"BANG!"
The clash of metal exploded in the arena.
Fitz staggered violently, losing his balance.
Eric immediately straightened.
The Nail Hammer swung again.
This time, he didn't stop.
The head of the hammer smashed heavily into Fitz's chest.
"BANG!"
The Chain Armor gave a dull thud.
The blow sent Fitz stumbling back several steps.
Then, he fell to one knee.
The arena fell silent.
All eyes were fixed on the scene.
Eric panted heavily as he slowly walked forward, his Nail Hammer hanging from his hand.
Fitz knelt on one knee in the mud.
His Helmet was bowed slightly.
[Defeated Herald Fitz. Nail Hammer Level +1. Strength Level EXP +200. Agility Level EXP +300. Acquired: Thrusting Sword x1.]
For a moment, the entire arena was silent.
Then, the crowd erupted as if ignited.
A tumultuous cheer first broke out from the commoners' seats.
"Good hit!"
"Another one!"
"Knock him down!"
Some waved their hats, some jumped onto the wooden railings, and others raised their wineskins high.
For them, this was a duel that couldn't have been more spectacular.
Mud, blood, and the clash of iron—this was everything they paid to see.
In contrast, the Nobility's section was much quieter. A few Knights exchanged glances.
Some frowned slightly.
Others wore expressions of surprise.
"That strike..." a Lord said in a low voice, "was a counterattack."
"Mm," another person nodded. "And one he learned on the fly."
"Who is that kid?"
No one answered immediately.
Not far away, an old Knight slowly stroked his beard.
"His moves are still crude," he said, "but he's got guts."
The center of the arena.
Eric stood there, Nail Hammer hanging from his hand, his breathing still heavy.
But an unprecedented sense of joy and satisfaction washed over him.
Fitz slowly got to his feet.
He rolled his shoulders.
The spot on his chest where he'd been struck still ached dully, but the Chain Armor and its padding had absorbed most of the force.
He glanced down at the Nail Hammer.
Then he looked back at Eric.
The smile behind his Helmet seemed to grow more pronounced.
"Very good."
He said.
Eric didn't let his guard down.
The Nail Hammer was still clutched in his hand.
"Are you willing to solve this with words now?" Eric asked.
Fitz laughed.
"Young man," he said, "if I had been willing to listen to you from the start, do you think you'd still be standing here? Would you be able to enjoy this applause and praise right now?"
Eric frowned.
Fitz reached up and took off his Helmet, revealing a face that still wore a gentle smile.
"I just wanted to see," he said, "if a Priest from a Monastery was a fraud, or a man with some courage."
Fitz walked forward.
He grabbed Eric's wrist and raised his hand high in the air.
It was a gesture that all but declared a victor.
The next moment—the arena completely erupted.
Cheers swept through the stands like a tidal wave.
People whistled.
People pounded on the wooden railings.
Wineskins were raised, and hats were thrown into the air.
Eric was forced to stand at the center of the uproar.
Fitz turned his head slightly and said in a low voice, "Enjoy this."
He released Eric's hand, that same gentle smile still on his face.
"Not everyone gets the chance to hear so many people cheer for them. And you are one of the few who deserves it."
Eric looked at the cheering crowd. He had to admit, he kind of liked the scene.
But more than that, there was still one thing he had to confirm.
"So, about the market permit..."
"Of course, that's not a problem," Fitz nodded. "I am more than happy to give a Priest respect and honor. In fact, a Priest, as a Prayer, is among the most qualified in England—and indeed the entire Catholic World—to bask in the Lord's mercy.
"A Priest who is a Prayer is just as important as a Noble who is a fighter. Their purpose is the same: to glorify the Lord of Heaven. Young Priest, you are a sufficiently excellent Warrior.
"If you are wise enough—which, for a Priest, is beyond doubt—and pledge your allegiance to a noble lord, your martial prowess will surely make the Knights of Europe tremble. Your story will be sung by Minstrels, becoming an epic remembered by future generations."
Eric didn't need to think to know this "noble lord" was the Earl of Hereford. However, judging from the rumors he'd heard in Xialing these past few days, the Earl was hardly noble at all—though by the standards of the Normans, he was still considered above average.
Because many Normans in England were truly inhuman.
But Fitz didn't seem to give Eric a chance to refuse, directly shoving a badge into his hand.
'It's golden. Could it be made of real gold?'
Eric was already fighting the urge to bite it to check if it was real, automatically filtering Fitz's mumbling in his ear to "Blah, blah, blah~~~."
Afterward, Eric easily defeated another challenger. That challenger was sensible enough to concede defeat automatically, since most people had already assumed this Priest was possessed by Saint George.
Watching Eric's retreating figure, Fitz gestured to two of his Attendants.
"Go investigate this man's background. And send someone to follow him. Just observe him for a bit."
The two Attendants nodded and set off.
Fitz nodded and habitually reached to touch his ring, but his hand froze mid-motion.
He looked down at his two hands.
They were completely bare.
"???"