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In Westeros, knightly culture revolved around one thing: fighting from horseback. Jousting wasn't just sport—it was the ultimate display of a knight's bloodline, riding skill, fighting ability, and the quality of his warhorse. For the nobility it was the perfect stage to flaunt wealth, status, and power.
A good warhorse in this world was basically a modern supercar. Most commoners would never own a quality mount in their entire lives, let alone receive the elite training needed to fight on one.
Foot combat? That was seen as "the poor man's fight." To the highborn it lacked the ritual, the glory, and the pageantry of the lists. It felt too much like a street brawl between sellswords and peasants—no honor, no ceremony, just two animals clawing at each other to survive.
So the afternoon individual melee wasn't the main event. Most nobles treated it like an appetizer between jousts, something to watch while they drank, placed casual bets, or killed time.
The only time foot fights drew real attention was when a fallen jouster refused to yield and still had fight left in him, or when two famous knights clashed, or during a trial by combat.
Otherwise the crowd was mostly minor lords, smallfolk, freeriders, sellswords, and merchants.
Especially the freeriders and sellswords. They couldn't enter the jousts, so the foot melee was their only chance to show off their skills and maybe catch the eye of some noble house looking for muscle.
Leo stepping into the melee surprised a few people who knew who he was—but it also made perfect sense. Even as a duke's second son, he had no lands of his own. In that way he wasn't much different from the rest of the sellswords and freeriders trying to make a name for themselves.
His ornate Seventh Legion plate drew every eye the moment he arrived. Wherever he walked, the crowd quietly parted like water, giving him and his retainers a clear path.
He picked a random ring—there were dozens of them, all roped off with wooden posts so fighters could challenge each other freely. The winners stayed on until no one else stepped up, then the final victors fought for the championship.
Leo waited patiently while the current pair finished their bout. The moment the winner stood alone, Leo stepped into the ring and signaled he was taking the next challenge.
The freerider from the Reach took one look at Leo's top-tier gear and asked for ten minutes to catch his breath before raising his sword, face tight with focus.
Leo had watched the man fight. His swordwork wasn't bad… but it was nothing compared to what Barristan had been teaching him. Night and day.
He didn't even bother using any system skills. Just pure technique he'd learned over the last two months. Three exchanges later the freerider was flat on his back.
The crowd erupted in cheers and shouts.
Leo got just over 900 EXP for the win.
His guess had been right: the stronger or more famous the opponent, the bigger the payout. The Hound and Balman Byrch had both been named characters with real reputations, so they'd dropped four or five thousand EXP each. This guy was just a decent freerider and still gave more than the bandit boss's 500.
Another challenger stepped up almost immediately. Same result—after a few quick passes Leo sent the man's sword flying and pressed his blade to the guy's throat.
Another 800-plus EXP. His bar now sat at 6,034/9,600. Only about 3,600 points from the next level.
At this rate he'd only need four or five more solid fights.
Coming to the foot melee was the right fucking call!
He made quick work of the first two opponents, and the surrounding crowd kept cheering louder with every victory. It also made the next wave of would-be challengers think twice.
Leo realized he couldn't keep steamrolling everyone in seconds. He needed to pace himself and match the opponent's level, maybe even let a few look competitive.
About ten minutes later a big, burly sellsword shoved through the crowd and entered the ring.
The man carried a one-handed warhammer instead of a sword. Leo frowned slightly—he'd never fought anyone using a hammer before.
Still, the two previous opponents had been at a disadvantage from the start. Their longswords couldn't even scratch his full plate. A good set of armor basically made him untouchable against most of these guys. They were wearing patched leather at best, maybe a few iron plates over vital spots.
A warhammer, though? That was the classic knight-killer. And this guy was huge—almost as tall as Leo—and clearly strong, or he wouldn't have chosen such a heavy weapon.
No problem. Leo's game-enhanced body gave him insane learning speed, and the system made him even better. He was confident he wouldn't lose.
The fight started. The sellsword came in hard and fast, swinging the hammer with huge, whistling arcs. One solid hit and Leo knew he'd feel it.
But Leo's Strength was already at 15. He wasn't giving up an inch in raw power. Their weapons crashed together several times, and both men quickly got a feel for the other's strength.
The hammer guy was strong… but still a notch below Leo. At least 14 points, maybe a little more.
Leo had tested his own strength against Varyn and the rest of his men back at camp—total one-sided domination. He had a pretty good read on what normal men could put out.
This was a real opponent. EXP was probably going to break a thousand. Time to get serious.
After a few more ringing clashes—steel on steel throwing visible sparks—the crowd was losing their minds, screaming and cursing encouragement at both fighters.
Leo had already figured out the man's style. All he needed was one clean [Hamstring] to slow him down, and the fight would be over.
The guy's size and the heavy hammer naturally made him a little slower. Perfect target.
Leo started breathing hard on purpose, selling the act that he was getting tired, waiting for the right opening to trigger [Hamstring]—
Their weapons collided again.
The crowd gasped.
Leo's longsword sheared straight through the warhammer's head. The heavy iron bulb flew off, spinning through the air before slamming into the dirt with a loud thud.