from it. When I noticed that they were looking for me among the crowd, I couldn't restrain the smile from growing wider and wider on my face.

Unsurprisingly, with senses keener than most, Ash was the first to spot me. Even from this distance, where her face was merely but a smidgen from afar, I could still see the apprehension lingering on her expression flushing away in a near-instant… and yet her emerald eyes stayed the same question.

"Why aren't you here?"

Then shortly after, just right beside her, in a hue significantly darker, Amanda's eyes mirrored the same inquiry, perhaps slightly larger. I could almost hear herself having a total meltdown inside her head.

Was he not participating in the game? Is he really just going to watch this play out? Did he really not make a choice? Did I really do all this for nothing after all?

No you didn't, Amanda, I tried to tell her with a smile. Just wait and see, I spoke with my gaze.

The scroll was read, a voice was heard, and a name was called. In the quiet, it echoed wide.

"Bob of the Builder!" The announcer gave a few bewildered blinks, before he continued on, doing his best to force down his confusion. "Er, come... join your fellow patriots and defend your fair lady Elf."

Somewhere within the building, a faint whooping could be heard, and a pair of skinny arms came shooting up from the crowd, slowly waddling through the thick clump of heads towards the front, and out emerged an even skinnier man in an orange hard hat looking like he just got isekai-ed out from some building simulator with a bulldozer or something.

I read this somewhere before. 

Bob was an easter egg NPC you could find in the game.

Nice going, Bob. You just emptied the table completely, cleared the pile of its last white crest. Joined the ranks of Ash's camp as champion number twelve.

You become the number one.

Some people cheered, Some people sighed. Others groaned, while the rest clapped away… including I. It was an interesting rag-tag band of like-minded people. That, I can't deny.

Even if I wasn't among them...

"Hear ye, hear ye!" 

Not yet, at least.

"The champion selections have come to an end!" announced the announcer in his announcing voice. "And might I say, have we not just amassed a worthy assemblage of contenders? I've no doubt they would provide us all memorable moments to be turned into legendary tales for ages to come!"

His enthusiasm was only meagerly felt, the overpowering sense of disappointment was just too great a feeling to match… even the princesses, as they smiled, beamed proudly at their chosen entourage, could only just barely repress the feeling from surfacing.

And it'd be the ultimate-est arrogance to say that I didn't feel even an inkling of it too. 

I did… and almost, just almost… I felt that confidence falter ever so slightly.

That was until there came another word, another echo, that resounded through the hall, that cut through it all. Just one single word.

"But!" 

A single but. A dramatic but. 

The best kind of but.

As soon as he regained the undivided attention of the masses, slowly, showily, he reached a hand into his sleeves, pausing for a brief stare both left and right, before hastily pulling out a final scroll curled firmly beneath his fingers, a smile so haughty plastered across his expression.

Like I said before, these people love putting on a show… and boy, were we in for one now. 

The announcer, bearing that same still, spoke once more. "I came to hear of a stirring dispute between the judges in regards to a contender like no other. A dispute that took long to settle, and that ultimately came to a decisive agreement." 

He unfurled the scroll, his gaze keeping to the crowd. "In my hands, I have here the name of a champion that if he or she is willing to accept the caveats of their participation, would be permitted to fight for his or her desired choice."

Utter surprise and interest was a sharp ripple spreading fast across the masses. Wonder, confusion, everybody quietly murmured the same sentiments. Even the princesses were at a loss at this sudden turn of events.

The desired reaction they intended for. These people are good.

"You already know who you are," continued the announcer. "But for the sake of everyone else, I am pleased to introduce you to…"

Here it comes.

Here I come.

"Big Man of House Playboy!"

Huh? 

Excuse me.

Hello, what? 

My name is - 

Did you just -

He rolled the scroll shut, his face remaining a total blank slate. "Please emerge forth and join your fellow champions." 

Do you honestly expect anybody to swell up their chest and walk with pride after announcing them that way?! Can I be Bob, instead? Bob was better, give me Bob, please.

That's not my name - I didn't write that! Who came up with that title - fuck, I don't even know anyone who calls me...

Big... man...

Oh.

Never mind.

"Big Man," repeated the announcer, him along with everyone else turning their heads towards one another. "Are you here? Would you please show yourself?"

"Confidence…" I told myself, taking that first begrudging step forward. "Confidence."

To my surprise, only the first step was the hardest, everything else to my delight… just sorta happened so seamlessly, easily, confidently. My second step, my third step, all the way forward.

Before long, there I was at center stage, beheld to the eyes of many, the quote-unquote 'contender like no other'. I didn't get an applause, nobody cheered to the sound of my name… and sadly, I didn't even get a stray clap thrown my way save for the faint one, off in the furthest distance, of a vampire slowly, feebly, bringing her hands together.

Think I even saw a flutter of violet too.

I ignored the intense gazes from all around, and just slowly approached the table, where either crest laid barren. But then came the announcer once more, standing on the other end, reaching a hand towards his other sleeve, and pulling out two more of those dime-like objects to which he gently placed before me.

"Now, Big Man - "

Stop calling me big man.

"Please make your choice."

Choose. The black on the left, the white on the right. It was a choice I've been mulling over for so long already. 

It was a choice I've made already.

Amanda quietly stared left.

Ash silently peered right.

Slowly, before the eyes of pretty much the entire hall, I raised my right hand forward.

Still ever as quiet, I heard a disheartened sigh coming from the left. Saw hazel-brown eyes fell downcasted as I held the pure white crest tight. 

Then before anything else could happen, I immediately reached and darted for the left, seizing between my fingers the bold black crest firm. 

In both hands, I took hold of both crests. 

A sharp gasp from the left.

Widened emerald eyes from the right.

The announcer curled a delighted smile.

"There you have it, everybody!" He proclaimed, stepping forward with his arms wide open. "Our final contender fighting for the hands of both princesses! An unprecedented act like no other! An act that would surely prove a daunting task for this champion to overcome."

"Everybody please - " He clapped his hands. "A round of applause for our champions!"

One or two at first, then slowly three… before it gradually became the ovation of many. The crowd raised their hands, whistled, and hurrahs. To the left, to the right, an even number of cheers and rapport.

And then, there stood I alone in the center of both thrones - the only odd one out wanting both, outright declaring boldly that I will have them both. That was my answer.

To Nick staring left, to Leon looking right. To the crowd's glancing. 

To Amanda's gazing... 

There you go, Amanda. This might have been your question, but this wasn't your answer.

This was my answer. 

My side of the fence… and here the grass is always greener so long as I got you both by my side. But it seems at the moment, there are a couple of weeds in the field that are in need of removal. 

Don't worry, though. I'll pluck them out.

One by one.