In a miraculous instant, Eric defeated the veteran Mercenary. Hailed as the incarnation of Saint George, he bathed in all the glory. Even the noblewomen in the grandstands temporarily forgot Eric's Identity as a Priest, sending cheers and blown kisses his way.
But the defeated veteran Mercenary thought otherwise. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't even had time to react before his opponent's Sword was pressed against his throat.
He was the one who had attacked first. He'd been in this line of work for years and had considerable skill in combat, especially in lethal brawls. Yet he had never met an opponent who could defeat him so quickly, much less one who was a Priest.
This was something he simply couldn't accept.
"Witchcraft! It's definitely Witchcraft! This guy is a Wizard! What Saint George? He's just a Wizard!"
He stomped off the dueling platform, shouting curses as he went.
However, the crowd, busy confessing their sins and praising the Lord, drowned out his yelling.
Just as his feet hit the ground, he suddenly felt something flash before his eyes.
Tournaments were divided into two event types: individual duels and melees.
The intensity was also divided into two types: non-lethal combat and fights to the death. Typically, two Shields were hung at the tournament grounds, named the Shield of Peace and the Shield of War. The day before the event, contestants would choose one. Striking the Shield of Peace signified non-lethal combat, while striking the Shield of War meant a fight to the death.
However, due to a ban from King William and a decree from the Pope, both melees and fights to the death had been outlawed.
The individual duels consisted of three rounds: the first with Longswords, the second with Nail Hammers, and the third a joust with Lances. The winner was decided by the best two out of three.
Opponents were determined by drawing lots. A contestant had to defeat three opponents in succession to advance to the semifinals. In the semifinals, they had to defeat another three to reach the finals.
Since Eric's opponent had forfeited, Eric automatically advanced to the next stage.
"Glory to the Lord of Heaven. Priest Eric, I offer you my highest and most sincere praise! Your unparalleled Swordsmanship is truly astonishing. Are you really a Priest and not a battle-hardened Warrior?
Those insatiably greedy and lazy Mercenaries, who pursue nothing but wine and women, ought to be thankful you've entered the Lord's embrace to become his devout servant. Otherwise, they would all be reduced to worthless beggars."
The speaker was the host of the tournament, a middle-aged man with a finely trimmed mustache. He glanced at the veteran Mercenary Eric had defeated, who was now inexplicably stripped naked and kneeling on the ground.
He averted his gaze in disgust, assuming the man had lost his mind after losing the match.
"Your praise humbles me. I am but a humble servant of the Lord. It was only by the grace of his gospel that I was fortunate enough to defeat that veteran."
Eric's reply was perfectly decorous. As he spoke, he wore an expression of profound compassion. Anyone who saw him would have sighed in admiration, "What a devout Priest." There was no hint that just half a minute earlier, he had somehow stripped the veteran Mercenary of his equipment without anyone noticing.
Eric noticed the man's magnificent robes, which stood out starkly against the coarse linen of the commoner audience. Embroidered on them was the Count's crest, and he wore an exquisitely crafted Agate Ring on one hand and a gold ring on the other. 'He must be a close courtier or a powerful vassal of the Count,' Eric thought.
"Please forgive my forwardness and my impertinence, but your presence here is truly a surprise. For the longest time, most Priests have held such events in considerable contempt.
I imagine you must have your reasons for participating. If there is any way I can be of assistance, please do not hesitate to ask, Priest."
The middle-aged man smiled at Eric, his tone seemingly filled with nothing but goodwill.
Eric mulled it over. 'This man clearly has considerable status,' he thought. 'Someone like him in Xialing City must know the Count.'
So...
"Well, you see, in Xialing..."
"Ah, so that's it. The King's Bridge Monastery... I believe I have heard something about that matter. Everything the Nobility and the Priests do is for the glory of God..."
"Does that mean you can resolve this matter?"
Eric breathed a sigh of relief. 'If this "important person" can pass on the message for me, then everything will be...'
Just then, a cold light flashed.
A sharp Longsword grazed past Eric's cheek.
Eric felt a sharp sting on the side of his face.
A drop of bright red blood slowly slid down his cheek.
He hadn't even seen when the man drew his Sword.
"When Normans resolve matters," the middle-aged man said slowly, "force is often more persuasive than words."
"With Normans, might takes a much more important role than words in settling things." The middle-aged man still wore that kind and affable smile as he wiped a smear of crimson from the tip of his Sword with his finger, but his narrowed eyes were filled with genuine killing intent.
Eric was secretly alarmed. 'Judging by that last strike,' he thought, 'this old bastard's Swordsmanship Level is definitely above mine.'
'This guy is definitely no damn Herald,' he realized. 'He's a battle-hardened Knight, at the very least.'
Of course, on the surface, Eric remained perfectly calm, projecting an air of being in complete control. He extended a finger and pushed aside the man's Longsword.
"What? Are you going to surrender?" the middle-aged man asked, tilting his head with a slight chuckle.
"No. I'm saying, how about we switch weapons? I've grown tired of the Longsword."
Eric walked to a nearby weapon rack and took down two Nail Hammers. Their heads were covered in sharp spikes that glinted coldly in the sunlight. He hefted one in his hand, then tossed the other to the middle-aged man.