Anwar calmly put on his dome-shaped iron helmet, then picked up a spear—a rare double-headed spear in Ross, similar to those used by Greek heroes.
After bowing to the Moscow Prince, Anwar climbed over the railing of the Prince's box and jumped down from the not-so-high stands.
However, the moment he climbed over the railing, Anwar heard a voice from Rostislav, a voice that only he could hear.
"I will bet on you."
There was no time for further thought, as Anwar had already stepped onto the stage, his actions momentarily stunning everyone; they watched the warrior who had jumped out, at a loss.
Because he had jumped from the Moscow Prince's box, it meant his appearance was likely at Rostislav's behest. What was the Moscow Prince planning?
After jumping down, Anwar performed a beautiful flourish with his spear before everyone's eyes, as if showing off his martial prowess.
Rostislav, looking at the double-headed spear, frowned. In his impression, such a weapon like a spear only showed its power when used in a group, not by a single person, and especially not against three…
Either this person was a fool, or he had extreme confidence in his skill.
The three victors instinctively raised their swords. All three recognized the extraordinary nature of the person before them and raised their guard.
Meanwhile, in the Prince's box, Rostislav, who had been lying down watching everything, had now walked to the viewing platform. With the Prince's appearance, everyone's gaze was drawn to him, and each person waited for the Prince's next words.
"Today, a Christian warrior from Persia wishes to challenge the strong men of Ross, and I have given him that opportunity."
Rostislav first scanned the waiting crowd, hesitated slightly for a moment, building everyone's anticipation, and then began to speak.
"So, today, there will be an additional match. The battle will begin in thirty minutes, with these three on the field against this Persian warrior. You may now place your bets. I, too, will personally place a heavy bet."
The Prince's words ignited the arena. This was the first time Rostislav had personally placed a bet during the martial arts tournament these past few days, so naturally, everyone felt obliged to follow suit and place their bets.
The nobles quickly dispatched their subordinates to place bets, and seeing how lavishly the rich were spending, commoners naturally felt tempted to join in, causing the betting amounts to grow larger and larger.
Most people chose to bet on the three men, as being able to fight two opponents simultaneously was already the mark of a warrior. As for fighting three, that was simply impossible. Such high-level warriors would not participate in this kind of martial arts competition; they would typically already be recruited by various factions and would not need to enter such contests to prove themselves.
They also instinctively believed that Rostislav would surely bet on the side of the three men, as the Prince's tone seemed to indicate he intended to teach this outsider a lesson.
Moreover, as the bets on the three men in the betting pool surged, there was no doubt that everyone believed the Prince had certainly bet on the three.
What they hadn't expected, however, was that while the Prince's bet wasn't a lie, the timing deceived them. Rostislav did not place his bet immediately, but rather after everything had begun.
In reality, the Prince had bet on the Persian. Rostislav could tell that the Persian was an old warrior, and he didn't mind playing a small game.
If the Persian won, he would immediately receive a large sum of money. If he lost, it didn't matter, as it wasn't a significant amount, just for fun.
As for the Persian warrior on the field, brandishing his spear, he glanced with interest at the Prince, who had lazily reclined in his box once more. Anwar realized this was a test.
As early as on the Volga River, Anwar had already heard of Rostislav's reputation, though it was all about his martial prowess. After all, a victory of four thousand against ten thousand was truly glorious and well worth spreading as a story.
At the time, Anwar thought his future master would likely be a mere brute, but now it seemed he was very clever. First, he bet on a match with an "obvious outcome," then expressed an attitude of dealing with an outsider. This would surely cause everyone to bet on the three men, and then, if he won, he would make a huge profit.
"This man truly has confidence in him," Anwar thought, though he didn't know that the Moscow Prince was betting purely for amusement.
And as Anwar pondered, half an hour quickly passed. When the three warriors, having rested, returned to the arena, the Persian also realized that the battle was about to begin.
The three men no longer showed the fatigue they had half an hour earlier; instead, their eyes held much more fighting spirit. This was because the Prince's subordinates had promised them more rewards, and even if they didn't win, they would still receive compensation.
Under the temptation of victory rewards and guaranteed pay, their fighting spirit was successfully ignited.
The arena had now been cleared. All injured individuals and debris had been removed, and the areas stained with blood were covered with more fine sand.
Looking at the three men, Anwar felt no tension, only growing more serious. He had experienced many battles more dangerous than this; facing three opponents was nothing.
The three Ross Warriors formed a typical triangular formation, advancing in a wedge. They held their shields before their chests, their weapons ready at all times.
Anwar, unhurriedly, scooped up a handful of sand from the ground and rubbed it in his hands, discreetly hiding some grains in his palm. Then, he gripped his spear, ready at any moment.
The audience was impatient with the slow advance of the three men, so waves of shouts demanding an attack erupted, eager to see the bet settled immediately.
Under the pressure of these voices, the three men exchanged a glance, then, with unspoken understanding, charged together towards the prepared Persian. They intended to eliminate him in one go.
Anwar watched the three men charge like reckless beasts, a scornful smile on his face. Then, he abruptly threw the fine sand in his hand directly in front of the charging trio.
The sudden appearance of the sand particles stunned all three. They instinctively raised their shields to block the fine sand, and their charge momentarily halted. Although effective for only a few seconds, this was precisely the effect the Persian desired.
And as the fine sand dispersed, the warrior charging at the very front found that the spear had already pierced his unprotected arm, then was withdrawn with lightning speed.
"Ah!"
The intense pain made the warrior let out a sorrowful wail. He dropped his weapon and retreated repeatedly. At that moment, all thoughts of the huge prize money vanished from his mind.
As an old warrior, he knew very well that if the Persian had wished, it would have been his head that was pierced. So, he immediately ran to the guards in the arena, indicating his desire to withdraw from the match.
Such an easy defeat of one person caused a wave of angry curses from the audience. The gamblers who had bet on the three men never imagined that one would withdraw at the very beginning. They cursed the man's cowardice.
Ordinary spectators, however, let out a great cheer. The blood that sprayed and covered the sand when the spear pierced the Ross Warrior's shoulder was nothing short of exhilarating.
Anwar shook the blood off his spear, appearing utterly nonchalant. The confident Persian Christian looked disdainfully at the two men encircling him with raised shields.
And from the Prince's viewing stand, Rostislav smiled as he watched this scene. He had indeed not misjudged the man.
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