Mount & Blade: Rebuilding Rome from Mercenaries

Tankred accelerated, urging its warhorse forward, and gradually leveled the tip of its lance.

The wind whistled in his ears, and the hustle and bustle of the square seemed to fade away in that moment, leaving only the rhythmic thud of horses' hooves striking the ground like the echoing of war drums. He took a deep breath, and the heightened senses granted by his physique of 14 allowed him to capture every detail.

He could feel the heavy breathing of his opponent Ralph's warhorse, the slight trembling of its spear tip, and the ferocity in its eyes, like that of a wild beast.

"Kid, die!"

Ralph's roar came from the opposite direction. He spurred his horse, and the tall warhorse charged forward like an arrow. Blood Axe's nickname was well-deserved. He held his lance as steady as a rock, the tip pointed directly at Tankred's chest, intending to kill him with a single blow.

Although the rules required the spearheads to be blunt and rounded, in the Norman style, these duels often carried a real killing intent.

Throughout history, countless knights have broken bones or even lost their lives in such duels.

Tanker remained calm. [Whirlwind Ride] increased his mount's speed by 10%, kicking up dust. He slightly shifted his body, adjusting the angle of his lance, and using the armor-piercing bonus of [Lancer], aimed at the edge of Ralph's shield. That was the shield's weakest point; with enough kinetic energy, he could even use the momentum to slam into the armor behind him.

The fifty paces passed in the blink of an eye, and the two collided like two torrents of steel.

"Bang!"

The clash of lances produced a dull thud, sending splinters and sparks flying. Tancred's lance tip struck the edge of Ralph's shield precisely, the powerful impact shattering the iron spikes and sending Ralph lurching violently on his horse. His lance grazed Tancred's shoulder armor but missed its mark.

"One point! Tankred is in the lead!" The announcer's voice echoed across the square, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Count Richard laughed from the stands, slapping the armrest: "Good lad! He's already got that bastard under his thumb right from the start!"

Ralf pulled back from his horse, his face ashen. He shook his numb arm and cursed, "Just lucky! Kid, next round I'll stab you in the heart!"

Tancred didn't respond, but calmly turned his horse around to check his lance. A fine crack had appeared on the shaft, but it was still usable. His heartbeat was steady; the [Hercules] trait allowed him to maintain his stamina even in such a high-intensity duel.

The second round began. The horn sounded again, and Ralph changed his strategy this time. Instead of charging straight ahead, he slowed down slightly, trying to confuse Tankred with feints. Bloodaxe's experience paid off here; he feinted with the tip of his spear, pretending to aim at the shield, but suddenly thrust it upwards, aiming straight for Tankred's helmet.

Tancred, with his enhanced physique and spider-like intuition, sensed the danger beforehand. He ducked sharply, the tip of his spear grazing his helmet, producing a sharp, metallic scraping sound. At the same time, his counterattack struck like lightning, the spear tip striking Ralph's breastplate squarely. "Crack!" Several iron rings on the chainmail snapped open, and Ralph groaned, his body leaning back, but his strong physique kept him from falling off his horse.

"Two points! Tankred scores two more!" the announcer shouted, and the crowd erupted. John jumped up from the sidelines: "Sir, take him down! That guy's face is green!"

Old John frowned: "Be careful, Ralph's desperate. He'll fight tooth and nail in the third round."

Ralph was indeed desperate. A dull ache throbbed in his chest, and blood seeped from the seams of his chainmail. He gasped for breath, his eyes bloodshot: "Kid, your father was stabbed to death too! Today it's your turn!"

Upon hearing this, Tankred felt a surge of murderous intent welling up within him, as if he could see the old Tankred being surrounded and pierced through the body by pitchforks. He gritted his teeth and muttered, "Today is your death anniversary."

The third round begins.

Ralph charged out like a mad tiger, his warhorse galloping at full speed, the tip of his spear pointed directly at Tankred's throat.

This time, he was reckless, intending to crush Ralph with brute force. Tankred also accelerated, [Whirlwind Ride] making his horse even faster and more powerful. He didn't dodge, but charged head-on, using the armor-piercing ability of [Lancer], aiming the lance tip at Ralph's shoulder socket, the weak point where the chainmail was attached!

The square seemed to tremble the moment the two clashed. Tankred's spear tip pierced Ralph's shoulder armor like a drill, and with a "thud," the blunt, rounded spearhead tore through the iron ring under the immense kinetic energy, penetrating deep into flesh. Ralph's spear struck Tankred's shield, but the force was off; the shield shattered, but it failed to injure him.

"Ah!" Ralph screamed as blood gushed from his shoulder, and he was thrown from his horse, crashing heavily to the ground. Dust billowed as he tried to get up, but his right arm was too weak, and his lance fell to the side.

"Shoot down the opponent! Three points! Tank Red wins!" the announcer declared, and the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers. Count Richard rose to his feet and clapped, "Hahaha! My boy won! Blood Axe? Nothing but trash!"

Tank Redler stopped, removed his helmet, and stared at Ralf on the ground with his grey-blue eyes. A system notification appeared:

「叮！你用骑枪在比武大会上击败了血斧拉尔夫，长杆兵器熟练度+3（47→50），骑术+3（50→53），个人经验+50，当前等级Lv6（250/500）」

"Ding! Your proficiency with polearms has reached 50. You can choose one of the following specializations:"

[Spear Tip Technique]: Your polearm accuracy is increased by 15%, making it easier to hit vital points.

[Charge Master]: When charging on horseback, kinetic energy is increased by 20%, making it easier to knock down opponents.

"Add points! [Charge Master]!"

After choosing Tankred, I felt I had better control over the kinetic energy accumulated while riding a horse.

But he didn't relax.

Ralph, though dismounted, struggled to his feet, drew his one-handed battle axe from his waist with his left hand, and roared, "Kid, this isn't over! Come on, fight on foot like a man!"

According to the rules, the fight should not continue after it ends, but Ralph rushed up like a madman and was about to swing his sword at Tankred.

"Stop! The match is over!" The host's loud shout was too late.

A gasp of surprise erupted from the crowd.

Count Richard's face turned ashen. He rose and roared, "Ralph, stop! This is a violation of chivalry, a violation of Norman tradition!"

However, Giskar watched from a distance with great interest, remaining silent.

Tancred remained calm, seemingly having anticipated the madman's behavior.

He quickly spurred his horse around, retreated rapidly to create distance, and at the same time picked up the lance from the ground.

Although this gun barrel, which was used in the third round, is cracked, it is still usable.

The "Charge Master" trait made him instinctively choose to charge with a lance rather than engage in close combat at this moment.

"Sir, watch out!" Little John cried out. Old John had already drawn his sword and stepped forward, but Tancred waved for them to stay put. He turned his horse around to face Ralph, who was charging towards him.

Ralph's shoulder injury made him sluggish, but he was as ferocious as a wounded beast, his axe blade aimed straight for Tankred's horse's leg. Tankred spurred his horse forward, combining [Whirlwind Ride] and [Charge Master], unleashing a torrent of kinetic energy. He leveled his spear, aiming directly at Ralph's chest.

"Die!" Ralph leaped up, his axe blade swung down. But Tankred's horse was faster, the spear tip flashing like lightning. "Thud!" The blunt, rounded spearhead tore through Ralph's chainmail under the immense impact, penetrating deep into his chest cavity. Blood gushed out, Ralph's body was thrown back by the momentum, the axe blade slipping from his hand, and he crashed heavily to the ground.

He collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving a few times, his eyes wide, blood and foam gushing from his mouth: "You...you..."

Tank Redler stopped, blood dripping from the tip of his rifle. He didn't dismount, but simply stared coldly at the heavily wounded Ralph.

A moment of deathly silence fell over the square, followed by a burst of discussion. The host, pale-faced, exclaimed, "This, this, this violates the rules! But, but Ralph struck first..."

Drogon de Otwell stood up, his voice booming: "The match is over. Ralf brought this upon himself. Tancred wins, innocent!"

A murmur of discussion rose in the square, only to be quickly drowned out by the cheers of the Norman knights. Count Richard strode down from the stands and patted Tancred on the shoulder: "Well done, lad! That traitor Ralph got what he deserved. Normans show no mercy to traitors!"

Tankred stopped, blood dripping from the tip of his spear. He didn't dismount immediately, but coldly stared at the heavily wounded Ralph on the ground. Ralph's chest heaved violently, blood gushing from the gaps in his chainmail, staining the dust red. His eyes were wide open, blood foaming from his mouth, yet he was still breathing. His bloodshot eyes were filled with resentment and bitterness, his left hand weakly gripping the ground, as if he still wanted to get up.

"Cough...cough...kid...you...you wait..." Ralph growled intermittently, his voice weak but filled with a beastly hatred.

The host, pale-faced, waved for a servant to come forward: "Quick! Take him away for treatment! This...this may be self-defense, but Ralph is, after all, one of Giscard's men..."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The Normans revered strength, but publicly executing a severely wounded loser, especially one of Giscard's men, would cause trouble. Giscard narrowed his eyes in the stands, a cold smile playing on his lips, and whispered to Roger beside him, "This kid's got guts. Ralph, that piece of trash, brought this humiliation upon himself; he deserved it."

Roger nodded: "Brother, should we intervene? Even though Ralph lost, it would still be a disgrace for us if he died here."

"No rush," Robert said. "Let's see how Drogon rules. That kid... is certainly interesting."

Tanker dismounted, drew his one-handed battle axe, and approached Ralph. The servants halted, hesitant to approach. His grey-blue eyes held no pity, only icy killing intent. The original owner's memories flooded back: his father, old Tanker, was stabbed to death with pitchforks by the villagers; the mercenary group was usurped; he was expelled from the group, burdened with enormous debts... all of this was caused by the traitor before him.

"Ralph," Tancred crouched down, pressing the axe blade against Ralph's throat, "you owe the Contwell family, and today you pay it back."

Ralph, panting heavily, forced a sinister smile: "You...you dare kill me? Lord Giscard...will not let you get away with this..."

Tancred did not act immediately. He stood up, turned to the stands, and called out, "Count Drogon! As the champion of the riding competition, I have the right to make a request of you!"

Drogon paused for a moment, then burst into laughter: "Speak, young man! Your performance deserves any reasonable request!"

The square fell silent, all eyes fixed on Tancred. Count Richard nodded encouragingly, old John gripped his sword hilt tightly, young John's eyes gleamed, and Bashir rubbed his hands together excitedly.

Tancred pointed at Ralph on the ground, his voice booming: "This traitor usurped my father's mercenary group, bringing shame upon my family! He violated the code of chivalry, attacking with an axe even after the competition ended—he deserves to die! I beg Your Excellency, permission to execute this man to restore the honor of the Normans! And I request Your Excellency to formally declare this a victory in the duel, restoring the honor of the Conteville family, and proclaiming that we never lost our mercenary status; that group truly belonged to us!"

The crowd erupted in uproar. Executing a severely wounded loser was already extreme, but demanding a formal judgment of victory and restoration of honor was a direct challenge to Giscard's dignity.

Ralph's former followers, who had participated in the betrayal, were pale-faced in the crowd, some already gripping their sword hilts.

Giscard finally stood up, his voice tinged with coldness: "Drogo, isn't this kid going too far? Ralph may have made mistakes, but he's already ruined. A death sentence is far too harsh, and besides, he's one of my men!"

Drogon frowned slightly as he surveyed the entire area. The Normans revered individual strength, and Ralph's sneak attack had already lost its honor. If it wasn't punished, it would surely discourage the other knights.

Moreover, Tancred's request was ingenious. He didn't ask for land or money, only "honor" and the execution of the traitor, which was perfectly reasonable in Norman tradition.

Count Richard stepped forward and proclaimed, "Lord Drago, Ralph broke the rules and attacked first! Tancred is my mercenary, and his request is reasonable! The honor of the Normans cannot be tarnished by traitors!"

The other lords exchanged glances; some nodded, others remained silent. Humphrey whispered to Drogon, "Brother, this lad is quite skilled at riding. If we can win over Richard by executing Ralph, it will also deter those disgruntled mercenaries."

After a moment's hesitation, Drogon finally spoke: "Very well! Ralph has violated the code of chivalry and brought shame upon himself. Tancred, your request is granted! I hereby declare your execution based on a duel stemming from a family feud, and the honor of the Conteville family is restored!"

A chorus of cheers and whispers erupted in the square. Giskar's face darkened, but he offered no rebuttal. Public opposition would only make him appear biased and unbecoming of a leader. He snorted coldly and returned to his seat.

Without hesitation, Tancred raised his battle axe. Ralph's eyes widened, and he weakly cried out, "No... sir... save me..."

The axe blade fell, and blood splattered everywhere.

Ralph's head rolled into the dust, his eyes still wide open, dying with unfinished business.

System notifications kept popping up:

「叮！你处决了血斧拉尔夫，报了家族大仇，长杆兵器熟练度+10（50→60），骑术+10（53→63），个人经验+300，当前等级Lv6（520/500）」

"Ding! You have leveled up to Lv7 (20/1000), with 1 attribute point available."

"Ding! Your victory is based on a duel. The trait [Aspiring Swordsman] has accumulated enough experience points (2/2)."

"Ding! You have acquired a new trait: [Famous Swordsman]"