Gamblers and Warriors

"That idiot. Joel will tear him to pieces." Octas hurried over, but he was already too late. Everyone around them had cleared away. Lister had borrowed a shortsword from a knight, and the two were already standing face-to-face in the middle of the wooded field.

Over a hundred knights gathered to watch this uneven fight. Bets had already begun, and everyone was wagering on Joel. After all, Joel had genuinely placed third in Lordaeron's martial tournament. As for this kid? Heh, who knew who he was?

Lister flicked the gleaming shortsword. It was a shortsword to an adult, but it was still sixty centimeters long—half his height. Yet his strength allowed him to wield it easily, and he spun it through a graceful flourish.

One knight immediately made up his mind and tossed down ten gold coins. "I'm betting on the kid!"

"Garithos, are you crazy?" Though he said that, his hands moved quickly enough. The bearded knight swept up all ten gold coins. "All right, let's see who's stronger."

Only then did Nobo realize what a terrible mistake he had made. When Lister passed him, he could not help calling softly, "Lister."

"It's fine." Carrying the shortsword, Lister stepped forward and took his stance. A trace of danger seeped from him. "It'll be quick."

Joel, who had endured for so long, did not attack immediately. Instead, he calmed himself, let out a long breath, and assumed his stance as well. He had not chosen some flashy longsword, but a heavy warhammer. Even a lion used its full strength to hunt a rabbit. Lister had no doubt that if that square-headed thing struck him, he would be smashed into meat paste.

He took a deep breath. The two slowly began circling each other, familiarizing themselves with their weapons while watching for openings.

"Why haven't they started fighting?" Uther asked.

A knight answered mercilessly, "They're both looking for an opening. Neither is wearing armor, so one hit will take either of them out of the fight. That means neither dares to attack first. But don't worry, sir. This battle will end quickly. Your healing will be useful soon enough."

Joel found this incredibly troublesome. He had only thought the kid would apologize, but his hardline attitude had somehow led to this outcome. A duel with a child? What a joke. He was one of Lordaeron's strongest knights. How had he ended up dueling a child today?

The warriors around them beat their longswords against their shields. Their low "Hoo-ha!" chants struck the heart like drumbeats. They were coming up with an unusual nickname for the victor. Would he be called Childslayer, or the Merciless One?

That rhythmic sound brought Joel's thoughts back to that morning—the morning he had earned his glorious standing. He had stood beneath the sunlight and defeated an almost unbeatable enemy, not a child. His soul seemed to leave his body, leaving everyone with a brief pause.

That moment of confusion gave his cunning opponent an opening. As he turned sideways, Lister tucked his sword against his waist and switched to the weapon he knew best: a slingshot. He seized that lightning-fast opportunity, yanked out the sinister weapon from his waist, raised it, and fired.

"Damn it!" Joel immediately ducked, but the stone struck him squarely. A violent pain exploded through him, followed by a vast wash of red filling half the sky. Only the world on his left remained normal; the right side was blood-red, as though a rain of blood had fallen from the heavens.

"Beautiful sneak attack!"

"Damn it! Joel, finish him! He's charging!"

"Kill!!!!"

Amid the earthshaking shouts, two raging lions charged at each other. After firing the stone, Lister tossed aside the slingshot, gripped his sword hilt, drew his blade, and rushed forward. His heart pounded, and the blood throughout his body seemed to boil inside a steam engine. He could not stop for even a moment, or he would explode!

Joel raised his warhammer high and smashed it down. The overwhelming strike sent savage force through Lister's arms. The finely crafted shortsword let out a pitiful cry. Lister's hands instantly turned deathly pale, then an unhealthy red. He could feel the heart-rending pain of bursting blood vessels. His boiling blood nearly broke through that thin layer of skin, ready to spill his miserable life into every corner.

He was sent flying and rolled across the ground several times. Stones scraped bloody marks across his face, while wood chips filled his nostrils and eyes. The blood automatically washed away the debris for Lister. His right hand still stubbornly held the shortsword, while his uncontrollable left hand clawed wildly at the ground, as if grabbing hold of something could save him.

"The advantage is mine!"

Joel was overjoyed. From the force transmitted through his hands, he knew his opponent was finished! That mournful cry from the shortsword had been victory calling to him! Now he only wanted to hammer the little bastard who had injured his eye into meat paste! His bloodthirsty left eye shone with furious light as it fixed upon the brat he had sent flying! He launched his final charge! Yet his opponent still had not caught his breath. Foolish idiot!

Lister instinctively raised his left hand. A severed tree stump had been left here to be burned as firewood, but in his hands, it was now the best shield. That thick, heavy natural shield suddenly appeared before Joel through his blind spot.

Joel stared in shock as his heavy hammer was stubbornly blocked once again. The next instant, Lister's crafty shortsword struck from below like a venomous snake in a decisive, swift upward slash. Before everyone's stunned eyes, Joel's left arm was cleanly severed.

The heavy warhammer crashed to the ground. An anxious voice rang out. "Spare his life!"

"You asked how I killed the Dreadwolf?" Lister struck without hesitation. Gripping the shortsword tightly in both hands, he thrust upward with savage speed. "Like this!"

Before Garithos's eyes, Joel's left arm suddenly fell away. Then a strange triangular protrusion appeared atop his head, looking utterly unnatural. Garithos understood. His hands, which had been gripping his bracers, relaxed easily as he strode forward. "You lost."

The corpse crashed to the ground.

Dead silence filled the area. Even as Lister used his shortsword to cut the ropes binding Nobo, everyone continued staring blankly at the corpse on the ground. Were they wondering why they had lost their money?

"The victor is..." A booming voice came from the crowd. The bearded knight revealed a sly grin. He had bet on both sides. "The Blood Warrior, Lister!"

Covered in blood from head to toe, Lister truly lived up to the title Blood Warrior. After a brief moment of shock, everyone erupted into thunderous cheers. They rushed wildly toward Lister. Garithos lifted him up, while several knights formed a neat shield formation as though celebrating a triumphant hero, carrying him around the entire camp in parade. Lister stared blankly at the celebrating crowd, and the cheers abruptly vanished from his world.

He fainted.