Chapter 16: Eyes of the Beast
After Lothar left the field, Abelardo made his entrance once more. This knight, who had claimed the champion's honor multiple times in Lombardy, was indeed a formidable opponent not to be underestimated. He had effortlessly fought his way into the finals. Even those two knights clad in half-plate armor, resembling walking tin cans, were defeated by him through exquisite tactics.
"As expected of one who bears the name of Abelardo, the famed general who followed Charlemagne! Abelardo has been in a state of complete dominance; the gap is simply too vast."
"Abelardo clearly has more experience in tournaments; he's better at conserving stamina than a young knight like Lothar."
"It seems the finals hold no more suspense. This Abelardo will once again claim the honorary title of champion knight."
"What a pity that a Lombard has taken the highest honor in a knightly tournament held in our Great Germania."
Lothar frowned, not because he was dissatisfied with people underestimating him—after all, Abelardo was a veteran who had swept invincible through tournaments in the Lombard city-states; it was normal for him to be outmatched. Without the system's augmentation, the original owner of his body was merely a talented knight, far from being exceptionally gifted.
However, for Abelardo's stamina to remain so abundant after continuous, intense battles was truly perplexing. There were many ways to conserve energy, but this man wielded a hand-and-a-half sword, a weapon requiring broad, sweeping movements. Even if he possessed some special technique, he shouldn't be this comfortable.
'"It's one thing for me to have an unnatural advantage,"' Lothar mused, '"but how can a normal knight like you be so damned resilient?"'
Lothar frowned. The situation on the field remained one-sided. Abelardo's opponent had clearly also expended a great deal of stamina and could only parry against Abelardo's ferocious, storm-like assault. Before long, Abelardo spotted an opening and sent his opponent's arming sword flying.
Abelardo wins!
Because his opponent lost so quickly, Lothar only had time for a sip of water before he was once again helped onto his horse by Ryan and Moder. He took the white beechwood lance he had acquired from a previously defeated opponent; the two he had purchased earlier had both broken in previous fights. He raised his kite shield, emblazoned with a lion rampant, which was now battered and scarred from a full day of competition, riddled with holes pierced by lances.
However, he couldn't replace it with a shield taken as spoils from other knights. Those bore their exclusive coats of arms, and using such a shield before erasing the emblem was dishonorable. Besides, the condition of those shields wasn't much better than the one he currently held. Abelardo, on the other hand, was more experienced and had long prepared a replacement shield. His coat of arms was nine golden orbs scattered across the field, the paint possibly mixed with gold dust, reflecting dazzlingly in the sunlight.
The announcer's voice boomed: "Next, the crucial moment to witness the birth of the champion knight! Knight Lothar of Aargau will face Knight Abelardo of Tuscany in a final decisive battle!"
"The Heavenly Father above will watch over these two warriors as they contend for the ultimate honor! Amen!"
Amidst the cheers of the crowd, the two slowly entered the arena.
"You've made it to the end. You haven't disappointed me," Abelardo raised his lance, its tip aimed at Lothar. "But it's a pity. In the coming battle, I will no longer hold back. You may concede in time to avoid irreparable injury."
Lothar's voice, muffled by his great helm, emerged somewhat hollowly: "I offer the same words to you. Concede early, to avoid injury."
Neither of them had powerful backing. Abelardo, from the Medici family of Tuscany, was a second son, ultimately just a landless knight making his way in the world, albeit one with a notable reputation. Lothar was the same. He understood the Count of Aargau; even if he died, his father wouldn't be overly heartbroken. His father was a man who valued family interests above all else and would never act impulsively or seek revenge against Abelardo for this. After all, being killed on the tournament field was a legitimate duel; no one could find fault. If anyone sought revenge, it would be an act despised by the entire noble world.
"Then let us begin." Abelardo tapped his shield with his lance, then fiercely spurred his horse with his heels, letting out a sharp cry: "Andate!"
Lothar also urged his horse forward. The tournament field was limited, giving them little time to build up speed for a truly devastating charge. They could only make their mounts run as fast as possible to increase the impact.
'BANG—'
Both lances pierced their opponent's shield simultaneously. The horses whinnied under the strain. The immense force threw both riders from their saddles. Lothar felt as if his whole body had been shattered. His chest, where the opponent's lance had struck, throbbed with intense pain. It was definitely not just a bruise; his ribs were likely broken.
Abelardo, in contrast, though also hit by Lothar's lance, quickly got back to his feet. He raised his knightly sword, responding to the cheers from the crowd as if he had already won.
"Abelardo!"
"Abelardo!"
The crowd chanted Abelardo's name wildly, as if witnessing the rise of a new star. A slight smile touched Abelardo's lips beneath his helmet. He had never chosen to swear fealty to any lord precisely because he was waiting for the best offer. Clearly, Leopold's grand gesture had won him over.
Banu, standing in the grandstand, gripped the wooden railing tightly, a rare trace of coldness in her expression. Hans, Ryan, and Moder also shouted anxiously, "Milord, are you alright? We concede! Quickly, carry our lord out!"
Lothar, leaning on his arming sword, slowly climbed to his feet. He shook his head at his anxious companions, signaling them not to make any rash decisions. He looked down at his chest. His surcoat was torn, revealing the deformed mail links underneath. Chainmail offered strong defense against slashes and thrusts but little against blunt trauma. If his Stamina hadn't been raised to an inhuman level, this blow would likely have completely incapacitated him.
The people in the stands also noticed this, and their cheers gradually died down, replaced by murmurs of astonishment.
Abelardo looked at Lothar, somewhat puzzled. "Do you wish to continue? You are no match for me. To have lasted this long is already quite commendable on your part."
A few troublemakers in the crowd started to jeer, "Go on, Lothar! Take down that pretty boy from Tuscany!"
"Don't disgrace us Germans! Get him!"
With only two contestants left vying for the title of champion knight, they had become the focus of everyone's attention. The other competitions around the main arena—archery, melee, javelin throwing—were long deserted. Everyone had gathered here, shouting encouragement in French, Latin, and German.
Lothar said nothing. Beneath his great helm, his breathing became extremely heavy. He gripped his sword and shield tighter, walked up to Abelardo, and tapped his shield with his sword. The meaning was self-evident.
"I don't understand. Ending it sooner would be better for everyone." Abelardo sighed lightly. "However, since you insist, let us continue. I will show you what a champion knight with twelve consecutive tournament victories is truly made of!"
'Crack!' He stepped directly over the wooden tilt barrier that divided the field and stood before Lothar. He brought his sword down in an overhead chop. The sharp blade cut through the air with a whistling sound, smashing violently onto Lothar's shield.
Lothar blocked the blow, his fingers, clad in mail gauntlets and gripping the shield, going numb. He felt that Abelardo's strength now was much more than what it had been in their first encounter. 'He was definitely hiding his true strength before!'
'CLANG—'
The sound of steel striking steel rang out. Lothar's counterattack was parried by Abelardo's hand-and-a-half sword.
"Do you feel it? This is my true strength," a somewhat hoarse voice came from beneath Abelardo's helmet. He then simply discarded his shield, gripped his hand-and-a-half sword with both hands, raised it high above his head, and as Lothar seized an opportunity to rush in, he brought it down, cleaving clean through one side of Lothar's iron-banded kite shield.
Lothar also discarded his now useless shield, trying hard to even out his ragged breathing. Through the narrow slit of his great helm, his eyes were fixed on his opponent's movements.
The next moment, Abelardo swung his sword forward again. Lothar, gripping his arming sword with one hand on the blade and the other on the hilt, held it horizontally before him and parried the blow. Taking advantage of his opponent's unsteadiness, he kicked out, striking Abelardo in the waist and sending him staggering back a few steps.
Having finally caught an opportunity to counterattack, Lothar naturally pressed his advantage. He lunged forward, exploiting the fact that Abelardo's hand-and-a-half sword was better suited for chopping than thrusting, and charged into his opponent's personal space. This was followed by a series of rapid headbutts, leaving both men dizzy and disoriented.
But in this almost face-to-face combat, Lothar was shocked to discover, through the slit of his opponent's great helm, a pair of terrifying, beast-like eyes.
A look of unconcealed horror flashed in Lothar's eyes. Abelardo also instantly realized something. He flipped Lothar over and raised his longsword, intending to thrust it through the eye slit of Lothar's helm. He was going for a killing blow!
Lothar was horrified. He desperately struggled free from his opponent's one-handed grip and dodged the fatal thrust. The sharp hand-and-a-half sword stabbed into the muddy ground of the arena right beside his cheek. Lothar kicked out with both legs, violently sending Abelardo, who had been pinning him, flying backward. He then reversed positions, mounting his opponent and using his own weight to pin him down.
At this stage of the fight, the two knights looked no different from ruffians brawling in the street. But any knight who knew his business understood that it was precisely at such moments that life and death were decided.
In the stands, in the shadow beneath the red-haired witch's hood, her lips curled slightly. Count Leopold, however, looked utterly regretful. He said to the witch, "Knight Lothar and Knight Abelardo are both exceptionally talented men. It is truly a pity that the Heavenly Father wills they must decide a victor today."