The Most Fake Win, The Truest Loss

Li Ang's lance lost its tip, so he simply lifted it and threw it towards the area with more people, using it as a javelin to stir up the battlefield.

Afterward, he drew his short axe and rode his horse to circle behind the guy who was holding the shield.

His opponent turned his horse halfway around, intending to defend and counterattack, but Li Ang quickly closed the distance. The engagement range was too close, and without any speed buffs, a three-meter-long lance was clearly not very lethal.

But just as he was fumbling to switch axes, Li Ang's attack was already upon him.

"Clang, clang, clang..."

The opponent was quite skilled, and in his haste, he blocked several attacks with his shield. However, he didn't notice another team of players rushing from behind and striking with a lance—this was exactly what Li Ang had done earlier, only their charge wasn't as fast, so they didn't send the person flying.

Li Ang reached out and snatched the lance from his slowly falling opponent, then circled away from a distance again.

Now, one team had two people left, and the other two teams only had one person each. The battle naturally turned into two teams against one—while Li Ang and Foucher watched from the other side of the arena.

The entire audience booed loudly—clearly booing Li Ang.

But in the private box upstairs, the Fat Boss and another Blond Old Man clapped softly.

The Fat Boss stood respectfully to the side; it was clear that the Blond Old Man was Duke Alma, Marshall's father.

"This kid fights quite smartly... black hair and black eyes... where is he from?" Duke Alma's eyes seemed to show some admiration.

The Fat Boss replied with a fawning smile, "An adventurer from Barkley, said to be a descendant of a certain knight. Although his black hair and black eyes look a bit strange, Barkley has all sorts of people..."

Duke Alma narrowed his eyes, "I do know a knight with black hair and black eyes... it couldn't be, could it?"

He seemed to recall something from the past, frowning, his fingers tapping the armrest as he fell into thought.

On his gauntlet, the golden Furious Lion crest trembled with the movement of his fingers, as if it were about to pounce.

The battle in the arena was nearing its end, and two more unlucky fellows fell.

Of the two opponents remaining, one was already injured and seemed unable to ride his horse.

Only then did Li Ang call out to Foucher and charge forward on his horse again.

Foucher, holding his shield, rode towards the injured unlucky fellow.

The opponent also raised his shield and lance, charging headlong towards Li Ang. He was clearly a brave and fierce individual, knowing that if he could defeat Li Ang, he would likely win the battle.

After all, Foucher, who could be seen through at a glance, was truly insignificant in the eyes of a master...

The two seemed about to present the scene the audience loved most, two knights charging at each other like in a duel.

The audience was clearly ignited by such a scene, standing up and shouting. Some threw flowers into the arena, creating a passionate atmosphere.

But Li Ang clearly didn't like such a dramatic scene—a slight misstep could lead to death, and it was highly probable that both would be injured.

Besides, this was a competition, not a knightly duel representing dignity and honor.

So, just before they were about to collide, he slightly shifted his angle and struck the opponent's horse's head with his lance prematurely...

The horse's head was much further forward than a person—and horses couldn't block with shields.

The expression on his opponent's face changed from determination to astonishment...

The horse let out a brief, pained whinny before falling headfirst, its front hooves digging deep pits in the mud.

The immense inertia from the full-speed charge sent the opponent on its back flying far away, landing ten meters away and groaning in pain.

Dust flew, and the entire arena fell silent.

Then, the audience erupted in deafening boos, clearly displeased with such a dishonorable and cowardly tactic.

But Li Ang didn't even look back. He dropped the shattered lance, took out his short axe again, and before Foucher could react, felled the injured unlucky fellow with an axe strike.

Foucher roared at Li Ang in dissatisfaction, "What are you doing? Idiot! He was mine!"

Li Ang glanced at him, his words laced with mockery, "He's the champion of last year's True Sword Combat, specializing in trading injuries. Most people who fought him ended up with some kind of disability..."

Foucher glanced behind the man and indeed, one of the people defeated by that guy had a leg bent backward...

The illegitimate son swallowed, falling silent.

Just then, the horn sounded again, clearly indicating that the opponent who was thrown off by the horse had voluntarily conceded and withdrawn from the match.

He was a wise and sensible person.

They had successfully advanced.

The audience's boos grew louder.

But Duke Alma in the private box clapped and laughed, seemingly muttering to himself, "This is definitely not his child... he wouldn't be this shameless..."

The most difficult multi-person team battle had successfully concluded, and the Fat Boss was grinning from ear to ear.

Because the next match, the semifinals, was Li Ang versus Foucher.

Given the martial arts and acting skills Li Ang had displayed over the past six months, it looked like a sure win, and the Dinars seemed within reach.

Both Li Ang and Foucher appeared relaxed, as they both believed they would achieve their desired outcomes.

During the intermission, Li Ang found the Fat Boss again.

"Will there be betting in the next match?"

The Fat Boss paused, "Of course, there is for every match... The next match accepts bets up to 200 Dinars, but participants are not allowed to bet on themselves losing."

"So... how much can I earn now if I bet on Foucher to win?" Li Ang rubbed his chin, his eyes glittering with the image of gold coins.

"A lot of people are betting on you to win. So, betting on young Master Foucher could earn at least 500 Dinar..."

Li Ang frowned. "Only this much? It's easy to see through that good-for-nothing's weaknesses. I thought it would be at least five to one?"

The Fat Boss shrugged. "But everyone in the arena has bet on you to lose, which has offset a lot of the odds... In the past six months, who doesn't know that Your Excellency Li Ang never wins the championship? You always put on the most fake fight after the semifinals, and lose the most genuinely..."

Li Ang grinned. "Then help me place a bet of 200. I don't want the winnings, but will you give me your Alice? Otherwise, Foucher might not be able to win..."

The Fat Boss looked at Li Ang, who was shamelessly extorting him, with an expression of disbelief. Then, with a long sigh, it turned into deep admiration.

This shameless person was even worse than he was back in the day.

This young man would definitely become an arena tycoon on the entire continent...

"Alright... I can't ride her anymore anyway. Alas, my beloved Alice... you'd better treat her well..."

The Fat Boss, weighing over three hundred pounds, looked down at his belly. From his line of sight, he definitely couldn't see his feet.

Alice was a beautiful golden-maned horse, and Li Ang had been eyeing her for more than a day or two.