Sir Fang Qi

  Like the powerful people of later generations, the nobles also liked unique colors, this hobby was reflected in their clothing and flags. Bright colors such as blue, purple, and yellow filled the entire campsite. Triangular flags with long swallowtails were the banners of the quasi-knights, and when they acquired a title, they would cut off the swallowtail to become square flag knights.

  In the center of the arena, the French knight and the German Eber knight were facing each other, with their attendants holding small square flags behind them, indicating that they were both titled knights. To become a titled knight, one had to have not only fought in many battles but also gained recognition from high nobility and demonstrated outstanding performance. A true titled knight either had real power or a deep background, which made the French knight on horseback somewhat hesitant at this moment. Although he was invited by Count Lauteritz, in reality, he was no different from a mercenary, with the only difference being his title and noble bloodline. However, to engage in a duel with a local German knight, if something unexpected happened, he might be sought after for revenge in this unfamiliar land, which was not the purpose of his long journey.

  "Come on, beat him!!!"

  "Sir Ebrard, do not yield." Just as the French knights were in a state of confusion, many people had gathered on both sides of the field, including nobles with sashes. The French knight's brow furrowed, and he suddenly made up his mind to raise his hand and lower his visor, forcefully raising his lance.

  No, if the French knights retreat at this time, they will pay for the shame of retreating without a fight, which will damage their reputation. As a French knight known for his bravery, it's better to die than that. Moreover, if he performs well, he might be recognized by German nobles and offered protection, and at worst, become a private party.

  Sir Eber, opposite him, was calm and collected, without many thoughts. He adjusted his pace, holding the large sword with both hands, his eyes fixed on the French knight in front of him. In their standoff, the French knight's warhorse lightly tapped its hooves, and the horse, conditioned by reflex, raised its head and began to trot forward. This warhorse had undergone special training and knew how to accelerate at a suitable distance. The knight, through daily uninterrupted training with the horse, would reflexively coordinate to lower the upright lance and aim at the target.

  The warhorse of the French knight, at a distance of three lances from Sir Ebrulf, suddenly pricked up its ears and charged forward with lowered head. The French knight hastily lowered his lance to aim at Sir Ebrulf's shoulder, not aiming for his head or chest, which were vital areas that would certainly result in death or injury if hit.

  However, the hesitation of the French knight caused him to miss the best opportunity. Sir Eber saw this and raised his great sword, making a turning motion to deflect the French knight's lance. This beautiful parry earned applause from the surrounding crowd, and Count Lauterbach's face turned red with embarrassment. The French knight charged forward for over a hundred paces before pulling hard on the reins of his horse, bringing it to a slow stop. He turned his horse around, and his lance was still intact in his hand. The crowd jeered at him, as an unbroken lance was a shame for a knight.

  "French knight, where is your lance aiming at? Is it the wooden stake beside you? Haha." The people around pointed at the French knight and jeered loudly, this place seemed more like a joyful playground than a martial arena.

  "Damn it." The French knight cursed in his mask, but was soon drowned out by the noise of the crowd. Arrode hid among the people without being as optimistic as the other Germans, as a soul from the 21st century, he knew through a large amount of video and game data that mounted knights had an advantage, once stabbed by a knight's lance, even heavily armored infantrymen could not avoid injury, the inertia and height of the charge made heavy cavalry unstoppable in the absence of terrain restrictions.

  Indeed, the French knight launched another charge, this time without any hesitation, leaning forward with his body and straightening his legs in the stirrups. His lance was like an unsheathed sword, striking Sir Elbert's chest plate in an instant. A loud crash was heard as the tip of the lance shattered into pieces, and Sir Elbert's body was heavily knocked to the ground. The knight lay on his back, his body creating a muddy trench on the ground due to the inertia of the impact. His large sword flew out several meters away from his hand. His attendant rushed forward with a pale face, laboriously dragging his body aside before lifting up his visor to reveal a delicate and pale face.

  "What's wrong, is he injured?" Arto also ran forward, admiring the knight's courage in facing the French knights. Although it was a bit reckless to confront horse-riding knights head-on, the unyielding determination moved Arto, and he thought he should lend a hand. Maybe his knowledge beyond history could help him.

  "My little, little master is not breathing." The attendant also had a youthful face, his expression showing extreme anxiety, his voice was extremely sharp and high-pitched, probably because he was still too young to have changed voices yet, Aruto thought.

  Arvad leaned down, putting his ear to Sir Ebral's mouth and nose. Fortunately, it wasn't as bad as the young servant had said; there was still a faint breath. He then opened Sir Ebral's eyes, and the pupils didn't dilate. The knight must have been in shock from the severe impact.

  "What are you doing? Are you a doctor?" The little servant knelt beside Sir Everard, his eyes brimming with tears. He didn't understand what Aronde was doing but he held onto a glimmer of hope.

  "Quickly, undo his armor." Arutha had never dealt with this situation before, but knowledge beyond history made him understand that it was Lord Abul who was suffocating in his chest, and as long as he let out the air, there would be no problem. However, he wouldn't undo such a breastplate, so he asked the little servant for help.

  "The young, young master is dead, it's God's will, all because of me, I didn't stop him." The little servant choked out, wiping his face with his own sleeve. Arwade looked at the already out-of-control little servant helplessly, but instead discovered that his uniform was embroidered with gold thread, a lily flower stitched on the lower left corner of the uniform, which he had heard from Sir Wendel was only used by high-ranking noble families.

  "He's not dead, he's just unconscious. Quick, loosen his breastplate or he'll really be going to meet God." Aronde grabbed the small servant by the shoulders and shook him hard, the servant's shoulders were thin, it was hard to believe he had been able to drag the fully armored knight aside earlier.

  The slightly sobered young attendant helped Arwade remove the knight's chest plate, which was dented inward from the intense impact. After some effort, it was finally removed, revealing the chain mail underneath. If they were to remove the chain mail as well, it would be too late. Arwade thought for a moment and took off his own linen shoulder cloak, folding it into a square and placing it on the knight's chest. Then he raised his right hand, clenched his fist, and struck down with great force.

  "Bang, bang~~~." Ah Ruo De used all his strength to hit the jazz's chest, and the little servant beside him was shocked and sat on the ground with a thud, staring at Ah Ruo De in a daze.

  "Stop, stop your hand, what are you doing? How dare you, do you know what you're doing?" came the loud rebuke from behind Artois, just as Sir Ebrard's coughing fit started, a flush of red appearing on his pale face, and his blue eyes opening slightly.

  "Get out." Amidst the Earl of Lautrec's rebuke, one of the earl's inner palace knights grabbed Arde's shoulder and threw him to the side.

  "Damn it." Arwade was thrown to one side by the robust knight, rolling on the ground several times before he got up angrily, dusting off his clothes. When he stood up, a group of guards had already surrounded Count Lautrec and Sir Ebril, wondering what kind of person this Sir Ebril was that made Count Lautrec so nervous, could it be some relative of the Duke's family? Arwade thought to himself as he left.

  "Arvid, where have you been? The Duke's general is gathering everyone." Sir Wendel shouted to Arvid as he walked into the camp.

  "Yes." Arvad hastily bowed his head and ran to his father and brother. At this time, Yifu had already put on the chain armor, while Sir Wendel not only wore the chain armor but also hung the plate armor that he usually didn't wear in important places.

  "A troop of knights from the Duke of Saxony has invaded our borders, and I have been ordered by His Excellency to gather the vassal knights. Five lances are needed to drive out these invaders." The general of the Duke of Meissen was a middle-aged nobleman with red hair, originally a Danish noble who had offended the King of Denmark and fled to the Holy Roman Empire, becoming a member of the court of the Duke of Meissen. His tall and sturdy physique made him quite suitable for the position of general.

  "Roar~~~~." A dozen or so knights in the camp clenched their fists and waved them over their heads, roaring. They had long been impatient to leave this place behind, for nothing thrilled them more than war.

  "What's a spear?" Arvad asked Yifei with a puzzled expression, still laughing loudly.

  "How could you even forget this?" Iifu furrowed his brow, looking at his younger brother in surprise. This was the most basic common sense for a military noble.

  "Oh, because of last time, you know." Aruo De hastily made an innocent expression, then pointed to his own head.

  "Hmm." Yifu let out a slightly nervous hum, then explained to his younger brother, "A 'gun' refers to a knight and his retinue, including his attendants and armed servants, at least five people in total. Ten guns form a squadron, five or ten squadrons form a legion... Alright, stop asking silly questions and get ready, this time you're part of my gun."