Chapter 17 - 09: Martial Contest (3)

Words : 1864 Updated : Sep 10th, 2025

Chapter 17 of "The Lich of Glory Knight Spirit: Moving towards Krimasha!" introduces: Chapter 17: Chapter 09: Martial Contest (3) "What did he say?" "Nothing," Yilin casually replied, sitting back... Read on to discover!

Chapter 17: Chapter 09: Martial Contest (3) "What did he say?" "Nothing," Yilin casually replied, sitting back in her seat, her expression utterly stoic as she stared at the "giant" roaring in the middle of the arena. Abi Robbs shot Gray a glance from afar. ... "Pas, you're up!" Huoersi yelled. Sighing deeply, Pas rose slowly from his chair, stretching out as he muttered, "Figures." Gray looked at him, puzzled. Glancing at Gray briefly, Pas whispered, "When Mike went up earlier, I already knew I'd be next. It's pretty obvious—Mike excels in foot combat. Huoersi wants the other side to send out their foot combat specialist. That way, they'll choose foot battles, and since most of us mercenaries only specialize in foot combat, it gives us the advantage. But at the same time, he's fine with us being sacrificial. Quite clever, really... Ha ha ha. At the end of the day, even when we fight for the same side—nobles are nobles, and commoners are still commoners." "Do you think if I manage to pull it off, she'll keep her promise?" "Probably... if you actually pull it off." With that, Pas hopped over the fence, drawing two curved blades as he strode toward the middle of the arena. Standing about 1.7 meters tall, Pas was much shorter than Mike. In front of the "giant," he looked like a mere speck. The Count Caspar side began booing while the audience, surprisingly, threw their support behind Pas. "Pas! Pas! Pas! Pas! Pas!" The cheers crescendoed, leaving Pas slightly embarrassed as he waved to the crowd in acknowledgment. Among the crowd, quite a few were his "clients." "Who's he?" Count Caspar quietly tilted his head to ask his steward. "Pas Keller, the leader of the Red Scorpion Mercenary Group," the steward whispered. Count Caspar gave a silent nod, pressing his lips together. The seventh round began, and Pas sprinted at the "giant." The massive hammer swung wide. Pas vaulted high above the "giant's" head, slicing a gash into its shoulder with his curved blade, before landing smoothly. The fluidity of his movements could only be described as masterful. The crowd erupted in deafening applause. Gray's jaw dropped, astonished. "This mercenary commander isn't bad. Could you do that?" Black Cat muttered from beneath its helmet. Gray shook his head, "Not at all. I could stack four layers of Gale Technique and outpace him, but landing without tumbling apart would be impossible." "So what's your plan when you go up?" "I'm thinking of using a simpler approach." "Oh," Black Cat replied blankly. Turning away, Gray squeezed through the crowd toward the main fortress, glancing left and right as though searching for something. In the arena, Pas and the "giant" were locked in a brutal showdown. The "giant" had taken six cuts, its helmet and chainmail gorget blasted off, its body drenched in blood, yet it kept fighting. Pas, after taking a direct hammer blow, spat out blood, and with extreme fatigue gnawing at him, he was gasping for air. "Seems like the mercenaries you've hired aren't much use. Still, they're worth the price, ha ha ha," Count Caspar taunted Yilin. Yilin remained expressionless, silently observing. The "giant," hammer raised, charged at Pas again. Just as everyone assumed Pas was done for, he deftly sidestepped the strike. Exploiting the moment when the hammer hadn't yet been pulled back, Pas stepped onto the giant's hammer, leapt behind him fluidly. The blades flashed. The "giant's" head spun skyward, terror and regret etched in its last expression. Its body thundered to the ground, blood spilling over the sandy floor. The plaza erupted again with euphoric cheers, every spectator clapping with enthusiasm, while the mercenaries screamed hysterically. Count Caspar slammed his fist onto the armrest, too enraged to speak. Yilin exhaled a little. "Next!" Hardly granting Pas a moment's rest, the eighth match began immediately. This time, entering the arena was a burly, heavily-armored knight wielding a large shield and short blade, with blue plumes adorned on his helmet. Normally, this knight wouldn't pose much of a challenge for Pas. However, with injuries sustained and his stamina drained from battling the "giant," it looked dire. The eighth round proved even more intense than the seventh. Pas finally defeated the knight, though his thigh and shoulder took solid hits, leaving him barely able to stand. When the ninth match started, Pas didn't even glance at his opponent, simply tossing aside his curved blades. "What are you doing?" "I'm surrendering." "Surrendering without even fighting?" "Why not? Can't I surrender before the fight starts?" Once again, the crowd burst into cheers. Pas waved his hand like a triumphant soldier, leaving the center of the arena under the dumbfounded gaze of the announcer. "What are you thinking? Surrendering without fighting?" Before Pas could climb over the fence, Huoersi stormed over, furious. "What do you mean, no fighting? I've already won twice, doesn't that count?" Pas laughed, wiping blood from his face with a towel handed by his subordinate. "Besides, one of those victories was against their best foot combatant—cough cough—I'm confident they won't have anyone stronger than him." "What about your knight's honor?" Huoersi was livid. "Are we knights?" Pas winked cheekily, continuing, "We're mercenaries. You pay us, we deliver results. Rest assured, for the high price you paid, you've definitely gotten your money's worth." Frustrated, Huoersi stormed off. "Where's Gray?" Huoersi looked around, noticing Gray was nowhere to be seen. "Dunno, he was just here a moment ago," one subordinate replied nonchalantly. ... The tournament drew the attention of the entire city, including Count Caspar's men. Gray wandered leisurely through the corridors of Count Caspar's fortress, not encountering a single soul—a rarity. "What are you doing?" "Looking for weapons. I'm no match for them with a sword, so I need to find something else." "Are you really sure about entering the tournament?" "What's the alternative?" "Um... can you at least let me out first? Watching the fights feels terrifying. Even being inside the armor doesn't feel safe. I promise I won't escape!" Gray removed his helmet's visor and pulled the Black Cat out. After resting and eating, Black Cat's condition had improved, though it still appeared frail. Gray casually drew a circle, tapping it onto the Black Cat's forehead. "What was that?" "It's a Soul Seal, the same kind Bruto gave me. As long as you're alive in this world, I can always find you." "Oh, looks like you really don't trust me, huh." ... Match after match continued. Yilin's eleven elite knights performed well, while the fourteen knight squires were relatively mediocre—though a few shined. The mercenaries, accustomed to living on the edge of danger, largely held their own. On the other hand, Count Caspar's men struggled overall, likely due to growing complacent during peaceful times, except for a few standouts. In general, Yilin's side won more than they lost. Unfortunately, this advantage was undercut by the enemy's larger numbers. Combat required stamina, particularly the kind of desperate fighting taking place here. After two victories, anyone's speed and strength would naturally deteriorate. By the hundredth match, Yilin's side had already suffered four fatalities, seven critically injured, five unconscious, and eighteen surrenders. Among those still standing, only six remained, including Huoersi. The fatalities, of course, didn't include any mercenaries. Count Caspar's side, however, still had sixty-one people left. "Six against sixty-one... even if each of us wins ten rounds, they'd still have one person left," Huoersi wiped his brow nervously, laughing bitterly. "Actually, we still have seven people." Pas, already bandaged and back to observe the match, spoke in a low voice. "Seven?" Huoersi glanced around but still counted only six. "There's one more—Gray. He's disappeared somewhere. Should return, though." "You mean the guy in the white knight armor who asked Miss Yilin for a knight's title?" "Yeah." Huoersi sneered coldly, dismissing Gray altogether. The sunset bathed the earth with its golden glow. Yet, the crowd's enthusiasm remained undiminished. Vendors with sharp noses had commenced selling various snacks, while Count Caspar's handmaidens delivered simple dinners to the competing sides. 101st match: Yilin wins. 102nd match: Count Caspar wins. 103rd match: Count Caspar wins consecutively. 104th match: Yilin wins. 105th match: Yilin wins consecutively. 106th match: Yilin secures a three-peat. ... Night had fully fallen; torches were now lit. By the 116th match, Count Caspar's side had fifty remaining, while Yilin's side had only Huoersi left. "Ha ha ha ha, there's no need for the final match, is there?" Count Caspar said gleefully to Yilin. "One against fifty in a gauntlet—that doesn't seem plausible even to you, does it?" Yilin sat quietly, unspeaking, her grip on her skirt tightening. Far off, Huoersi glanced at Yilin, took a step to climb over the fence, when suddenly, a voice rang out. "Wait—!" Gray abruptly appeared from seemingly nowhere, ignoring Huoersi, and began counting aloud toward the opposing side. "One, two, three, four, five, six..." Everyone was staring at this peculiar knight, including Yilin, craning her neck curiously. Count Caspar scratched his bald head, utterly baffled. "Forty-nine!? Damn, I'm late! Just one shy of fifty!" "There's another one in the arena..." Just as Gray began fretting, Pas softly reminded him. "Still one more in the arena?" Gray glanced toward the center ring, catching sight of the victorious knight from before staring back at him and cracking his neck with an audible "pop-pop." "Perfect, fifty people!" Relieved, Gray turned to Huoersi, who was staring at him dumbfounded. "Can I go up? If you go, I'm afraid it won't add up to fifty." "You..." "Not saying anything means you agree!" Under everyone's watchful eyes, Gray vaulted over the fence, striding toward the knight in the center ring. "Would it be foot combat or mounted combat?" The knight sized Gray up and, likely seeing his full set of mounted armor, answered, "Foot combat." "All right, I'll go get ready." "Get ready?" Every spectator craned their necks. They watched as Gray, having just shown up, rushed into the arena only to promptly leave again. Just as everyone was convinced that this knight must have a loose screw, something terrifying happened. A massive slab-like door was raised among the crowd at the back. Eight meters tall, thirty centimeters thick—an enormous iron gate! The entire plaza erupted in chaos. Even Yilin was stunned speechless. Count Caspar's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets—he immediately recognized that this was his fortress's main gate! Gray, carrying the massive iron slab, appeared before everyone, wrapped in chains as thick as an arm—chains from Count Caspar's drawbridge. In a wave of gasps, Gray tottered and swayed with the door panel toward the middle of the arena. From far atop the city walls, Black Cat watched in shock, its jaw audibly hitting the floor.

Chapter 17 - 09: Martial Contest (3)

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