Chapter 17: The Werewolf
'Crack!'
Abelardo, on the ground, caught the blade Lothar thrust down at him with both hands. The plates of his mail gauntlets clamped onto the edge of Lothar's arming sword, preventing it from advancing an inch.
"Good. Very good. You've succeeded in enraging me!"
Just as the spectators in the stands thought the tide was about to turn and Lothar was about to snatch victory from defeat, Abelardo suddenly exerted immense force. His muscles bulged, becoming as hard as granite, and he forcibly threw Lothar, who was mounted on top of him, off. He then immediately scrambled up, intending to retrieve his hand-and-a-half sword, which was stuck in the mud.
But Lothar wasn't about to give him that chance. His formidable stamina allowed him to spring up from the ground quickly. With a powerful shove, he knocked Abelardo sprawling to the side. Lothar gripped his arming sword with one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade tip, aiming to thrust it into the eye slit of Abelardo's great helm.
But his opponent was faster. Abelardo crossed his arms before his chest, blocking the thrust. Then, with a twist of his hands, he gripped Lothar's blade and snapped it in two.
"Get the hell off me!" he roared, his voice raw and desperate.
'Thump—'
Lothar was once again kicked away by Abelardo. Both were now bare-handed. The sound of their breathing beneath their great helms was like the wheezing of bellows.
Lothar noticed that Abelardo's physique had grown even larger than before. His previously loose surcoat was now stretched taut, and though he was somewhat stooped, he still resembled a small giant.
"What in damnation are you?" Lothar's tone was grave.
Abelardo sneered. "Take a guess."
The din from the spectators prevented their conversation on the field from being overheard. Lothar had no intention of shouting out his opponent's true nature either; he had only caught a fleeting glimpse and couldn't be certain what kind of monster Abelardo truly was. Even if he were one hundred percent sure his opponent wasn't human, without proof, he could do nothing to Abelardo and would only make himself look like a fool. Besides, with the current chaos on the field, even if he shouted, no one would hear him clearly.
"What if I surrender?"
Abelardo chuckled lowly. "It's too late. You won't get the chance. The moment you dare to raise your hand to signal, I'll kill you instantly!"
Raising a hand to signal surrender—normally, a simple gesture. But against an opponent like Abelardo, it was tantamount to willingly exposing a fatal weakness. At that point, Abelardo could kill him and claim it was a reflex, an unconscious action. On the tournament field, life and death were decided by fate; no one would blame him for it.
"That's truly unfortunate." Lothar's words were perfunctory. The next moment, his body, like a tightly drawn bowstring suddenly released, shot towards Abelardo's recently lost hand-and-a-half sword.
"That cunning little whelp!" Abelardo cursed inwardly and lunged forward, his heavy iron armor doing nothing to impede his agility. Just as Lothar was about to grasp the hilt of the hand-and-a-half sword, Abelardo seized his calf, pulling him off balance and down to the ground.
As Lothar fell, Abelardo brought his fist down hard on Lothar's leg. Excruciating pain instantly consumed all of Lothar's senses. He bit down hard, forcing himself not to cry out. Kicking out at Abelardo's head to push him away, Lothar managed to grab the hand-and-a-half sword, though Abelardo seemed entirely unconcerned.
He stood opposite Lothar, his tone mocking, "With a crippled leg, how do you plan to fight me now?"
"Heh-heh." A bitter smile touched Lothar's lips. He used the hand-and-a-half sword to support his fractured leg. Then, he looked towards Banu outside the arena.
"This time, my life is in your hands, Banu," he murmured soundlessly. If he had known earlier that Abelardo possessed such terrifying power, he would never have fought so stubbornly. It was only the title of champion knight and a sum of money… he had no intention of becoming a vassal under Count Leopold anyway.
Just as Abelardo thought Lothar was distracted and prepared to circle behind him for an attack, Banu, watching from beyond the railings, her face as if coated with a layer of frost, caused the people around her to subconsciously move away, creating a gap of more than ten meters.
In Lothar's ears, the system's notification sound was like music from heaven.
[Your Affection level with Legendary Retainer Banu has increased to Friendly.]
[First Bond Talent Unlocked: Unbreakable (Immune to all physical damage for the next three seconds.)
[You will share one of your talents with Retainer: Banu.
Given you only have one talent, it defaults to: Twice-Lived (Having merged two souls, you inherently possess twice the spiritual power of an ordinary person. Spirit cap permanently +5).]
Lothar paid no further attention to the system prompts and decisively chose to activate the "Unbreakable" talent.
Abelardo's heavy fists rained down on Lothar, but brought him no pain. His body merely staggered from the immense force before he stood firm again.
"Go down!" Abelardo lunged, knocking the hand-and-a-half sword far from Lothar's grasp and pinning him to the ground.
'Thump, thump, thump—'
The sound of iron fists hitting his body was incessant. Lothar seemed to have completely lost the ability to resist, allowing Abelardo's powerful blows to land on him repeatedly.
Some of the noblewomen in the stands had flushed, excited faces, but more quickly covered their faces, feigning an inability to watch.
"Abelardo is simply too strong! I wonder if he has such prowess in bed?"
"That knight named Lothar is also very skilled. It's just a pity Abelardo is stronger."
"Heavenly Father, this is too cruel! To think the refined Knight Abelardo could be so savage on the battlefield."
Suddenly, Abelardo's body froze. In Lothar's hand, a broken sword tip—his—was thrust from behind into the mail coif protecting Abelardo's neck, which had thinned as he bent his head down.
"Good heavens, what did he do?"
"It's the tip of his arming sword! When did he grab it?"
"This is dishonorable! He killed Abelardo with a trick!"
The crowd in the stands erupted in an uproar.
'Thud.'
Lothar pushed the heavy man off him. He could feel Abelardo's previously bulging body rapidly deflating, as if air were leaking out.
"Heh… heh-heh." A horrifying, scalp-numbing laugh sounded. From the slits of Abelardo's helmet, copious amounts of dark, foamy blood spilled out.
Abelardo's weak, broken voice rasped, "So… you… damn you… you're not human either. Just you wait. Sooner or later… you'll be like me. The Heavenly Father doesn't favor our kind."
Lothar ignored the arguments raging around him. He looked towards Banu, not far away. Her eyes, visible above her veil, remained as cool and distant as the moon. It seemed she hadn't been worried about his safety from start to finish.
'Clank—'
Lothar flipped open the visor of Abelardo's helmet, revealing a horrifying head covered in grey fur, like that of a vicious wolf.
The clamor in the stands died for an instant, then erupted into an even greater tumult.
"My god! Abelardo… is that Abelardo?"
"Heavenly Father above, what did I just see? Abelardo's head… it's a wolf's head!"
"So Abelardo was an evil werewolf! And not a single one of us realized! No wonder his stamina was so incredible!"
"This Lothar… he actually killed a werewolf! That's a legendary monster!"
Count Leopold looked at the witch advisor beside him, his expression filled with doubt and confusion.
The red-robed witch smiled. "Abelardo was indeed a werewolf. But the aura of blood about him wasn't strong, nor was he haunted by vengeful spirits. This proves he was not one to kill indiscriminately."
Leopold said, somewhat annoyed, "Why didn't you tell me beforehand?"
The smile remained on the red-robed witch's face. "Why should I tell you? Is there any disadvantage to you in recruiting a werewolf with formidable combat strength as a subordinate?"
Leopold fell silent. No one noticed this brief exchange. On the tournament field, the terrifying uproar was loud enough to shake the heavens. And the focus of their discussion, Lothar, now staggered and fell to the ground, the fierce battle with Abelardo having completely exhausted all his strength.
***
Evening. In the bathhouse in Lienz.
Lothar let his body float in the water. He recovered quickly; a Stamina value exceeding ten gave him far greater endurance than an ordinary person. The bruises on his body had already faded considerably. Even the worst bruise, on his calf, was much less noticeable now.
Thankfully, he had also been wearing mail chausses on his legs. If he had been one of those impoverished knights wearing mere leg wrappings, his leg bone would likely have snapped.
This bathhouse was said to have been converted from a structure left over from the ancient Roman Empire era, appearing extremely spacious and grand. Incense burned nearby, and a maidservant waited respectfully to the side, her graceful figure vaguely visible behind a thin gauze, ready to serve him at any moment.
This area had once belonged to the Noricum province of the ancient Roman Empire. Though the Empire had fallen, people were still full of longing and admiration for that nation buried in the ruins of history. To this day, the Eastern Roman Empire remained a beacon of civilization.
Successive lords of Lienz had preserved and, on that foundation, renovated this bathhouse. Unfortunately, it had transformed from a public bath into the lord's private property.
The medieval habit of not bathing only arose after the ravages of the Black Death, as some priests believed that bathing would open the pores, making one more susceptible to the devil. Before that, people in the Middle Ages were also quite fond of bathhouses as places that combined socializing and leisure.