The World Dragon's Heir - Chapter 643: Grudge Match

Chapter 643: Grudge Match

With that first loss, it was the perfect excuse for the King of Mitfield to excuse himself.

His Knight, and a member of the Royal Paladins, had lost the first match, and it was only natural that he would go to comfort him in some way. They would naturally know each other, as he was the son of a Duke, and a Knight of the Order, who was working to protect one of the Princes.

So, the King stepped out, surrounded by his guards, with a mage as an escort, and nobody batted an eye.

They were too excited about the second match.

Unlike the first, the second and third matches of the day turned into a lopsided pairing, with one of the Knights in the second match having his lance knocked down during the final approach, scoring a single point.

With a failure to break a lance during the first attempt as well, that left him down ten points to three.

Not a good spot to be in.

When the third pass also didn’t break a lance, putting him at fifteen points to six, the Knight gracefully withdrew, deciding that it was better to save some dignity than to hope to unhorse his opponent for the come from behind win in the first round.

This simply wasn’t his day.

After a few minutes, the mage who had escorted King Mitfield out returned and nodded to Dominic that the job was done. The King was back in his castle, and they were one step closer to having all the chaos sorted out in Wistover.

As the morning continued, the matches moved between near draws and brutal mismatches, with a handful of standout contenders.

Lars, of the Mitfield Royal Order, managed to break five straight lances to overcome his opponent by a single point, while Abe, the hometown Potato, took a resounding victory with four lances to one before his opponent yielded.

That brought them to Sir Nallon of Shersdonia.

He was facing Sir Nick of the Mitfield Royal Order, and the two larger than life personalities of the wealthy Knights were enough to have the crowd in a frenzy.

Both had entered with much fanfare, strutting around the arena to egg on their fans before settling into position.

Not that it was entirely uncalled-for. They were both strong contenders for the win, but it was still the first round, and most of the other knights had been much more reserved, certain that doing so would only invite disaster and mockery should their match not turn out the way that they expected.

However, with both of them doing it, the crowd was certain this was going to be an epic battle.

The flag dropped on their match, and both knights thundered toward each other, the usual routine for the day. Then, Sir Nallon’s horse suddenly faltered, as if spooked.

Something that wasn’t possible for a mechanical horse unless it was specifically directed to.

The move caused the timing on Sir Nick’s strike to be off, and his lance drifted right past Sir Nallon, hitting him with the side, and not the tip. That was considered a barricade, worth zero points, while Sir Nallon’s lance broke cleanly against Nick’s shield.

The two men circled back and paused to glare at each other before returning to their spots.

It was clearly a cheap trick, mimicking the behaviour of a real horse to make a greasy trick look like an accident. Most of the crowd wouldn’t catch it, but all the other Knights would.

Not that it would buy Sir Nick any sympathy from them.

It was a cheap trick, but exceptionally difficult to master. And between knights, it was skill that impressed their peers the most.

The next pass, Dominic could see the anger in Nick’s stance, rigid and tilted further forward than usual, a hunting stance instead of a calculating preparation stance.

The two combatants collided with the sound of splintering wood as both lances shattered, while the knights were rocked sideways in their saddles.

It was far and away the hardest hit that anyone had seen so far in the tournament.

The two passed again, this time with a bit more respect in their posture.

Dominic briefly wondered if Sir Nallon had a grudge against the Upper Nobility. They weren’t from the same country, so even if they had met on the circuit before, it would be unlikely for it to be personal.

At most, it might be a recent grievance over something that was said this week.

The third pass began under the overwhelming cheering of the crowd, drowning out everything else. Not even the hoofbeats of the horses could be heard, nor the clanking of armour, which was normally the defining sound in the tense silence before impact.

Both lances snapped, allowing Sir Nallon to keep his advantage.

Again they met, and for a fourth time, they collided. It looked like Sir Nallon was satisfied to keep breaking lances. As long as he landed a hit on the fifth pass, he would have the victory.

For the final time, the two Knights charged, levelling their lances.

Then, Sir Nick lifted his lance at the last second, aiming at Sir Nallon’s head, not his shield.

The other Knight didn’t flinch, didn’t even look away.

Two lances shattered, and Sir Nallon was knocked flat against his horse, laying limp in the saddle as his shield and lance fell from his hands.

The horse stopped at the end of the lane, and the crowd waited in breathless silence to see if the Knight would recover or slide out of his saddle. Tying yourself to the horse was against the rules, and if you tilted off the side while unconscious, you would certainly touch the ground, counting as dismounted.

Five seconds passed, six, seven…

Then Sir Nallon’s hand raised before reaching forward to grab the pommel and pull himself upright.

“After a five-pass course, the winner on points is Sir Nallon of Shersdonia.” The judge announced, and the already excited crowd roared in appreciation, while the knight in question blearily raised one hand in recognition.

Or perhaps just in hopes that the cheering was for him, as he was not at all steady in the saddle as he rode back to the exit where the healers were waiting.