Champion Knight

The tournament continued.

From time to time, the bodies of knights and warhorses were carried out of the arena.

Lothar's opponent in the second round was the impoverished knight he had seen earlier, exchanging flirtatious glances with a noble young lady in the Grandstand.

He wore a cheap ridge helmet, while his surcoat had been washed until it was pale. There were even faint patches of rust visible on the rings of his armor.

Though his martial skills were fairly good, Lothar still defeated him cleanly.

He had no intention of doing the man a favor, because he was certain that even if he deliberately lost to this poor knight, the man would still be eliminated in the following battles.

His next opponent might not be as merciful as Lothar.

The chances of this poor knight spilling his blood on the field were simply too high.

The man clearly understood this as well and sincerely said, "Thank you for showing mercy."

Lothar shook his head. "No need to thank me, but forgive my bluntness—you should at least get yourself a decent suit of armor before entering a tournament."

The poor knight wore a bitter expression. "I had hoped to defeat a wealthy knight in the first round and use his armor, but unfortunately, my opponent was another landless knight like me."

"In any case, don't take such risks. For someone like you, the arena can sometimes be even crueler than the battlefield."

"On a chaotic battlefield, even a peasant soldier wearing cloth and wielding a pitchfork might kill a noble knight. But in the arena, that will never happen."

The poor knight let out a long sigh. Comparing him to a lowly peasant soldier was no different from an insult in the eyes of some self-important knights.

But he could understand the goodwill behind the advice.

Besides, as a destitute knight without a fief, he had never believed himself to be much nobler than the farmhands working in the fields.

"Thank you for your advice. I am Nade Stark of Holstein. After the tournament, I will have my attendant deliver the ransom to you."

Lothar waved a hand. "No need. Keep the money and get yourself a decent suit of armor. Your skills are good; it's your equipment that's holding you back."

He glanced at the noble young lady in the Grandstand, who was clutching a handkerchief with a worried expression, and said meaningfully, "May the Heavenly Father bless you and grant your wishes."

An opponent like this was easy enough to handle, but there was no profit to squeeze out of him.

Forcing the man to empty his pockets for the little money he had as ransom did not align with Lothar's values.

"Thank you for your generosity."

Nade said gratefully, "May the Heavenly Father bless a man of such noble character as you, that you may achieve great deeds and find success in all things."

Lothar waved again and strode straight out of the arena.

As time passed, the sky grew brighter instead.

The dark clouds gradually dispersed, revealing a dazzling sun.

Lothar faced many more opponents.

There were church knights from Cologne, monk knights from minor Knightly Orders, and wealthy noble knights like Avelardo, who pursued honor with full purses.

They came from Lombardy, Gaul, Albion, and Germania. This knightly tournament had gathered nearly every kind of knight from more than half the Christian world.

Quite a few of them shared Lothar's goal. After this, they intended to travel to Venice to board a ship, or cross the Eastern Empire by land, bound for the Holy Land to join the eastern expedition.

Only knights from Iberia were absent, for it still lay on the front line of the Reconquista.

Though the Moors' power had begun to decline, a dying camel was still larger than a horse, especially with the support of Morocco and other nations behind them.

That land was already a Crusaders' front line. It was unrealistic to divert much more manpower to the Holy Land.

After several rounds of fighting and watching, Lothar had to admit that in most cases, the wealthier the knight, the stronger he was.

Two wealthy knights from Lombardy even wore the extremely rare half-plate armor of this era. Their opponents found it difficult even to break through their defenses.

Even setting equipment aside, wealthy knights were generally more formidable.

For one thing, they ate more meat in their daily lives and possessed stronger constitutions.

For another, they could hire better and more expensive knight instructors and swordsmanship teachers, or simply inherit a long family tradition and some form of martial legacy.

Poverty breeds scholars, wealth breeds warriors. The same held true across all times and places.

Fortunately, Lothar's father, Count Werner, had been a highly skilled knight himself. Moreover, he had gained considerable wealth from the Crusades, allowing Lothar to barely qualify as a "wealthy knight."

At last, the number of contestants dwindled.

Lothar's breaks grew shorter and shorter. Often, not long after defeating an opponent and leaving the field, he would have to return after another two or three rounds.

He felt like a bow, its string being drawn tighter and tighter.

Hans still lacked too much combat experience. Though his attributes were not weak, he was regretfully defeated after overcoming three opponents.

Fortunately, his opponent had not held much of an advantage either. After defeating Hans, he could not press his victory and could only barely remain standing, leaving him in no position to demand a ransom.

Hans won thirty Solidus gold coins of varying purity from his three victories. His defeated opponents were all fairly well-off and chose to pay to redeem their beloved mounts and precious armor.

Lothar's luck, on the other hand, was far worse.

Most of his opponents were paupers who had stumbled this far through skill and luck. Even when he won, the ransom he could claim was extremely limited.

Lothar even received blackened Dinar silver coins, which showed that their silver content was pitifully low.

Still, he ultimately accepted the offer.

He did not want to be overly stingy and insist on stripping his opponents of their old, mediocre armor, making the scene too ugly.

A reputation for generosity was very important to a knight.

If he haggled over every last coin, the knights and Bards present could easily spread nicknames such as "Jew of Argao" or "Shylock of Argao."

Of course, this was not yet the Renaissance era, and no classic work called The Merchant of Venice had been published.

By the second-to-last match, both Lothar and his opponent were at the end of their strength.

Limited by exhaustion, neither was confident of ending the fight quickly. They could only clash again and again with weapons, shields, and even their bodies.

At last, Lothar caught an opening in his opponent's guard.

A shield bash knocked aside the man's shield.

He swung back and smashed the pommel of his sword into the opponent's helmet. While the blow left him dazed, Lothar tore off his helmet and knocked him unconscious with a headbutt.

I finally won!

Perhaps because there had been no bloodshed, Lothar had gained pitifully little experience from defeating these knights.

But he had already been close to level two.

Defeating this man pushed his experience bar through the final step.

In an instant, he felt the stamina he had utterly exhausted become full once more.

His entire condition was restored in an instant.

Even the fatigue accumulated from days of hard travel was completely washed away.

Lothar raised his sword and saluted the spectators.

They answered with thunderous applause.

They had developed great fondness for this young man, who had won all the way to the finals and generously waived the ransoms of many impoverished knights.

After this tournament, even if Lothar failed to claim the title of Champion Knight, the name Lothar of Argao would still resound across the borders of Eastern Europe.

One day, if Lothar were granted lordship in Jerusalem, he might not summon countless knights with a single call, but he would still be far better off than an unknown nobody.

As for the three newly acquired attribute points—

Lothar definitely would not consider adding them to Spirit. Although increasing Spirit could improve his reflexes and mental resistance, its primary purpose was still increasing his mana bar.

He did not have a single active skill, so a mana bar was useless to him.

Strength was ruled out as well.

As a knight, he mainly relied on his horse's power while charging, and his attack power was more than sufficient. In foot combat, even if his strength increased further, it would still be difficult to chop through an enemy's armor.

What carried him through battle was, on one hand, stamina, and on the other, endurance.

But endurance primarily improved defense.

Even if Lothar put all three attribute points into endurance, the toughness of his skin would still be hard-pressed to match sturdy armor.

Moreover, he had yet to draw a healing retainer. With this era's dreadful medical standards, a cold or a plague could take his life.

What he needed most right now was to stay alive!

So he invested all three new attribute points into stamina.

If Lothar previously had eight points of stamina, which only met the basic standard for a powerful knight, then eleven points meant that he had begun to surpass the limits of humanity.

Ordinary diseases could no longer affect him, and injuries that would kill an ordinary person would merely leave him severely wounded.

Not only that, but his eleven points of stamina made his vitality increasingly vigorous. His entire body seemed filled with inexhaustible strength that he wanted to vent immediately.

In the Grandstand, the Witch advisor beside Count Leopold gave Lothar a deep look.

The corners of her lips curled slightly, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned her gaze toward Prajna.

She attributed the changes in Lothar to Prajna, the powerful Witch whom she believed to be on her own level.

Nor did she find it strange that such a powerful Witch would submit herself to the service of a mere knight.

After all, Witches were emotional creatures.

It was hardly rare for them to become blind for love.