Mount & Blade: Rebuilding Rome from Mercenaries

"duel?"

Upon hearing this, a glint of light flashed in Tancred's gray-blue eyes.

Actually, he was somewhat uninterested in this unexpected commission. After all, chasing after a runaway noblewoman sounded more like a troublesome chore. Not only was there no generous reward, but it also didn't offer a battlefield where he could quickly improve his strength.

But when the young man drew his half-sword and shouted for a duel, Tankred's heart suddenly raced.

Because the system notification popped up again:

"Ding! The Norman youth has challenged you to a duel. Do you accept? If you win, you will gain [Famous Swordsman] experience points!"

"Interesting," Tancred muttered to himself, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Tankred has been greatly enhanced by the [Famous Swordsman] trait he just acquired at the Mefino Tournament, and he can't wait to find an opponent to test his power.

"You want to settle this the Norman way? Very well. I accept your duel challenge."

Tankred drew his one-handed battle axe from his waist and swung his kite-shaped shield from behind to his left arm. The white sable fur pattern on the shield looked particularly ferocious in the firelight.

Old John and Young John exchanged a glance, then he growled, "Little Tank Red, don't let your guard down! This kid seems to have some skills!"

Norman duels have always been synonymous with blood and glory in this land. The victor gains everything, while the loser often doesn't even survive.

The Norman youth took a deep breath and gripped his half-sword tightly. He was tall with disheveled brown hair, but his eyes were as resolute as a wolf's.

"Come on, Tancred, I've heard of you! Let me see just how capable you are, you poet-writing charlatan!"

Tankred didn't waste any words. He stepped forward, his kite-shaped shield shielding his body, his battle axe held diagonally. The [Tailor-Made] trait allowed him to move freely even while wearing three layers of armor. The weight of the shield felt like an extension of his arm, and the [Parrying Combat Skill] bonus increased his control by 20%, making his moves as fluid as flowing water.

The Norman youth launched the first attack. He lunged forward, wielding his half-sword and slashing downwards with a whistling sound, intending to crush Tancred's shield. Tancred, instead of retreating, advanced, raising his left arm sharply, his kite-shaped shield precisely blocking the blade.

"Clang!" The loud crash echoed through the farmhouse, sparks flying. Eric's sword was caught on the edge of the shield, and Tankred seized the opportunity to swing his right arm, his battle axe, enhanced with the armor-piercing bonus of [Straight Strike], heading straight for his opponent's left shoulder.

The axe blade tore through the air, and Eric hurriedly dodged to the side, but the axe still grazed his chainmail, knocking off the iron rings. Blood seeped out instantly, and Eric groaned, taking two steps back.

Tankred did not pursue, but stood firmly, shielding his chest with his shield, his axe hanging low in his hand, his eyes locked on his opponent's weakness.

"Damn it..." the Norman youth cursed under his breath, and readjusted his posture.

He switched from a half-sword strike to a thrust, the tip of the sword aimed straight for Tankred's throat like a venomous snake. At the same time, he stomped his left foot on the ground, using the momentum to leap up, intending to bypass the shield from the side.

Tankred sneered. His physique, enhanced by the [Hercules] buff, allowed him to react swiftly. He took a half step back with his left foot, tilted his shield slightly, and used the control of the [Parrying Combat Technique] to gently deflect the sword tip.

The blade slid along the curve of the shield, grazing his shoulder armor without causing any harm. The Norman youth lost his balance from the impact, revealing an open space on his right side.

"Now!" Tankred roared inwardly. He charged forward, his battle axe slashing upwards, the blade striking Eric's right thigh with pinpoint accuracy. His [Strike the Vital Point] feat allowed the axe to ignore part of the chainmail's protection, embedding itself deeply into flesh. Eric screamed, his knee buckling as he knelt on one knee, his half-sword flying from his hand and crashing to the ground.

Tankred didn't stop. He stepped forward, his left-armed kite shield slamming heavily into Eric's chest, knocking him to the ground. The impact of the shield bash made his opponent feel a tightness in his chest, unable to breathe. Tankred then straddled him, raising his battle axe high, the blade stopping just an inch above Eric's neck.

The entire process took only a dozen or so breaths, yet it was textbook perfect. Tankred was no longer just a savage charge like before; instead, it used its shield for defense, its axe for armor penetration, and its precise timing to completely overwhelm its opponent.

「叮！你击败了诺曼青年，单手武器熟练度+3（54→57），个人经验+30，当前等级Lv7（105/1000）」

"Ding! You have won the duel. The [Famous Swordsman] trait has gained upgrade points (1/5)."

Tancred was panting, the axe blade hovering beside Eric's neck. Blood dripped down the blade, splattering onto Eric's pale face.

Eric's eyes widened, his chest heaving, his face filled with disbelief and shock: "No... how is this possible? You... weren't you that good-for-nothing who could only write poetry? You even neglected your mercenary training... how could you become so powerful in such a short time?"

A surge of intense pride welled up within Tancred. He looked down at the defeated man, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Hmph! You ordinary people can only rely on hard training day after day, accumulating martial arts skills little by little through sweat and scars, which is superficial and worthless!

And me? Every time the system adds points, it's precise feedback. Vitality, physique, proficiency... every improvement is like an ironclad foundation, steady and solid!

How can the efforts of ordinary people compare to the cheating of a system?!

He didn't immediately bring down the axe. Instead, he deliberately lowered his voice and said mockingly in some very strange Norman French, "Hmph! Fortune changes every thirty years, never underestimate a young man's potential!"

Just as Tancred was about to end the duel, a sharp scream suddenly came from the corner of the farmhouse. Emma lunged forward, a dagger she had grabbed from the table in her hand, the sharp blade pressed directly against her neck.

"Tankred! You're just after me, aren't you? If you kill Eric, I'll die right here, so you'll never have me! And you'll never be able to fulfill my brother's request!"

Tankred froze, speechless as he turned to look at her.

This was the first time Tancred had seen the Earl's sister up close. This Miss Emma... was indeed a spitting image of Earl Richard. A burly, imposing figure, with broad shoulders like a male mercenary, a square face, and a sharply defined jawline...

If you were a princess of Byzantium, I could barely accept it...

Tankred sighed inwardly.

Earl, Earl, only you yourself can truly appreciate how "beautiful" your sister is.

"Miss Emma," Tancred sheathed his battle axe, slowly standing up, his voice as gentle as possible, yet tinged with a hint of helplessness, "you've misunderstood. I don't covet anything from you; I'm merely here on the Earl's orders to take you home. Your actions will only make things worse. This kid is just a blond... ugh, a homeless hoodlum, trying to take advantage of your feelings. Put down your dagger and come back with us."

"No!" Emma pressed the dagger harder, a trickle of blood seeping from her neck. She glared at Tankred, her voice trembling yet unusually firm, "Eric isn't what you think! He's not some unruly bastard! He used to be the son of a mercenary leader!"