Mount & Blade: Rebuilding Rome from Mercenaries

"Thank you for your advice, Your Excellency. I will definitely go. It's time to settle the debt Ralph owes me."

Upon hearing the name of the traitor who had usurped his mercenary group, Tankred answered resolutely. He suppressed the murderous intent in his chest and forced a grateful smile onto his face.

Count Richard laughed heartily, offered a few words of encouragement, and waved for him to leave.

As Tancred stepped out of the council chamber, a cool breeze brushed his face, clearing his head somewhat.

Mefino's banquet is both an opportunity and a risk. Giscard's men will be there, and with all twelve lords gathered, a misstep could drag them into an even bigger vortex.

However, this is the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the Norman aristocratic circles and the best chance for revenge, which Tancred must not miss!

Back at the mercenary camp, Tancred immediately summoned Old John, Bashir, and Young John, and briefly explained the Earl's invitation.

"A banquet? All twelve lords gathered?" Old John stroked his beard, his eyes narrowing. "Little Tankred, this is a big deal. Mefino is the Autel family's stronghold; you'd better be careful there. Those foxes aren't easy to deal with. Especially that guy Giscard, he controls half of the mercenaries in Southern Italy; even Drogon can't completely control him."

Tancred nodded. "I know the risks, Uncle John, but we have reasons to go. It's a personal invitation from the Earl, an opportunity to board his ship. Because of the last betrayal, the Earl has probably lost trust in his father's faction; this is our chance to rise to power. Besides, Ralph will be there; I'll deal with him myself!"

Little John's eyes lit up at the mention of this, his childish face beaming with excitement: "Sir, I want to go too! Let me see those big shots!"

Bashir chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "Since you've summoned me, sir, you must want to take me with you! After all, there are so many nobles and knights at the banquet; there are bound to be plenty of business opportunities. Maybe I can even uncover some money-making ideas. Don't worry, sir, I'll observe carefully and use my brain!"

This Saracen is truly extraordinary! He was right after all.

Tankred glanced at the three and smiled slightly. He had only planned to bring these three along anyway.

Old John is his most trusted old buddy, and his rich experience allows him to offer advice at crucial moments; Little John is his cousin, completely trustworthy, and a promising prospect. This time, he should be taken to broaden his horizons and accelerate his growth; Bashir is quick-witted and full of ideas, and this banquet might actually help him discover new business opportunities and earn more money for the mercenary group. Moreover, this mysterious Saracen seems to have an extraordinary background, and Tancred should observe him closely.

"Alright, the three of you will come with me. The rest of you will stay at the camp and continue training the new recruits. Uncle John, you arrange for Henry to lead the guard duty team and keep watch."

Since joining the mercenary group, Henry and his companions have quickly integrated, and Henry has become Old John's right-hand man.

Three days later, the four of them set off on horseback with the Earl's entourage. The Earl's guard consisted of thirty riders, all elite knights. Tancred rode in the middle of the procession, feeling the horse's sway, but his mind was already on the road ahead.

Mefino wasn't far from Aversa, the route passing through rolling hills and olive groves. Along the way, they encountered several mercenary caravans and knightly orders also heading to the banquet. Normans were naturally warlike, and the sounds of rude laughter, shouts, and duels occasionally rang out between the groups, but overall they remained relatively restrained.

After all, this is a gathering of lords, and no one wants to cause trouble on the road.

A few days later, in the afternoon, the walls of Mefino finally came into view, and Tancred couldn't help but gasp.

The city was far larger than he had imagined: towering stone walls encircled the entire hill, and the city gates were crowded with knights and mercenaries coming and going. The buildings within the city were densely packed, the church bell towers soared high, and the sounds of vendors hawking their wares and horses neighing filled the market. The air was thick with the mixed smells of roasted meat, wine, and horse manure, bustling like a vast marketplace.

"Good heavens, this place is much bigger than Aversa!" Little John exclaimed, his eyes wide. "Sir, look at those towers! The knights' armor is gleaming!"

"Sir, this is the Otwell family's stronghold, it's truly luxurious!" Bashir's eyes lit up as he looked around. "Look at those caravans, once the banquet starts, there will definitely be plenty of business to be done. I need to take a good look around, maybe I can make a connection."

Old John, however, was much more composed, simply reminding them in a low voice, "Don't make a fuss. This is Drogon's territory. The Autel family has been operating here for ten years; they have a solid foundation. Remember, we are the Earl's guests; it's best not to cause trouble!"

Shortly after they entered the city, a cheer suddenly erupted in the street. Tancred looked in the direction of the sound and saw a group of well-equipped Norman knights escorting four men on tall horses slowly approaching down the main road. The knights' armor gleamed, their lances stood proudly, and their shields were uniformly adorned with the coat of arms of the Autherville family—a blue shield with a diagonal checkerboard pattern in silver and crimson.

"Long live Count Drogon!"

The crowd automatically parted to make way, and cheers surged forth like a tidal wave.

Leading the way was Drogon de Hautville. He was about forty years old, with a thick beard, and his grey-blue eyes swept across the crowd with the authority of a leader. He raised his right hand and waved to the cheering Normans, a confident smile on his face. Behind him followed his brother Humphrey, a stocky man with a rather amiable gaze; then came Robert Giscard, his fox-like face bearing its usual cunning; and finally, young Roger, in his early twenties, dashing and spirited, but occasionally glancing at his brothers.

Surrounded by elite knights, the four brothers resembled triumphant heroes. The cheers of the crowd were thunderous, and the knights responded by raising their lances high. Tankred and his companions were also pushed to the side of the road to witness this scene of being surrounded by a huge crowd.

"What a magnificent sight!" Little John murmured, his eyes filled with admiration. "Sir, this is the leader of the Normans! So many people are cheering; they seem like real kings!"

"It's all show and no substance," old John scoffed. "Otwell is indeed powerful, but with great power comes great scrutiny. Which of those cheering knights and mercenaries isn't here for their own gain? But if their interests are truly threatened, these selfish mercenaries will be the first to draw their swords against Otwell."

Tankred smiled but didn't reply. His skill in initiating conversation allowed him to catch more details. Drogon's smile was confident, but there was weariness and helplessness in his eyes; Humphrey's gaze was gentle, but he seemed to be suppressing anger; Robert's sly smile carried a hint of provocation, while Roger frowned from time to time, as if recalling some unpleasant argument.

The four brothers seemed to have just had a heated argument. Beneath their apparent unity, undercurrents were swirling. It appears that the Otwell family is not a monolithic entity after all.

The Count's party quickly checked into the guest rooms at Mefino Castle. The castle was brightly decorated, and servants were busy preparing for the banquet.

The banquet officially began the next day. The twelve lords gathered in the hall, clinking glasses and discussing the Byzantine threat, the Lombard movements, and the Papal States' attitude. Tancred, as the count's attendant, sat quietly at a side table, observing. Giscard was also present, his grey-blue eyes occasionally sweeping over Count Richard with a scrutinizing gaze.

The highlight of the banquet was the jousting tournament. The fences were in place in the square, and the knights were eager to compete. The tournament consisted of three events: foot combat, archery, and horsemanship, each with generous prizes: gold coins, land, and even knighthoods.

"Young man, what event are you planning to participate in?" Count Richard found Tancred and asked with a smile, "Infantry combat is a duel on foot using one-handed or two-handed weapons, archery is a target shooting contest, and horsemanship is a duel of lance charges."

Tankred's heart skipped a beat, and he first asked, "My lord, what did Bloodaxe Ralph participate in?"

The Earl smiled slightly and said, "That's a good question, Tancred. This mercenary, famous for his one-handed axe, has signed up for the horsemanship competition. You didn't expect that, did you? People ridicule him for being a Norman who can't ride a horse or wield a lance, so he's determined to prove himself by participating in the horsemanship competition."

"Then I'll choose riding skills too!" Tankred said without hesitation.

This outcome best matches his expectations.

Horsemanship duels are indeed dangerous, but precisely because the outcome can be decided in an instant, his weaker skill actually gives him a better chance. In foot combat or archery, it all depends on proficiency with one-handed or two-handed weapons and bows, making him easily suppressed by the already renowned Ralph.

But lance charges rely on physique, horsemanship, and long-handled weapons. These are not only his strengths, but he also possesses the specializations of both lancer and agile warhorse. Most importantly, lance duels are decided in a split second and involve a touch of luck.

Tankred had great faith in his luck; after all, he was someone with a system!

Sure enough, as soon as he agreed to the count's request, a system notification immediately appeared before his eyes:

"Ding! You have chosen to participate in the Knights' Tournament - Horsemanship, and have gained the trait [Competitive Warrior (lv1)]."

[Competitive Athlete] (Upgradeable to Lv1): Vitality +1, Constitution +1, Riding Skill +5, Polearm Proficiency +5