Eyes of the Beast

After Lothar left the field.

Avelardo took the stage again.

This knight, who had won the title of Champion Knight many times in Lombardy, was indeed a formidable expert not to be underestimated.

He fought his way into the finals with ease.

Even the two knights clad in half-plate armor like iron cans were defeated by his exquisite tactics.

"As expected of one who bears the name of the famed Avelardo, who once followed Charlemagne. Avelardo has dominated from start to finish; the gap is simply far too great."

"Avelardo clearly has more experience in tournaments. Compared with young men like Knight Lothar, he is better at conserving his strength."

"It seems there is no longer any suspense in the final. This Avelardo will once again claim the honorary title of Champion Knight."

"What a pity. The knightly tournament hosted by our Greater Germania has allowed a Lombardian to claim its highest honor."

Lothar frowned.

It was not because he was dissatisfied with people doubting him.

After all, Avelardo was a senior who had swept through the tournaments of Lombardy's city-states undefeated. It was only natural that Lothar might be inferior to him.

Without the system's assistance, the original owner of this body would merely have been a knight with decent talent, far from exceptionally gifted.

Still, after so many consecutive battles, Avelardo's stamina remained so abundant that it was truly baffling.

There were many ways to conserve one's strength, but this man used a hand-and-a-half sword, fighting with broad, sweeping movements. Even if he had mastered some special technique, he should not have been this at ease.

"I can understand me having cheats, but how can an ordinary knight like you be this durable?"

Lothar frowned.

The situation in the arena remained completely one-sided.

Avelardo's opponent had clearly expended a great deal of stamina as well. Faced with Avelardo's storm-like assault, he could only defend himself.

Before long, Avelardo spotted an opening and knocked the arming sword from his hand.

Avelardo won!

Because his opponent had lost so quickly, Lothar only had time for a sip of water before Ryan and Moder helped him climb back into the saddle.

He took up the white oak lance he had won from an opponent he had defeated earlier. The two lances he had bought before had both snapped during the previous battles.

He raised his kite shield bearing a rampant lion crest. After a full tournament, this iron-rimmed shield was already covered in scars and holes punched through by lances.

Yet he could not replace it with the trophy shields taken from other knights. Those bore their owners' personal heraldry, and using such a shield before erasing it would be dishonorable.

Besides, those shields were not in much better condition than Lothar's.

Avelardo, however, was different. More experienced, he had long prepared replacement shields.

His crest consisted of nine scattered golden beads. There might even have been gold dust mixed into the paint, for it reflected a dazzling radiance beneath the sun.

Then the announcer shouted, "Next comes the crucial moment that will witness the birth of the Champion Knight! Knight Lothar of Argao will face Avelardo of Tuscany in the final showdown!"

"Heavenly Father above, may He watch over these two warriors as they claim the final honor. Amen!"

Amid the crowd's cheers, the two men slowly entered the field.

"You made it to the end. You did not disappoint me."

Avelardo raised his lance, its tip aimed at Lothar. "But unfortunately, I will no longer hold anything back in the coming battle. You may surrender now to avoid irreversible injury."

Lothar's voice came from beneath his Bucket Helm, muffled and heavy. "I offer those same words to you. Surrender early, lest you be injured."

Neither of them had much backing.

Avelardo came from Tuscany's Medici family and was the second son of the family. At heart, he was no more than a landless knight making his way in the world, only somewhat more famous.

Lothar was the same.

He understood Count of Argau. Even if Lothar died, the count would not grieve much.

The man valued the interests of his family above all else. He would never act rashly and secretly retaliate against Avelardo over this.

After all, being killed in the arena was an honorable duel. No one could find fault with it.

Anyone who sought revenge would be scorned by the entire noble world.

"Then let us begin."

Avelardo tapped his shield with his lance, dug his heels hard into his horse's flanks, and let out a fierce roar. "Allez!"

Lothar urged his horse forward as well.

The tournament grounds were limited. The two had little room to build up speed for a full charge and could only make their mounts run as fast as possible to increase the force of the impact.

Bang—

Both lances pierced through the other's shield at the same time. The horses let out agonized whinnies under the strain, and the enormous force hurled both men from their saddles.

Lothar felt as if his whole body had fallen apart. Waves of searing pain came from where the enemy lance had struck his chest. It was definitely more than a minor bruise; his ribs might even have been broken.

Avelardo, on the other hand, had also been struck by Lothar's lance, yet he quickly rose to his feet and raised his knightly sword, responding to the cheers as if he had already won.

"Avelardo!"

"Avelardo!"

The crowd wildly cheered Avelardo's name, as though they were witnessing the rise of a new star.

A faint smile appeared beneath Avelardo's helmet. He had never chosen to swear loyalty to any lord because he had been waiting for the highest bidder.

Clearly, Leopold's lavish offer had successfully won him over.

On the Grandstand, Prajna gripped the wooden railing tight, a rare chill appearing in her expression.

Hans, Ryan, and Moder also shouted anxiously, "My lord, are you all right? We surrender! Quickly, carry our liege out!"

Lothar slowly pushed himself upright using his arming sword.

He shook his head at the worried people, signaling them not to make decisions on their own.

He lowered his gaze to his chest. His surcoat had been punctured there, revealing the deformed mail beneath.

Chainmail offered strong protection against slashes and thrusts, but it could not ward off blunt force.

If his stamina had not already been raised to an inhuman level, that blow would likely have taken him completely out of the fight.

The people on the Grandstand noticed this as well. The cheers gradually died down, replaced by murmurs of astonishment.

Avelardo looked at Lothar, somewhat puzzled. "Do you still wish to continue? You are no match for me. Making it this far already means you have done quite well."

Several troublemakers began shouting, "Come on, Lothar! Take down that pretty boy from Tuscany!"

"Do not disgrace Greater Germania! Get him!"

With only the two of them remaining to compete for the title of Champion Knight, they had become the center of everyone's attention.

No one was watching the other contests surrounding the tournament field anymore—archery, foot combat, javelin throwing, and the like. Everyone had gathered here, shouting encouragement in French, Latin, and German.

Lothar said nothing. Beneath his Bucket Helm, his breathing grew extremely heavy.

He tightened his grip on sword and shield, walked before Avelardo, and tapped his shield with his sword. The meaning was obvious.

"I do not understand. Ending this sooner would be better for everyone."

Avelardo sighed. "But since you insist, then let us continue. I will show you what a Champion Knight with twelve consecutive tournament victories truly is!"

Crack!

He stepped directly over the wooden Barrier dividing the two sides of the field and came before Lothar.

He brought his sword down in a brutal overhead slash.

The sharp blade tore through the air with a howl and smashed fiercely into Lothar's shield.

Lothar blocked the blow, but the fingers of his mail-gloved hand holding the shield went numb.

Avelardo's strength was at least fifty percent greater than during their first clash.

He had definitely concealed his true ability before.

Clang—

Steel struck steel.

Lothar's counterattack was directly knocked aside by Avelardo's hand-and-a-half sword.

"Do you feel it? This is my true strength."

A somewhat hoarse voice came from beneath Avelardo's helmet.

He simply discarded his shield, gripped his hand-and-a-half sword with both hands, and raised it above his head. Just as Lothar seized the chance to rush forward, Avelardo brought it down, cleaving one side clean off Lothar's iron-rimmed kite shield.

Lothar also threw away the useless shield and struggled to steady his ragged breathing. Through the slit of his Bucket Helm, his eyes remained fixed on every movement his opponent made.

The next moment.

Avelardo swung his sword forward again. Lothar gripped the blade with one hand and the hilt with the other, holding his arming sword horizontally before him to block the strike.

Taking advantage of his opponent's unsteady footing, he kicked out and struck Avelardo in the waist, forcing him to stagger several steps backward.

Having finally found an opportunity to counterattack, Lothar naturally pressed his advantage. He lunged forward, exploiting the fact that Avelardo's hand-and-a-half sword was better suited for slashing than thrusting, and forced his way into the other man's guard.

Then came a series of headbutts that left both men dizzy and disoriented.

But in that nearly face-to-face struggle, Lothar suddenly saw a pair of terrifying beast-like eyes through the slit in Avelardo's Bucket Helm, their pupils vertical.

Shock instinctively flashed through Lothar's eyes.

Avelardo immediately realized something was wrong. He rolled over and threw Lothar down, then raised his sword, intending to thrust it through the slit in Lothar's Bucket Helm.

He was going for the kill!

Lothar's heart lurched. He desperately broke free from the restraint of Avelardo's one hand and dodged the thrust.

The sharp hand-and-a-half sword stabbed into the muddy ground of the tournament field beside his cheek. Lothar raised both legs and violently kicked Avelardo, who had been pinning him down, away.

He then straddled his opponent and used his own weight to pin him down.

At this point, the two knights' fight was no different from a brawl between street thugs.

But every knowledgeable knight knew that at times like this, life and death were decided.

On the Grandstand, beneath the shadow of the red-haired Witch's hood, the corners of her lips curved upward slightly, while Count Leopold wore an expression of deep regret.

He said to the Witch, "Knight Lothar and Knight Avelardo are both outstanding talents, yet the Heavenly Father has decreed that they must decide the victor today. What a pity."