Chapter 15: The Champion Knight
The tournament continued. From time to time, the bodies of knights and their warhorses were carried out of the arena.
Lothar's opponent in the second round was the very same impoverished knight he had seen earlier, exchanging glances with a noble lady in the stands. Not only was he wearing a cheap spangenhelm, but his surcoat was also washed pale, and telltale mottling of rust was even visible on the rings of his mail. Although his martial skill was decent, Lothar still defeated him decisively.
He had no intention of playing matchmaker, as he was quite certain that even if he deliberately lost to this poor knight, the man would still be eliminated in subsequent bouts. The next opponent might not be as merciful as himself. The probability of this impoverished knight shedding his blood on the field was simply too high.
The man clearly understood this as well, and said sincerely, "Thank you for your mercy."
Lothar shook his head. "You're welcome. But if I may be frank, you should at least acquire a decent suit of armor before participating in a tournament."
The impoverished knight's face was full of bitterness. "I had hoped to defeat a wealthy knight in the first round to use their armor, but unfortunately, my opponent was also a landless knight like myself."
"In any case, it's best not to take such risks. The tournament grounds can sometimes be even crueler to you than a battlefield. On a chaotic battlefield, even a peasant soldier in simple cloth, wielding a dung fork, might kill a noble knight. But on the tournament field, that is something that can never be achieved."
The impoverished knight sighed deeply. This statement, comparing him to a lowly peasant soldier, would be considered an insult by some knights with a high self regard. But he could understand the well-intentioned advice within it. Moreover, for a knight without a fief, destitute and struggling, he never truly considered himself much nobler than the peasant soldiers toiling in the fields.
"Thank you for your counsel. I am Ned Stark of Holstein. After the tournament, I will deliver the ransom to your squire."
Lothar waved his hand. "No need. You should keep the money for yourself and get a decent suit of armor. Your martial skill is good; it's your equipment that's holding you back." He glanced at the noble lady in the stands, who was anxiously clutching her handkerchief, and said meaningfully, "May the Heavenly Father bless you and grant your heart's desire."
An opponent like this, though easy to defeat, wouldn't yield much profit. Forcing him to empty his pockets and scrape together a tiny sum for ransom didn't align with Lothar's values.
"Thank you for your generosity." Ned's face was filled with gratitude. "May the Heavenly Father protect a man of high moral standing such as yourself, allowing you to achieve great deeds and find success in all your endeavors."
Lothar waved his hand and walked straight out of the arena.
As time passed, the sky, contrary to expectations, grew brighter. The dark clouds gradually dispersed, revealing a dazzling sun.
Lothar faced many more opponents: a knight from Cologne, a warrior monk from some minor order, and noble knights like Abelardo, pursuing honor with well-lined purses. They hailed from Lombardy, France, England, and Germania; this knightly tournament had gathered almost every type of knight from across half of Christendom.
A considerable number of them shared Lothar's goal, planning to travel from here to Venice to take a ship, or to go overland through the Eastern Empire, to reach the Holy Land and participate in the Crusade. Only knights from Iberia were absent, as that land was still on the front lines of the Reconquista. Although the Moors' power had somewhat waned, a starved camel is still bigger than a horse, and they had the support of Morocco and other nations behind them. Iberia itself was a crusader front; sending any significant forces from there to the Holy Land was unrealistic.
After several rounds of fighting and spectating, Lothar had to admit that, in most cases, the wealthier the knight, the stronger they were. Two wealthy knights from Lombardy were even wearing half-plate armor, which was extremely rare for this era, making it difficult for opponents to even breach their defense.
Even setting aside the equipment factor, wealthy knights were generally more formidable. On one hand, they ate more meat and had stronger physiques. On the other hand, they could afford better and more expensive knightly trainers and swordsmanship instructors, or they simply came from families with long martial traditions and possessed inherited fighting techniques.
'Scholarship thrives in poverty, martial prowess requires wealth' – this principle held true across all ages and cultures. Fortunately, Lothar's father, Count Werner, was himself a highly skilled knight. Coupled with the considerable wealth he had acquired during the Crusades, Lothar could, barely, be classified as a "wealthy knight."
Finally, the number of contestants dwindled. Lothar's rest periods grew shorter and shorter. Often, not long after he defeated an opponent and left the field, he would have to return to the arena after only two or three more bouts. He felt like a bowstring being drawn tighter and tighter.
Hans still lacked sufficient combat experience. Although his stats weren't weak, he was unfortunately defeated after besting three opponents. Luckily, his opponent hadn't gained a significant advantage and, after defeating Hans, was barely able to remain standing, leaving no room to demand ransom. Hans, with three victories, had won thirty Solidus gold coins of varying quality; his defeated opponents had all been reasonably well-off and decided to pay to reclaim their cherished mounts and valuable armor.
Lothar's luck, however, was far worse. Most of his opponents were poor devils who had scraped through by a combination of skill and luck. Even when he won, the ransom he could collect was very limited. Lothar even received blackened silver coins, indicating a pitifully low silver content. Nevertheless, he ultimately accepted their offers. He didn't want to be too miserly and strip the generally poor-quality old armor off his opponents, making the scene too ugly. A reputation for generosity was very important for a knight. Being too grasping over every penny could easily lead to knights and bards present bestowing nicknames like "the Jew of Aargau" or "the Shylock of Aargau." Of course, the Renaissance had not yet arrived, and the classic "The Merchant of Venice" had not yet been written.
***
By the time the penultimate match arrived, both Lothar and his opponent were at the end of their tether. Limited by physical exhaustion, both had lost the certainty of a quick victory and could only resort to repeated clashes of weapons, shields, and even bodies.
Finally, Lothar caught a lapse in his opponent's defense. A shield bash knocked his opponent's shield aside. A reverse strike with his sword pommel against the man's helmet left him dazed and seeing stars. Lothar then directly removed his helmet and delivered a headbutt, knocking his opponent unconscious on the spot.
'Finally, I won!'
Perhaps because no blood was drawn, the experience points Lothar gained from defeating these knights were pitifully few. But he was already close to Level 2. Defeating this man successfully pushed his experience bar over the final step.
In an instant, he felt his previously depleted stamina become full once more. His entire being was instantly refreshed. Even the fatigue accumulated from days of arduous travel was completely swept away.
Lothar raised his sword, saluting the spectators. They responded with fervent applause. They had developed a strong liking for this young man who had won consecutive victories to reach the finals and had been generous enough to waive the ransoms for many impoverished knights. After this tournament, even if Lothar failed to claim the title of champion knight, the name Lothar of Aargau would successfully resound throughout the eastern borderlands. If, one day, Lothar were enfeoffed as a lord in Jerusalem, while it wouldn't mean countless knights would flock to his banner at a single call, it would still be far better than being an unknown.
As for the three newly acquired attribute points, Lothar definitely wouldn't consider putting them into Spirit. Although increasing Spirit could also improve his reflexes and mental resistance, its main function was for the mana bar. He had no active skills, so a mana bar was useless. Strength was also ruled out. As a knight, his charges primarily relied on horsepower, so his attack power was more than sufficient. In foot combat, even if his strength increased further, it would be difficult to cut through enemy armor.
What sustained him in combat was, on one hand, constitution, and on the other, endurance. But endurance primarily improved defense. Even if Lothar put all three attribute points into Endurance, the toughness of his skin would hardly compare to sturdy armor. Moreover, Lothar hadn't yet drawn a healing retainer. Given the abysmal medical standards of this era, a common cold or a plague could claim his life. His top priority right now was survival!
So, he invested all three newly acquired attribute points into the constitution category. If Lothar's previous Constitution of 8 was merely at the basic level for a strong knight, then his current 11 meant he was beginning to surpass human limits. Ordinary diseases could no longer affect him; injuries that would be fatal to a normal person would merely be grievous wounds for him. Not only that, but a Constitution as high as eleven made him feel his energy becoming even more vigorous, as if he had an inexhaustible supply of strength that he wanted to unleash immediately.
In the grandstand, the witch advisor beside Count Leopold gave Lothar a deep look. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly, but she said nothing, instead turning her gaze towards Banu. She attributed the change in Lothar to Banu, whom she considered a powerful witch on her own level. She wasn't puzzled as to why such a powerful witch would commit herself to a minor knight. Witches, after all, were emotional creatures. It was not uncommon for them to become blind for love.