Cole hurriedly ran to Warren's side, handing him a clean cloth and whispering:
"Ser Warren, you were amazing!"
Hearing this, Warren fell into a bitter silence.
After a moment, he sighed:
"I disappointed you all, and I disappointed the Captain!"
With that, Warren took the clean cloth from Cole and wiped the mud and blood from his face.
The next round of the joust was quickly set up.
Shane and another freelance knight, Keith, mounted their horses.
The bustling crowd held its breath once more, eyes locked on the center of the track.
Since most of the crowd had never heard of either knight, there was no one to cheer for.
For a moment, the surroundings fell quiet.
Round one.
Shane's blunt wooden lance struck the side of Keith's oak shield, but the blunt tip skidded off, nearly missing entirely.
Keith's lance chopped down at an angle, slamming solidly into the mail on Shane's shield arm.
The blunt lance wasn't lethal, but the force behind it was terrifyingly heavy.
Shane grunted in pain, his arm going weak, and his shield dipped instantly.
Round two.
Keith was clearly an old hand. Having landed a hit, his momentum grew. He pointed his lance straight at Shane's chest, intending to crush him then and there.
At the moment the horses passed each other.
Keith suddenly yanked his reins hard.
Almost simultaneously.
Keith didn't aim for the center of the shield, nor for Shane's chest.
Instead, he poured all his strength into his right arm and swept his lance sideways, smashing it viciously into Shane's shield arm again.
Crack!
A crisp sound rang out.
Shane felt a sharp pain in his arm, his fingers went slack, and the oak shield flew from his grasp.
He lost his balance completely and fell from his horse.
————
Shane left the field dejected.
The old judge continued to announce:
"Fourth match—Ser Don Quixote of the Bloody Hand Mercenary Company!
"Versus Ser Zeno, guard to the merchant Gerald!"
As his voice fell, the crowd began to murmur:
"I've never heard of this Ser Don Quixote, but if he dares to host this tourney, he must have some skill!"
Someone shook their head doubtfully:
"Not necessarily. The Bloody Hand Mercenary Company has lost two matches in a row. This one probably won't be any good either!"
"Who is this Don Quixote you're talking about? I've never heard of him," someone asked in confusion.
Someone else mocked:
"Just an out-of-town knight who recently arrived in White Harbor.
"Probably thinks White Harbor is like some small village where a little bit of skill lets you do whatever you want!
"Daring to host a tourney without checking if he has the strength to back it up!"
Someone retorted:
"Haha, at least he has Gold Dragons in his pocket. I believe he'll win!"
"Oh, so it's the knight who organized this tourney. That might be worth watching," someone realized belatedly who Don Quixote was.
————
Don Quixote adjusted his mail and tapped the round helmet on his head.
Then he turned his gaze to Zeno at the other end of the track.
Ser Zeno was already geared up, his polished mail shining, his warhorse tall and muscular.
He raised his blunt lance with one hand, his gaze sweeping over Don Quixote as if assessing an irrelevant object.
Seeing both men ready, the old judge wasted no time. He raised his arm high and shouted with all his might:
"Witnessed by the Old Gods and the New, mounted lance charge—Charge!"
After the warm-up.
The two warhorses surged forward simultaneously.
Zeno was incredibly fast.
As his warhorse galloped, his mail clinked crisply, his aura imposing.
His lance pointed straight at Don Quixote's chest, aiming to decide the victor in one charge.
Don Quixote sat calmly upright.
His eyes locked onto Zeno's movements, as if predicting his next move.
At the moment the horses passed each other.
Don Quixote turned his reins.
His warhorse deftly shied to the side, dodging Zeno's heavy, powerful thrust.
Whiff!
Zeno's lance hit empty air.
His face changed.
Don Quixote's horsemanship was incredibly skilled.
The horses passed each other again.
Don Quixote's movements weren't fast.
But his lance thrust out, unexpectedly striking Zeno in the chest.
Instantly, a massive force far beyond Zeno's imagination surged from the blunt wooden tip.
Bang!
The lance shattered instantly.
Zeno's oak shield followed suit, splintering into pieces.
Zeno flew from his horse and crashed heavily into the mud, spitting a mouthful of blood and failing to get up for a long time.
The entire field was silent for a moment, then the crowd erupted in cheers.
Don Quixote reined in his horse in the center of the field, sitting steady and upright.
He rested the broken lance in the mud, placed his right hand on the forehead of his helmet, and leaned slightly forward.
He performed a proper and solemn knightly salute to the audience on the high platform and by the fence.
Cole jumped up and down, shouting until his voice was hoarse:
"My Lord won! My Lord is amazing!"
Beside him, Alden and Adele cheered loudly as well.
————
The jousting event concluded with Don Quixote's easy victory.
Next was the second event, and the final event of this makeshift tourney:
—The Melee!
Multiple freelance knights would use leather-wrapped swords, blunted axes, iron-shod staves, and other blunt weapons.
They would fight freely in the arena at the same time, with no fixed opponents and no rounds.
Everyone fought for themselves, with no allies and no factions.
Elimination was based on falling to the ground, surrendering, or being heavily injured. The last man standing won!
Generally, once unhorsed, one could not remount.
It was also forbidden to attack those on the ground, attack from behind, use poison or hidden arrows, or use sharpened weapons.
Of course, these were just theoretical rules.
In reality, some knights often hid sharpened weapons, drawing them when the melee got out of control.
They would also ignore knightly honor and gang up on isolated fighters.
————
The old judge read the rules of the melee again, his voice rising above the sea breeze:
"Knights, listen clearly!
"Once the melee begins, there are no factions, no allies! No hidden arrows, no poisoned weapons, no backstabbing, no attacking those on the ground!
"The last man standing...
"—Is the ultimate victor of today's melee!
"Prize: 10 Gold Dragons!
"And the knightly honor of being remembered by everyone present!"
Pausing, the old judge's gaze swept over the sixteen freelance knights eager to go in the arena.
He shouted again:
"Witnessed by the Old Gods and the New!
"—Melee, begin!"
The moment the last word fell.
The old judge scrambled backward, quickly exiting the arena.
The sixteen freelance knights instantly became like wild horses off the rein, gripping their blunt weapons and surging toward the center of the field.
The originally orderly formation collapsed in the blink of an eye.
No allies, no factions, everyone was an enemy.
The situation on the field became chaotic.
Battle cries, the crack of blunt weapons colliding, and the neighing of warhorses soon filled the air.
Faintly drowning out the sea breeze and the cheers of the audience.
...In a direct melee like this, one must be cautious!
Don Quixote didn't attack rashly.
His gaze quickly swept the entire field, noting the movements of every freelance knight.
Because the other freelance knights weren't wearing plate armor, even though he had already bought a full set in White Harbor, he didn't wear it.
He had tried it.
With a set of plate armor on, his overall combat power and survivability jumped up a tier.
[Name: Don Quixote]
[Identity: Knight]
[Spirit: 2.15]
[Vitality: 3.30]
His current strength was already that of a top-tier knight. If he wore plate armor on top of that...
Against these freelance knights wearing only mail, it would be bullying.
That wouldn't help promote his strength, his fame, or the reputation of the Bloody Hand Mercenary Company.
Don Quixote wasn't overly worried about a small scene like this.
...