The Grand Competition Begins

Lienz City was bustling.

At least today it was.

The taverns, weapon shops, and forges were packed to overflowing. Knights, nobles, and noble ladies in gaudy colors, along with even more servants, crammed the small city, their square banners fluttering everywhere.

Lothar's party settled into an inn for the time being.

Moder crouched before the hearth, drying everyone's clothes, soaked by the drizzling rain.

Ryan had completed his mission flawlessly, bringing back the lances and shields Lothar and Hans needed, and was now in the backyard supervising the smithy's apprentices as they shoed the two newly acquired Hungarian horses.

Lothar cradled a bowl of steaming oatmeal, sipping it slowly.

Hans wiped down the lance he'd just received, his expression clearly tense.

Like Lothar, he had only ever been a squire before, never truly on a battlefield.

So, although his martial skills were already quite decent on paper, without any real test, it inevitably left him lacking confidence.

The exact start time of the tournament hadn't been announced, but when, after noon, nearly the entire city began streaming toward the Hunting Ground outside the walls, they naturally knew the games were about to begin.

The Hunting Ground was reserved for the lord's private use.

Poaching was a crime, its severity varying; a harsh lord might even execute a poaching serf.

Commoners were regarded by many lords as nothing more than livestock fit for grain, while only nobles—the meat-eaters—were deemed worthy of being called human.

Lothar's party followed the crowd all the way to the Hunting Ground.

It was already overflowing with people.

At the very center of the Hunting Ground, a wooden Grandstand encircled the tournament field, bearing a faint resemblance to the grandeur of the Ancient Empire's colosseum.

Count Leopold's seat was at the very top.

There, from left to right, hung the eagle-emblazoned shield of Greater Germania and the red-and-white shield of the Babenberg family.

Flanking it were tiered stands, arranged from top to bottom.

For the Middle Ages, when most tournament grounds were still crude, this was practically equivalent to a massive stadium capable of holding tens of thousands in later ages.

Lothar remarked with some emotion, "This Count Leopold is an ambitious man."

"Word has it that Count Leopold also intends to join this round of the Crusades, but out of deference to His Majesty the Emperor, he's still in the preparatory stage."

In recent years, the Emperor and the Pope had been locked in fierce conflict.

The struggle between Imperial Authority and Divine Authority had nearly reached a boiling point. The Emperor, eyeing the clergy's immense wealth, sought to curtail their power.

The Pope, in turn, was itching to rally a host of Vassal Lords loyal to Divine Authority and wage war on the Hohenstaufen family.

Though war never broke out due to various factors, the Pope had excommunicated the Emperor.

Even now, with both sides showing signs of easing, until the Pope reinstated the Emperor's church membership, many minor feudal lords still dared not act on their own.

Greater Germania might be loose, but the Emperor still held authority.

After all, as the head of the Hohenstaufen family, Emperor Henry's Swabian domain ranked among the Empire's four original duchies (Swabia, Saxony, Franconia, and Bavaria), giving him formidable strength.

The Emperor was both the Imperial Emperor and the most powerful feudal lord within the Empire.

Of course, strictly speaking, Bohemia was the strongest duchy in the Empire, but its population was mainly Slavs, and it had always remained outside the Empire's center of power.

Lothar's claim that Count Leopold was an ambitious man was evident from the scale of the tournament he was hosting.

In truth, most knightly tournaments offered no prizes.

The champion gained fame and honor—that was the greatest reward.

And every victor in a bout could, as if winning a real battle, demand ransom from the loser or claim his armor and horse as spoils.

Thus, hosting a knightly tournament was often a cost-effective endeavor for a lord.

Knights, meanwhile, could display their personal valor—whether to catch a lord's eye and rise from a landless knight to a fief-holding one, or to win renown and then sell their services at a premium—both were fine prospects.

One could say the knightly tournament was a grand job fair, a spectacle nearly every knight had attended.

Unfortunately, Lothar's father, Count Werner of Argao, was far too poor.

He couldn't afford to support more knights, so he'd never thought to hold a tournament to attract them.

Thus, to this day, Lothar had never truly participated in this popular entertainment of medieval noble knights.

Of course, the knightly tournament was also a dangerous affair.

In nearly every tournament, casualties were rare to avoid.

Even with easily breakable white beechwood lances and blunt, rounded sword tips, serious injuries and permanent disabilities were still common once the fighting began.

Especially for impoverished knights with incomplete armor, their fortunes fallen, left with only a single heirloom suit that was practically an antique.

Often, in a single clash, an enemy would find the weak point in his armor and deliver a fatal blow.

Yet they still flocked to it, hoping to catch their liege's eye and be taken on as a fief-holding knight.

Moder said eagerly, "My lord, I hear that foot soldiers like us squires can also join the tournament."

Lothar shook his head. "Better not. Only a knight can kill a knight. If you slip up and kill one by accident, you might have to pay with your life."

Those words poured cold water on Moder.

Just then, a melodious song rose from the crowd.

A Bard from northern Albion, cradling a Lute, sang and danced as he played.

These Celts, who dwelled on the islands, seemed born as natural singers and dancers, performing timeless classics.

Occasionally, they improvised.

One Bard spotted Prajna, who wore a Veil, and his eyes lit up. He strummed his Lute and danced beside her, singing: "Ah, the dark-haired beauty from the East, she walks beside our valiant knight."

As he sang, he flashed a fawning smile and reached a hand toward Lothar.

Lothar gave a helpless smile and signaled Ryan to place a coin in the Bard's palm.

Prajna watched the scene expressionlessly. She was a master of managing her expressions; from her eyes alone, not a flicker of emotion could be read.

On a massive long table, fine dishes were laid out—roasted pheasant, peacock, even swan, along with various game and large bottles of fine wine, free for guests to take.

Much like a buffet of later ages.

Some knights and their companions were already dead drunk, running beneath the Grandstand, dancing wildly to the Bard's songs.

Beneath the count's Grandstand, in the center of the tournament field, stood a long Barrier, surrounded by a simple Wooden Fence.

When the tournament began, knights would enter from either side of the Barrier and then duel, a measure to prevent horses from colliding and causing irreparable harm.

On the Grandstand, several Noble Ladies had already arrived early.

They whispered among themselves, sizing up the knights appearing on the field.

Some Noble Ladies made no secret of their favor toward certain knights, casting flirtatious glances and tossing flower garlands.

Many noble couples, brought together by political marriages, rarely restrained each other's behavior, allowing both parties—though married—to act with abandon.

If these Noble Ladies took a liking to a knight, it was said they would not only invite him into their chambers but also fund him with money to buy equipment, sometimes even developing him into a long-term lover.

Ahead, a knight with painted bird feathers stuck in his helmet, like a peacock desperately fanning its tail to court a mate, waved toward the Grandstand.

His handsome face and fair skin drew a wave of screams from the Noble Ladies.

Winning the tournament to gain the favor of the noblewomen and maidens on the Grandstand, securing funding or even free perks, was also a goal for the knights.

Lothar keenly noticed, among the crowd, a knight in worn-out armor exchanging a glance with a maiden on the Grandstand.

Her eyes were full of worry, while his face was set with determination.

Clearly, this was a love story between a Down-and-Out Knight and a noble lady.

If the knight could win the match, or at least distinguish himself and earn favor, he might have hope of marrying the lady on equal terms.

But Lothar didn't think his chances were high.

A set of fine armor could let a knight like Lothar fight ten-to-one against the Magyars' nomadic cavalry.

Armored versus unarmored, fine armor versus old armor—these were two completely different things.

"The tournaments of this era are quite interesting," Lothar remarked.

"Hans, have you ever taken part in anything like this?"

Hans shook his head. "The tournaments in our time had turned into social performances. Knights dressed up all flashy, like pheasants, without even needing to fight."

He too was dazzled and stirred, already fantasizing about easily defeating an opponent in such a scene and winning thunderous applause.

"Look, the count is coming!"

Someone shouted excitedly.

The crowd erupted.

In this age of scarce entertainment, they were deeply grateful to this generous count for spending such a fortune to let them enjoy such a lively spectacle.