Li Ang's lancehead had also shattered. He simply raised the shaft and hurled it toward the larger crowd, using it like a javelin to throw the battlefield into chaos.
Then he drew his hand axe and rode around behind the opponent who had been carrying a shield earlier.
His opponent wheeled his horse halfway around, intending to defend and counterattack, but Li Ang quickly closed in. At such close range, without the benefit of speed, a three-meter lance was obviously not very lethal.
But while he fumbled to switch to his axe, Li Ang's attack was already upon him.
"Bang, bang, bang..."
His opponent was actually quite skilled. In his haste, he blocked several attacks in succession with his shield, but failed to notice a contestant from another team charging in from behind and thrusting a lance at him—exactly like what Li Ang had done earlier. The only difference was that the charge had not been fast enough to send him flying.
Li Ang reached out and snatched the lance from the slowly collapsing opponent, then once again rode far around the field.
Now one team still had two men left, while the other two teams each had only one. The battle naturally became two teams against one—while Li Ang and Foucher watched the show from the other side of the arena.
The entire audience broke into boos, clearly directed at Li Ang.
Yet the Fat Boss and another Blond Old Man in the upstairs private box lightly applauded.
The Fat Boss stood respectfully at the side. The Blond Old Man was clearly Duke Alma, Marshall's father.
"That lad fought rather cleverly... Black hair, black eyes... Where is he from?" Duke Alma seemed to have gained a measure of appreciation for him.
The Fat Boss answered with a flattering smile, "An adventurer from Barkley, supposedly descended from some knight. His black hair and black eyes may look a little strange, but Barkley has people from everywhere..."
Alma narrowed his eyes. "I happen to know a knight with black hair and black eyes... Surely it can't be?"
He seemed to recall something from the past. Frowning, he tapped his fingers against the armrest and sank into thought.
On his gauntlet, the golden crest of a raging lion trembled with the movement of his fingers, as though it might choose someone to devour.
The battle in the arena was already nearing its end. Two more unlucky men had fallen.
Of the two remaining opponents, one was already injured and seemed unable to ride.
Only then did Li Ang call out to Foucher and charge forward once more.
Foucher raised his shield and rode toward the injured unlucky man.
The opponent also lifted his shield and leveled his lance as he charged straight at Li Ang. He was clearly a bold and valiant man, knowing that if he took down Li Ang, he would most likely win this battle.
After all, Foucher was such obvious dead weight that any expert would consider him beneath notice...
The two men seemed poised to give the audience its favorite spectacle: two knights charging with lances raised as though in a duel.
The sight clearly stirred the crowd's blood. Everyone stood and began shouting, some tossing flowers into the arena. The atmosphere blazed with excitement.
But Li Ang clearly had no taste for such a famous scene—one small mistake could get him killed, and there was a high chance they would both end up badly injured.
Besides, this was an arena competition, not a knightly duel representing honor and glory.
So just before they collided, he shifted his angle slightly and thrust early, striking the other man's horse in the head...
A horse's head was much farther forward than its rider—and horses did not block with shields.
The determination on his opponent's face turned into shock...
The horse let out only an incredibly brief cry of pain before toppling headfirst, its front hooves gouging deep pits into the mud.
The immense momentum from the full-speed charge directly flung the rider far away, leaving him lying ten meters off and groaning in agony.
Dust rose into the air, and the entire arena fell silent.
Then the audience erupted into deafening boos, clearly furious at such a dishonorable and cowardly style of fighting.
But Li Ang did not even look back. Throwing aside the shattered lance, he pulled out his hand axe again and knocked down the injured unlucky man with a single blow before Foucher could reach him.
Foucher shouted at Li Ang in dissatisfaction, "What are you doing? Idiot! He was mine!"
Li Ang glanced at him, his voice dripping with mockery. "He was the champion of last year's True Sword Combat. He was best at trading wounds for wounds, and most people who fought him ended up with some kind of disability..."
Foucher looked behind the man and, sure enough, one of the people he had defeated had a leg twisted backward...
The bastard young master swallowed and said nothing.
At that moment, the horn sounded again. The opponent who had been thrown by his horse had clearly surrendered and withdrawn from the competition.
He was a wise and sensible man.
They advanced without issue.
The audience booed even louder.
But Duke Alma in the private box clapped and laughed, saying as if to himself, "He definitely isn't that man's child... He was never this shameless..."
The most difficult multiplayer melee had ended smoothly, and the Fat Boss beamed with delight.
Because the next semifinal would be Li Ang against Foucher.
Given the martial skill and acting Li Ang had displayed over the past six months, it looked like everyone would get what they wanted. The denars already seemed to be in hand.
Li Ang and Foucher both looked relaxed as well. After all, each believed he would get the result he wanted.
During the break, Li Ang found the Fat Boss again.
"Will there be betting for the next match?"
The Fat Boss paused. "Of course. There's betting on every match... The maximum stake for the next one is two hundred denars, but contestants cannot bet on themselves to lose."
"Then... how much could I make by betting on Foucher to advance?" Li Ang rubbed his chin, his eyes seemingly filled with gleaming gold coins.
"A lot of people bet on you to win. So betting on Young Master Foucher would earn at least five hundred denars..."
Li Ang frowned. "Only that much? That idiot's true ability is easy enough to see, isn't it? I thought the odds would be at least five to one?"
The Fat Boss shrugged. "But people within the arena all bet on you losing, which offset quite a bit of the odds... Over these past six months, who didn't know that Lord Li Ang never took the championship? After every semifinal, you fought the phoniest and lost the truest..."
Li Ang grinned. "Then place two hundred on him for me. I don't want the winnings. How about you give me your Alice instead? Otherwise, Foucher might not necessarily win..."
The Fat Boss looked at Li Ang, who was blatantly extorting him, with disbelief in his eyes. Then, after a long sigh, it turned into deep admiration.
This man was even more shameless than he had been in his younger days.
This young man would surely become an arena tycoon across the entire continent...
"Fine... I can't ride her anymore anyway. Sigh, my beloved Alice... You'd better treat her well..."
The Fat Boss, who weighed more than three hundred jin, lowered his head to look at his belly. From that angle, he definitely could not see his own feet.
Alice was a beautiful golden-maned horse. Li Ang had been eyeing her for quite some time.
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