Master of the Arena

Just as Li Ang had chosen in the game, this body belonged to the son of a member of a destroyed knightly order.

He had lived well in his youth and received strict instruction from his father. But the good times did not last. Before he came of age, his parents often left home and vanished without a trace.

So the boy gradually fell in with the streets, making a living through theft, tailing people, gathering intelligence, and taking jobs that were not exactly legal.

To survive, he grew close to the Crimson Brotherhood.

But not long after he came of age, his parents were murdered. The killer was unknown. The only thing he knew was that a lord had put out a warrant for him.

And the "brothers" from the Crimson Brotherhood he had once known seemed determined to kill him as well.

He could only leave Barkley, cross the sea, and travel to Pendor.

But the moment he disembarked, the Crimson Brotherhood of Pendor knocked him unconscious. It seemed the criminal underworld here was targeting him too.

He had barely managed to flee into the arena, only to be left at death's door. Just as he was about to kick the bucket, Li Ang's soul from another world took over the unlucky man's life.

And it had brought the Mount & Blade System with it—or rather, half of a Mount & Blade System.

Thus, the severely wounded Li Ang miraculously recovered within a few days, and his skills rapidly grew stronger.

Because in the arena, Li Ang discovered that, just like in the game, weapon proficiency could be trained endlessly with straw dummies and archery targets.

After every day of slashing practice, he could even directly see the changes in his body.

His muscles became more supple, his features more defined, and his once lean face gradually hardened, becoming increasingly masculine.

Since this body had always been hunted, Li Ang decided to level up in the arena, train his proficiencies to a sufficient level, and save up some equipment before heading out.

After all, Crimson Brotherhood men were everywhere outside. And Li Ang felt that he was currently playing with full damage enabled, facing life without any save files...

In Pendor, he could not venture out alone at the 149% full-damage difficulty—not to mention while being hunted.

Besides, a game was a game. You could not die in a game... Reality was far crueler than any game...

It was safer to lie low.

Fortunately, with constant practice, his proficiencies rose quickly. Though this Mount & Blade System was only half complete—he could not see basic attributes like Strength or Intelligence, and could only assign points to some personal skills.

He could still accumulate usable skill points through training, and Li Ang had put them all into Iron Bones and Strong Strike.

Strong Strike 7, Iron Bones 7, and constantly skyrocketing proficiencies allowed him to frequently rig matches for extra money and acquire some gear for self-defense.

It also earned him quite a reputation in the arena—known only within the arena itself—as the "Master of the Arena."

Whether it was the monthly tournament or the daily True Sword Combat, he never pursued the championship. He only pursued money.

The champion's prize was no higher than what he could earn from fixed matches, and champions drew too much attention—for someone hiding from pursuers, fame was not a good thing.

However, half a year had passed, and Li Ang had gathered enough equipment to consider leaving Mistveil City. Mistveil City was too chaotic. Fieltzwe was a nation founded jointly by pirates, smugglers, and slave traders, a paradise for the Crimson Brotherhood.

And with the two nations jointly holding this grand tournament, the thugs of the Crimson Brotherhood had been temporarily driven out. It was the perfect chance to make a score and leave.

Li Ang naturally wanted a Pioneer Baron certificate as well, but after living in this land for half a year, he understood that even if he obtained it, he would have a hard time keeping it. Instead, it would bring him even more enemies.

Unless he had a sufficiently powerful army under his command.

In any era, in any place, truth and morality existed only within the range of a gun.

The arena horn blared.

The red Golden Lion Banner and the green giant bear banner rose together as eight contestants entered the field.

The first match began.

This match was divided into four teams distinguished by differently colored protective gear, with two people per team.

The winning team would advance to the semifinals, where they would fight one another, and the victor would enter the finals.

The other eight contestants in the second group would likewise determine another finalist through the same format.

This format was clearly designed to accommodate certain important figures who had paid for it.

Li Ang's teammate was naturally Foucher.

Since the competition was jointly organized with the Lionheart Kingdom, it used the lances favored by Lionheart Kingdom nobles.

Every contestant had the same equipment: ordinary horses supplied by the arena, standard-issue lances, and hand axes. These were respectively the weapons at which the Lionheart Kingdom and the Fieltzwe people excelled.

They were also weapons Li Ang excelled with.

But as Li Ang entered the arena carrying a lance, his face remained expressionless while veins throbbed on his forehead.

Because Foucher... before entering, he had tested the lance's weight and tried a thrust. He nearly threw out his back, so he had no choice but to switch directly to a shield and axe.

Seeing this, Li Ang sighed deeply and secretly curled his lip. This wooden tournament lance weighed barely five kilograms. Most people could handle it...

Clearly, Foucher was not "most people." Compared with the fierce and sturdy Li Ang, this young master looked frail beyond belief. The pale, flabby fat covering his body had not given him much strength; he even seemed to struggle to raise a shield one-handed.

Still, he was in high spirits. The moment he saw the opponents, he wanted to charge at them.

Li Ang restrained the urge to curse. Just from Foucher's wobbly posture in the saddle, he knew that if he really went in, he would most likely be cut down in a single blow.

Yet this fool had no idea of his own limits.

Though wooden lances were being used in this tournament, the danger was real. People often died in the arena, especially in lance matches.

After all, Pendor had a well-known saying—beneath the lance, all men were equal...

And there were only two ways to be eliminated from an arena match: throw down your weapon and surrender, or be beaten until you lost the ability to fight.

This bastard son did not look like the sort of clever person who would surrender rationally.

He had asked for too little. This was far more difficult than he had expected...

So Li Ang held his lance horizontally and stopped Foucher. "Don't move yet. Wait until they start fighting first!"

As he spoke, he even pulled Foucher's reins and backed up a few steps, intending to avoid the attention of the other groups across from them.

Foucher was somewhat displeased, his drake-like voice rising. "Are you scared, bastard? You're actually scared!"

Li Ang nearly drove the lance in his hand into this ungrateful idiot, but he swallowed his anger for the denars. "We need some tactics, Lord Foucher! True experts win matches with their brains... Only boars charge the moment they see someone."

Foucher stopped as well, perhaps because he felt that he could not possibly be a boar. He looked across the field and asked Li Ang, "Then what are your tactics?"

"The tactic is... you hide under the Lionheart banner first, and I'll charge over and take out one or two..." Li Ang stared unblinkingly at the far side of the arena, only to find that the other contestants had already begun fighting. Tactics had to change with the battlefield in an instant, and now was the time to charge.

Foucher rolled his eyes at Li Ang. "All right, Lord Boar. I'll watch your performance..."

After being held back for a while, Foucher's hot blood had probably cooled. Muttering a few rather uncouth words, he moved on his own toward the red banner with its golden lion at the edge of the arena.

Mounted on horseback, he was nearly the same height as the banner. Wearing red protective gear, with golden hair and a golden beard, Foucher instantly blended into the background. Unless someone looked carefully, they would barely notice him.

That was more like it. As long as the employer did not ruin things, Li Ang could earn his money without worry.

Li Ang looped back, and once his horse had picked up speed, he raised his lance and charged toward the battlefield filled with cries and shouts.

The wind howled past his ears. Li Ang had already crossed half the field when one of the people in the melee noticed him and raised his shield to meet him.

His opponent was not moving fast enough, but his lance had clearly been drawn back, as if he intended to joust head-on and test their accuracy.

But Li Ang had no intention of gambling with his life. He tugged his horse slightly off course, bypassed the man, and thrust straight into the crowd caught in the melee with his lance leveled.

His true target had his back to him.

"Thump..."

After a terrifying muffled impact, one unlucky man was sent flying straight off his horse. He crashed onto the ground unconscious.

The lance charge had struck him squarely in the back. This man was clearly out of the match.

Cheers erupted from the entire audience. This sort of violent spectacle was exactly what the noble lords loved.