Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 981 - 46 Another Hunt (Part 2)
Chapter 981: Chapter 46 Another Hunt (Part 2)
Every word and action in the stands is observed, requiring a constant maintenance of image.
Nobles of medium and small stature, who have no right to sit there, can critique and comment as they please.
Although their view is somewhat inferior, their enjoyment is substantially greater:
“Eh? Is this the last gladiator to enter the arena?”
“Seems like it.”
“What do you mean ‘seems’? Shouldn’t ‘Little Hernan’ be the [Spear-end]? Who’s this blond kid, then?”
“How would I know?!”
While two young nobles from Castile were bickering back and forth, a voice suddenly interjected from behind:
“The blond kid is Earl Harlan, Siegfried.”
The person who interjected was a young man in his mid-twenties, with almond-shaped eyes and a large forehead. He was a tad ugly, but not so much that it left a lasting impression, possessing a face that could be quickly forgotten after a farewell.
As if to compensate for his lackluster appearance, the young man wore an overly ornate and extravagant top hat.
Even by the most ludicrous and libertine standards of the Castilian nobility, that top hat was definitely not something one could wear out in public.
But the young man wore it openly, without a hint of shame.
The young man also sported two carefully groomed mustaches above his upper lip, which framed a smile that bespoke of a cynical and dissolute young master.
The first speaker was quite intrigued, “Siegfried? The real conqueror of the North? I’ve heard that Duke Konggriff is only a namesake, and it was that young man who defeated Karl the Eleventh.”
The other one dismissed it with contempt, “The ‘real conqueror of the North’? Nothing but a golden-haired hound! He only rose to power because of the Emperor’s favor!”
“Can’t help it, an aging Emperor just loves a young and handsome general,” the top-hatted man blurted out carelessly once more: “Counting on fingers, our Emperor is over forty years old… right?”
The two Castilian nobles instantly quieted down and turned their heads together.
Insulting nouveau riche was one thing, but publicly mocking the Emperor was another matter entirely. Not only was the speaker courting death, but even just listening to such talk was dangerous.
“[Old Language] May I ask,” a Castilian noble hesitantly inquired, “[Old Language] who are you?”
The man with the top hat removed his hat courteously, revealing his somewhat sparse hair: “[Old Language] I am Marvey.”
“Marvey? Marvey!” another Castilian noble exclaimed in realization, stuttering a bit, “That… That playwright who insulted the Emperor!”
“Indeed, it is I,” Marvey answered cheerfully, then corrected seriously, “I never insulted the Emperor—I merely spoke some truths.”
…
Meanwhile, in the arena, Siegfried spotted his opponent.
Such a formidable boar, its size nearly catching up to a calf, with two robust and sharp tusks, and its tiny eyes filled with rage and madness.
The attendants guarding the animal pen urged the boar to move forward, but the beast became ferocious, charging at the humans outside the enclosure.
A cry of alarm rose from the women’s spectator stand.
The animal pen shook violently from the impact, causing the attendant on the platform to fall down. Had the base stakes not been firmly planted, the boar might have already broken through the enclosure.
The boar, unfazed by the failure to break open the pen, continued its frenzied ramming.
Suddenly, from the center of the hunting ground, a roar erupted.
“Come on!” Siegfried knocked his greave with the butt of his spear: “I am your opponent!”
The boar turned its head, looking at the knight in the center of the open field.
This wild creature was born in a cave, roamed the forests and swamps, until humans arrived.
Since then, it was chased, captured, imprisoned.
Humans allowed it to live until this day, only to kill it publicly.
And now, it had finally been given a chance to kill a human.
The boar let out a howl of despair and fury and charged viciously at the knight.
Siegfried’s knees exerted a slight force, and Warhorse immediately understood his master’s intent, nimbly leaping diagonally forward, passing by the boar.
In the moment of crossing, Siegfried thrust his lance.
However, the lance only managed to tear open a piece of flesh on the boar’s back, inflicting non-fatal wounds, and the two once again drew distance.
Siegfried rode close to the fence at a measured pace, dark red blood dripping along from the tip of his spear.
The pained boar became even more enraged, its snout exhaling a steamy heat, keeping its eyes on the circling rider, gathering strength.
Outside the hunting field, where Castilian nobility were gathered, some were loudly booing.
Siegfried paid them no mind, regardless of his original intentions, once he set foot in the hunting field, the young knight only wished for victory.
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And he had already figured out the tactics of Castile.
The boar was thick-fleshed and tough-skinned, and since it was low to the ground, it was hard to exert force with a lance.
A reasonable tactic would be to maintain distance, utilize Warhorse’s agility to continuously inflict bleeding wounds on the boar, deplete its stamina, and then find an opportunity to kill it.
But if he chose a conservative tactic, then Harlan’s Siegfried would not be the “real conqueror of the North” who had single-handedly routed the armies of the northern borders!
Siegfried gripped his lance, stabbed forcefully into Warhorse’s ribs, and fearlessly charged straight towards the boar in the center of the hunting field.
The boar, having regained some strength, charged in irritation straight towards Siegfried.
In the Royal Family’s stand, Princess Elizabeth watched the charging knight unwaveringly, unconsciously gripping her father’s sleeve tightly.
The Emperor, the Queen, and Duke Lotaire watched silently, emotionless.
