Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Peter laughed. Not a fake laugh, but a genuine laugh that he found funny.

"A bastard?" he repeated the word, then turned to his men. "Did you hear that? The Earl said I'm a bastard."

Conrad was the first to laugh, a mocking laugh. Then came Carter the tomcat, who laughed so hard he nearly fell off his horse. Tom, Jerry, Klaus, and his soldiers all laughed, their laughter devoid of shame, only filled with scorn.

The count was stunned. The scene he had expected did not unfold—the bastard should have panicked, his men should have wavered, and the villagers should have whispered among themselves. But the reality was quite the opposite.

"He's a fraud! He's not a knight at all! He's just the bastard son of Count Sedras, a commoner! Do you hear me? A commoner!"

Count von Borgh thought that no one had heard him clearly, so he repeated it loudly.

"My lord," Brother Martin spoke gently, but his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, "a person's nobility is not determined by his birth, but by his deeds. Was not our Jesus Christ also the son of a carpenter?"

This statement prompted some villagers to make the sign of the cross.

Conrad, Tom the Cat, Tom, Jerry, Klaus, and the guards were all die-hard fans who had received Peter's divine blessing and personally experienced divine power; Von Polgar's words had absolutely no effect on them.

The surrounding villagers also came to their senses. Regardless of Peter's identity, he was a powerful figure who had fought his way up to control the military. Whether he was a noble knight or a bandit baron, to them he was a figure of high status, and there was no difference.

Moreover, this territory originally belonged to the Saïdrai family, and was bought by von Polgar seven years ago. It wouldn't be bad if it could return to the Saïdrai family's control!

Henry, who was peeking from the tavern courtyard, glanced at Peter a few more times, thinking to himself, "No wonder I felt a connection with him and wanted to get close to him; it turns out we're both illegitimate children."

However, he is much stronger than me. He is now a powerful figure in his own right, while I am still just a knight's squire.

Thinking of this, he glanced at Hans, the young master, beside him.

Young Master Hans, standing nearby, glared at von Polgar, his eyes blazing with fury. "That damned fellow! He's been in the castle the whole time, pretending not to be there, leaving us to suffer this excrement attack! He has absolutely no noble honor!"

"Don't be impulsive, young master." Henry hurriedly pulled Hans back from rushing out. "We still have tasks assigned to us by Radji and Lord Hannah. Stay calm!"

The other four guards held Hans back, which prevented the young master from making a scene. Now, with the Red Griffin Peter and the Flying Fish von Polgar locked in a stalemate, their small force was simply insufficient to handle the situation.

The center where the two powers confront each other.

Peter stepped forward, walked to the edge of the execution platform, and looked down at the count not far away: "Lord Otto, you hid in the castle like a rat in the gutter, secretly observing and waiting for your chance. Now you finally dare to come out? Is it because I have damaged your dignity as a lord?"

The count's face flushed red: "You—"

"Or is it because," Peter continued, his voice growing louder, "that you've discovered your people are no longer afraid? That in the land you've ruled with fear for seven years, someone has finally dared to stand up and say 'no'?"

"Insolence!" roared Thomas, the captain of the guards beside the count, drawing his sword and pleading loyally with the count, "My lord, give the order! Let us kill the Red Griffin here, so he can never utter another word of arrogance!"

Almost simultaneously, Tom and Jerry nocked their arrows and drew their bows, aiming the arrows at the captain's face. Klaus's Fourth Squad quickly formed a defensive wall, fifteen shields forming a barrier, with spears protruding from the gaps.

The atmosphere instantly became extremely tense.

The villagers began to back away, the mother pulled her child behind her, and the man gripped whatever "weapons" he could find—hoes, sickles, and even wooden sticks.

The loyal Thomas continued shouting, "Sir, stop wasting time talking to them! These bandits should all be hanged!"

The Earl raised his hand, stopping Captain Thomas's impulsive act. He admired Thomas's loyalty, but the old wolf's eyes were fixed on Peter, his gaze calculating and weighing his options.

He saw the Red Griffin soldiers' eyes were resolute, their fighting spirit palpable. In contrast, his own guards, apart from the loyal, brave, and fearless Thomas, all had shifty eyes, and some even subconsciously took a half-step back.

He also saw the villagers. Those farmers, who were usually so meek and obedient, now looked at him with eyes that held not only fear, but also… something else. Was it resentment? Was it anticipation? Was it something stirring within him?

This is bad.

The count took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. His vassals were assembling troops in Prague, and if they could delay for another seven days, the army would arrive. At that time, facing an army of hundreds of heavily armored warriors and dozens of cavalrymen, this rabble would be nothing more than lambs to the slaughter.

But now, he needs a way out.

"Bastard," the count said slowly, trying to regain control of the situation, "you have bewitched my people, occupied my villages, and now you are spreading rumors here. But I am a just lord, and I will give you a chance—to resolve this as a knight."

Peter raised an eyebrow: "The Knights' way?"

"A duel," said the Count. "You send your best warrior, and I'll send mine. The victor will decide the outcome today. What do you say, are you ready?"

A buzz of discussion arose from the crowd. Duel—this was how nobles resolved disputes, a glorious and ancient custom.

Peter pondered for a moment, glanced at the crowd besieging the city, and nodded, saying, "If it's just about deciding 'today's outcome,' that's fine, but it's too boring. How about this: if my men win, you and your guards will retreat to the castle and not step out of it for seven days."

"What if your people lose?"

"If I lose, I'll release your captured good-for-nothing son."

The count quickly calculated. Seven days was exactly the time he had estimated for his vassal troops to arrive. This guy even foresaw that? What a terrifying young man! However, while a seven-day confinement was humiliating, it was acceptable. And if he won, he could get his son back without losing a single soldier and restore his prestige.

"Deal." The Count nodded. "Black Bartosh!"

A lithe man stepped forward beside him. He was six feet five inches tall, with a lithe build, and wore armor that allowed for easy movement. Most striking were the two swords at his waist: a slender knight's longsword and a finely crafted short sword, Baserade. He wore a veiled helmet, which he opened to reveal a handsome face.

"Black Bartosh, the Prague swordsmanship master and my personal bodyguard," the count's voice rang with pride, "has defeated seventeen opponents in one-on-one duels. And your man, bastard?"

Bartos, a student of the Italian Fiore school of swordsmanship, was renowned for his elegant, precise, and dazzling swordsmanship. Because he preferred to wear black armor and had a bronze complexion typical of Italians, he was commonly known as Black Bartos.

Peter looked behind him. The tomcat was about to step forward, but Conrad stopped him, saying, "Sir, let me do it. I have a grudge to settle with this swordsmanship master."

Peter nodded in agreement.

The people around automatically stepped back, leaving a large circle for the two to duel.

"I recognize you, Lone Wolf Conrad, a punitive knight of the Red Star Cross."

Black Bartosh laughed, "I didn't expect you to end up as a robber here, but you're nothing more than a defeated opponent of mine. Two years ago in Prague Square, I broke your sword and won your armor. What, want to lose again today?"

"Today is different from the past."

Lone Wolf Conrad replied with a cold, hard look in his eyes, then silently pulled down his mask and drew his steel sword.

"Haha, I hope so, otherwise I'll take your sword this time." Black Bartosh laughed, very confident in his swordsmanship. Moreover, he was younger than Conrad, and his swordsmanship had improved much faster in the past two years; he was confident he wouldn't lose.

The crowd erupted in commotion. It turned out that the two had a grudge against each other, and that they were old enemies reunited.

Conrad said in a deep voice, "I used to use that lost armor to remind myself to practice my swordsmanship diligently, hoping to win back honor when I met you again. But now I've forgotten about it."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because back then I still believed in the maxims inscribed on the Knights' armor." Conrad assumed a fighting stance, "believing in what they said: Truth is carried on our shoulders, justice is etched in our hearts. Unfortunately, they have long since become corrupt, merely paying lip service to truth and justice. Now, I only wield my sword for Lord Peter."

Black Bartosh was silent for a moment, then said, "I also noticed the fire at the Knights' headquarters. It's very regrettable that such a tragic thing happened..."

"That's enough of the reminiscing, let's get started," Feng Boer urged.