Lance's gaze swept over the people, but everyone hurriedly avoided his eyes, fearing being conscripted.
Seeing the civilians behave in such a manner, the mercenary leader only laughed harder, picking up a Longsword to provoke the crowd, yet no one dared to respond.
This was the shackle of the civilians; they were like scattered sand, completely devoid of any concept of unity or resistance. To survive in this world, they did not need dignity, only the endurance to live on.
They were a flock of domesticated sheep, and naturally, the ruling class was the shepherd, while people like the mercenary leader were the sheepdogs.
However, Lance had never placed his hopes on these people; he had been prepared all along.
"I will!"
A shout rose from the silent crowd, causing the people nearby to hastily move away, as if afraid of being mistaken for the volunteer.
The throng parted willingly, revealing an armored figure stepping forward, gripping a spiked hammer and a sturdy Shield. Despite his gray hair and aged face, he moved with a resolute stride, his one remaining eye fixed intently on the mercenary leader in the midst of the ring.
"It's him! He's still alive!"
"He's the one who saved me back then."
"He stopped those bandits."
As more whispers arose, the townsfolk finally remembered the old soldier—the one who stayed behind to obstruct the bandits while everyone else fled, and the only mercenary willing to protect civilians.
Weren't that armor and those weapons the ones we looted before? How did they end up in his possession now?
Not just the townsfolk, but the mercenary leader himself was startled by the old soldier's arrival. The old soldier's mountain-like, steady presence was completely devoid of the leader's earlier bravado. In terms of aura alone, the leader was already beaten.
"Your opponent has arrived."
Lance's words drew the leader's attention back. Seeing the smile on Lance's face, the leader realized why Lance had been so agreeable before—it was a trap, and he himself had become the stepping stone for a demonstration.
No, I have to think of something!
His decision to flee from the bandits instead of fighting revealed he wasn't one to gamble his life.
If I could take the Lord hostage, perhaps I could avoid this peril, or even...
But as soon as he saw the Knight standing beside Lance, he immediately dismissed the thought. The pressure Reynard had put on him the night before was too great; even armed, he likely had no chance of victory.
He also lacked the confidence to outrun a horse. Considering the Knight's formidable appearance, bullying the seemingly weaker old soldier seemed more feasible.
After weighing the pros and cons, the leader knew there was only one path left for him: to kill the old man.
The old soldier entered the fray, and the two adversaries faced off.
The leader's expression grew fierce, like a wild beast driven into a corner as he looked at the old soldier.
But the old soldier remained as immovable as Mount Tai, unfazed by the leader's transformation.
The old soldier remained patient, but the leader could not restrain himself. He soon let out a wild scream, brandishing his Longsword and charging forward. This immediately frightened the nearby townsfolk into retreat, instinctively widening the circle even further.
The mercenary leader had roamed among mercenaries for many years. Surviving for so long certainly meant he was not only good at running away; his ruthless killing methods were also plentiful.
The leader, relying on brute strength, swung his blade with great force, while the veteran merely raised his Shield in defense, forced to retreat step by step.
Initially, the townsfolk thought the veteran, old and weakened by age, was at a disadvantage against the younger and stronger leader. This one-sided situation only deepened their sense of despair.
They hoped the veteran could defeat the leader, but the scales of victory were tilting to the other side.
Lance, however, didn't react much.
They had discussed who should fight the leader the night before. After Lance laid out his plan, both Dismas and Reynard were opposed.
The veteran had been badly injured and bedridden for so long. His wounds had only just healed, but his condition remained fragile; it wasn't something a single night could mend.
Moreover, neither of them was clear about the veteran's combat ability and didn't think such a frail old man could win against the leader.
Of course, Dismas's desire to fight was more about proving himself.
But in the end, Lance overruled everyone and chose the veteran to fight. He wanted to use the veteran to build momentum for himself; besides, he believed in the veteran's strength.
The strength of his youth might no longer be there, but his body harbored the experience of hundreds of battles.
The fight continued. To the townsfolk, it appeared the leader was completely dominant, pressing the veteran and poised to win sooner or later.
But only the leader himself knew that he was actually losing ground.
The Shield in the veteran's hands seemed to possess some kind of magic, completely blocking every cunning attack, almost as if the leader was purposefully hitting it himself.
No matter how young and strong the leader was, his energy had its limits. The continuous onslaught was already leaving him exhausted. Furthermore, the worthless sword in his hands, likely from some down-and-out mercenary, had already begun to chip after just a few strikes. He wondered if it would break on the next one.
No! I have to fight with all I have left! I absolutely have to survive...
Suddenly, the leader let out a fierce yell. He tensed his muscles, causing the veins on his bare upper body to bulge. With both hands, he raised his sword high, resembling a standing black bear, his mere size exuding pressure.
An unskilled vertical chop, augmented by that surge of power, significantly increased the blade's lethality, giving the impression it could split a person in two.
The veteran was not intimidated by the leader's surge of power and still held his Shield up in front of him. When the blade swung down, the veteran felt its contained force upon contact. But holding a Shield wasn't about clashing head-on with an opponent; the veteran slightly shifted his Shield to deflect the force, even guiding the sword's momentum to strike the ground.
BANG!
The Longsword finally could not withstand the repeated heavy impacts and broke. Without hesitation, the leader immediately discarded the broken sword. He then launched himself in a shoulder charge, hoping to use his weight and strength to knock the veteran down and engage in hand-to-hand combat.
But the veteran saw through his action completely. From under that Shield, a spiked hammer suddenly struck out, hitting the side of the leader's knee.
Without any armor to protect him, the sharp spike pierced deep into his Flesh. A scream echoed through the arena as gashes tore open at the knee, bloody and mangled.
The veteran drew first blood with his move. Looking at the leader, who was barely able to stand, it was clear the pain had reached the bone. Such was the power of a blunt weapon; the true damage lay unseen.
Having landed the blow, the veteran abandoned his previous defensive stance. Taking advantage of the leader's impaired leg, he began to circle, closing in on him.
His back became a huge vulnerability; the back of his head could be struck by the hammer at any moment. Though the hobbled leader moved with difficulty, he could only turn with the veteran, mocked like a beast of burden led by its reins.
At this moment, he could already feel the breath of death closing in. Fear made him start to cry out and beg for mercy, spouting all sorts of pleas in an attempt to elicit sympathy.