With a furious roar, Liam spurred his horse forward, sword drawn, charging straight at Theodore, who was clearly the leader.
He hadn't just been chosen by Ser Kyle for his impressive skills.
His loyalty to House Cerwyn had also withstood the test of time.
Liam knew he couldn't afford a single moment of cowardice. Behind him was a crowd of unarmed smallfolk.
If he took even one step back, the ground would be covered in corpses.
The Cerwyn soldier beside him also charged in, eyes red with fury, slashing wildly with his longsword.
The two freelance knights, however, exchanged another look. The moment the market fence was breached, they simultaneously wheeled their horses around and fled.
Liam caught the two retreating figures out of the corner of his eye and immediately cursed:
"Cowardly pieces of shit!"
Theodore also glanced at the two fleeing knights and sneered:
"You call them cowards, but staying alive is what matters most."
But his smile quickly vanished.
Because the escape route of the two freelance knights had been blocked by several raiders.
Forcing the two knights into a brutal fight with them.
They were, after all, freelance knights handpicked by Ser Kyle, meaning they had some level of skill.
Not long after.
The two freelance knights were wounded, but they had also hacked down three raiders.
And managed to successfully break through the encirclement and escape.
Theodore parried Liam's heavy, forceful strike with his blade and cursed under his breath:
"Useless trash!"
The edge of the blade scraped along the flat of Liam's sword, throwing off a shower of sparks.
Theodore aimed a strike straight at Liam's face and roared:
"Matteo, Cillian! Get over here and help me kill this Northern son of a bitch!"
Hearing the command, two exceptionally burly men on horseback lunged in from both sides a second later.
A polished, broad-backed iron blade came chopping down.
Liam spun and blocked it horizontally.
His sword edge barely managed to deflect the strike coming from the side.
Right at that moment, a barbed iron chain instantly whipped around his warhorse's hind legs.
The iron barbs dug deep into the flesh, instantly dyeing the horse's legs red with blood.
The warhorse let out a piercing, agonized neigh.
In its pain, the horse thrashed and kicked wildly, throwing Liam violently from side to side.
"Die!"
Theodore roared viciously, thrusting his long blade straight at Liam's throat.
Matteo's broad-backed iron blade followed close behind, chopping toward Liam's left arm.
Liam gripped the reins tightly. Using the chaotic bucking of his warhorse, he swung his iron sword through the air.
Clang!
He parried Theodore's lethal thrust, but Matteo's broad-backed iron blade struck his arm.
Fortunately, it was protected by an arm guard.
Liam only felt a momentary flash of intense pain.
He gritted his teeth, enduring the pain, and whipped his iron sword back in a reverse slash, scraping past Matteo's neck and drawing a thin line of blood, forcing the man to hastily retreat.
"Idiot, kill his horse first!"
Theodore cursed under his breath.
Aside from his helmet, Liam was wearing plate armor everywhere else.
Plate armor was forged from large pieces of steel, making it complex to craft and incredibly expensive.
But it provided highly effective defense against slashing, piercing, and blunt force trauma. Ordinary swords, arrows, and even battleaxes had a hard time piercing it.
On the battlefield, cavalry clad in plate armor were practically "mobile fortresses," making it very difficult for ordinary men to deal a fatal blow.
It was safe to say that plate armor was the ultimate equipment for knights and nobles.
However, a full suit of plate armor weighed roughly 25 to 30 kilograms, giving the wearer very poor mobility.
Once dismounted, it was difficult to move quickly, and if they were tripped, they might not even be able to get back up.
Some plate armor designed specifically for jousting, which prioritized maximum protection, could weigh anywhere from 41 to 46 kilograms.
Although Liam's suit of plate armor was of average quality, it was still plate armor.
More than enough to defend against strikes from ordinary swords and blades.
Right then, the iron chain wrapped around the warhorse's hind legs was yanked hard.
The horse, overwhelmed by pain, felt its hind legs buckle and crashed heavily to the ground.
Liam was thrown from the saddle, slamming hard into the mud.
His iron sword flew from his grip, his chest seized up, and the metallic taste of blood rushed up his throat.
Theodore and the other two surrounded him on horseback.
Theodore looked down at him, a cruel smile plastered across his face:
"You Northern piece of shit, go to hell!"
As he spoke, he leaned down from his horse and swung his blade at Liam's head.
Liam's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
In a life-or-death reflex, he violently threw up his left arm, using the arm guard to take the hit!
"Clang——!"
The deafening clash of metal on metal made his eardrums ring, and the massive force traveled down his arm guard and throughout his entire body.
Liam felt another surge of metallic-tasting blood rush up his throat.
Cillian, the man holding the iron chain, had just retracted the barbed weapon and was preparing to lash it out again to take Liam's head clean off.
"Oh shit!"
He heard the rush of wind behind him and tried to jerk his head out of the way.
But the sword strike from the shadows came too fast.
It sliced clean across his neck.
A head, still wearing a look of bewildered shock, tumbled to the ground.
"You're asking for it!"
Seeing this, Theodore, who was standing nearby, was instantly filled with both shock and rage.
He wheeled his horse around, pointing his long blade straight at the newly arrived Don Quixote, the cruel smile on his face morphing into a grotesque snarl.
Don Quixote ignored him, turning his head to look toward the market instead.
In his line of sight, dozens of mounted raiders were tearing through the market with reckless abandon.
The thundering of hooves, battle cries, and terrified screams all mashed together.
The commoners who had been browsing goods, the ones drinking ale, the merchants tending their stalls—they had all become prey, scattering and running for their lives.
Someone, blind with panic, knocked over a barrel of ale. The amber liquid spilled out, mixing with the mud, the smell of alcohol quickly tainted by the stench of blood.
Someone clutched a coin purse and tried to hide deep inside a stall, only to be trampled by a raider's horse and hacked to death in an instant.
"Looks like this employment quest is wrapping up early," Don Quixote thought to himself rapidly.
After what happened tonight, hardly anyone would dare set foot in Cerwyn Market again!
Even if House Cerwyn dispatched a heavy garrison to guard the place, there was no way they'd win back the crowds anytime soon.
Besides, why would House Cerwyn station a heavy garrison to guard a trade market that wasn't even that important to them?
Markets and towns were rare in the North. Not only because the extreme, bitter cold made it difficult for Northmen to travel and trade, but also because the vast majority of Northern nobles valued honor far more than commerce.
It was easy to guess that House Cerwyn would be furious after this!
It might even spark a localized war.
But this trade market was definitely going to be permanently shut down.
"Die!"
Seeing the enemy who had suddenly appeared in front of him actually dare to get distracted...
This blatant display of disrespect instantly infuriated Theodore.
Theodore swung his blade wildly, but Don Quixote dodged it with ease.
At that moment, Matteo also swung his blade in a sneak attack from the side.
Don Quixote pushed his sword out horizontally.
As the sword and blade clashed.
Matteo was shocked to find his arm numb from a massive impact, nearly dropping his broad-backed iron blade.
He stared in horror at the lean young man before him:
"This guy is at least twice as strong as me!"
"Getting distracted in a fight is a bad habit!"
Taking advantage of the split second Matteo was distracted, Don Quixote spurred his horse to the right.
With a single slash, his sword cut into Matteo's leather armor, knocking him straight off his horse.
[Name: Don Quixote]
[Identity: Knight]
[Spirit: 2.13]
[Vitality: 3.23]
Housing an entire sack of Frost Spirit Rice hadn't just pushed Don Quixote's Vitality to 3.23; it had also helped his Spirit break through the 2.0 bottleneck.
Having three times the Vitality of an ordinary person meant his overall physical constitution was three times greater than that of a normal man.
But the actual gap in combat power was far, far more than three times.
Especially now that his Spirit had broken past 2.0.
His perception and comprehension had suddenly jumped up a whole tier.
Stack those two factors together...
It was safe to say he could now easily wipe the floor with five versions of himself from a month ago.
Or rather, he was now confident he could defeat Ser Kyle's masterful swordsmanship—swordsmanship forged on the battlefield!
The next second!
Don Quixote thrust his longsword straight forward again, deflecting Theodore's relentless assault.
"You're the only one left!"
...