"What did he propose?"

  "Null priority." Eileen's glacial gaze fixed on the roaring colossus.

  Eberos shot Adam a sidelong glance.

  ……

  "Parth! Your turn!" Hórsal's bark echoed.

  The mercenary rose with creaking leathers. "Foreseen this."

  Adam's tilted visor radiated confusion.

  "Knew my fate when Michael took the field," Parth muttered, twin scimitars unsheathing. "Hórsal's ploy: bait them into deploying foot specialists with Michael's prowess. Now we cannon fodder get our turn. Nobles remain nobles, commoners stay expendable."

  "You think she'll honor the bargain?"

  "If you survive fifty kills? Perhaps."

  At 170 centimeters, Parth seemed doll-sized before the two-meter colossus.

  Caspar's faction erupted in boos, yet the crowd shockingly roared for Parth.

  "PARTH! PARTH! PARTH!" The chant crescendoed, flushing the mercenary's cheeks. He waved awkwardly—many spectators were former clients.

  "Who's this gutter rat?" Count Caspar hissed to his steward.

  "Parth Kaylor, Red Scorpions' captain," came the whispered reply.

  Seventh clash commenced. Parth sprinted toward the colossus.

  The maul's arc would have bisected oxen. Parth vaulted over the giant's helm, scimitars carving twin furrows across collarbones. His landing echoed panther grace.

  The square detonated in frenzy.

  Adam's jaw hinge creaked open.

  "Impressive for a sellsword. Can you replicate that?" the cat whispered.

  "Quadruple Windspell enhancement grants greater speed, but my landing mechanics..." Adam's neck joints whirred in negation. "Structural integrity compromised."

  "Your battle strategy then?"

  "Simpler methodology."

  As the cat sighed, Adam shouldered through the throng toward the keep's armory, ocular lenses scanning for specific implements.

  The colossus staggered under six bleeding gashes, his helmet and chainmail gorget long vanished into the crowd. Yet still he swung the maul with undiminished fury.

  Parth spat crimson onto sand already stained with his own blood. Each breath rasped like bellows in a dying forge.

  "Your mercenaries bleed coin as freely as veins," Caspar sneered. Eileen's marble composure never wavered.

  When the maul's death-blow descended, Parth's boot found the weapon's haft—a dancer's pirouette carried him behind the giant. Twin scimitars flashed.

  The severed head arced skyward, frozen in terminal astonishment. Ten tons of muscle and steel collapsed in a geyser of arterial spray.

  The square's roar shook seagulls from coastal cliffs. Red Scorpions howled primal triumph. Caspar's fist splintered oaken armrests.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Eileen's exhale carried the weight of mortgaged futures.

  "Next challenger!"

  Before Parth could wipe blood from his eyes, the eighth combatant's war cry split the air.

  The next challenger was a huge knight in heavy armor, carrying a big shield and short sword with blue feathers on his helmet. Normally Parth could beat this guy easily, but he was already hurt and worn out from fighting the giant.

  The eighth fight dragged on longer than the seventh. Parth finally won, but got deep cuts on his thigh and shoulder. He could barely stand now.

  When the ninth challenger stepped forward, Parth didn't even look at him. He just threw his swords down.

  "What're you doing?" the referee shouted.

  "Surrendering."

  "You're giving up without fighting?"

  "Since when is preemptive surrender forbidden?"

  The crowd went wild with cheers anyway. Parth waved like a champion and walked off the field, leaving the stunned referee behind.

  Horsal stormed over before Parth could climb the fence. "What's this coward act?"

  "Coward? I just won two fights!" Parth wiped blood off his face with a towel. "And I took out their best fighter. Trust me, they've got nobody tougher left."

  "What happened to a knight's honor?"

  "We're not knights!" Parth grinned. "We're hired help. You paid top coin - you got top value."

  Horsal left fuming. "Where's Adam?" he barked at his men.

  "Dunno. He was here a minute ago."

  The whole town was glued to the tournament—even Caspar's guards. Adam wandered empty castle halls that should've been crawling with soldiers.

  "What're you doing?" the cat asked.

  "Finding better weapons. Can't beat them with just a sword."

  "You're really going through with this?"

  "Got a better idea?"

  "At least let me out! Those fights look deadly—even armor won't save us!"

  Adam popped his visor and pulled out the cat, who looked healthier after resting and eating, though still scrawny.

  Adam drew a glowing circle on the cat's forehead.

  "What's that?"

  "A tracking spell. Lets me find you anywhere."

  "Wow, you really don't trust me..."

  ……

  The tournament dragged on.

  Eileen's 11 knights fought well, and 14 squires held their own. The mercenaries brawled like street fighters.

  Caspar's men looked soft from easy living—only a few were real threats.

  Eileen's side won most matches, but numbers favored Caspar. Fighting drained energy fast—after two wins, even the best warriors slowed down.

  By the 100th round, Eileen's side had four dead, seven badly hurt, five unconscious, and eighteen who surrendered. Only six remained, including Horsal.

  (Not a single mercenary was among the dead.)

  Caspar still had sixty-one fighters.

  "Six against sixty-one... Even if we each win ten rounds, they'd still have one left." Horsal wiped sweat with a bitter smile.

  "Actually seven," Parth chimed in, bandages covering his wounds.

  "Seven?" Horsal counted again—only six around him.

  "Adam's the seventh. Dunno where he wandered off, but he'll show."

  "That white-armored fool begging for a title?"

  "The same."

  Horsal snorted, dismissing Adam.

  Sunset painted the square gold, but the crowd's cheers hadn't dimmed. Food vendors hawked roasted nuts while maids served fighters simple meals.

  Round 101: Eileen's win

  Round 102: Caspar's win

  Round 103: Caspar's streak

  Round 104: Eileen's comeback

  Round 105: Eileen levels the score

  Round 106: Eileen's double streak

  ……

  Night fell completely, torches flaring to life.

  By the 116th round, Caspar had 50 men left. Eileen's side? Only Horsal remained.

  "HA! No need for the final match!" Caspar bellowed. "One against fifty? Even you don't believe that's possible!"

  Eileen sat frozen, silk gloves crumpling in her grip.

  As Horsal moved toward the fence, a shout froze the crowd:

  "Wait!"

  Adam popped out from nowhere, frantically counting Caspar's men: "One, two, three... forty-nine?! Only 49?! I’m late!"

  "Psst...one's already on the field." Parth whispered.

  The crowd parted to reveal Caspar's champion cracking his neck.

  "Perfect fifty!" Adam beamed at confused Horsal. "Mind if I take this? If you fight, we won't hit fifty."

  Before objections came, Adam vaulted into the arena.

  "Foot or mounted combat?"

  The knight eyed Adam's full armor. "Foot combat."

  "Got it. Need to grab my gear."

  "Gear?"

  The crowd craned their necks as Adam scurried off. Murmurs spread—was this knight insane?

  Then horror struck.

  A thunderous crash echoed. Behind the crowd rose an eight-meter-tall iron gate—thirty centimeters thick! The square erupted in panic.

  Eileen's jaw dropped. Count Caspar's eyes nearly popped out—he instantly recognized his own castle's main gate!

  Adam staggered into view, hefting the monstrous slab with chains from the moat's drawbridge wrapped around his torso. Gasps tore through the crowd.

  The black cat sprawled on the battlement dropped its jaw with an audible clack.