I Am the God of Games - Chapter 251
Those words were quite solemn and would have a perfect score in theatricality, there was still an indescribable silliness when it was mouthed from what looked like the flatfish’s gills.
No one could stay serious at that.
Even so, Mufasa’s words still gave Gerald pause.
The young knight knew that he was right.
As the heir of the McCobley family, he was a trusted supporter of the Lancaster Mayor even though he was a knight of the lowest rank amongst nobles. In fact, he might actually hold better authority and privileges compared to barons of remote, impoverished districts.
That was also why he had been trained strictly at a young age, diligently refining his sword skills every day and hence gaining formidable swordcraft and aura before he was independent.
But he had never faced desperation, or a real, cruel fight in the truest sense of the term.
After all, all he did as a knight of the city watch was clean out some bandit lair—even then, Gerald’s men were doing the hard work. It was only after his men had cleared out most of the targets that he would finally come in and defeat the stronger bandits who were mostly fatigued.
As for assassins, they were either weak so that they wouldn’t arouse suspicion with Gerald’s master or too focused on their target to divert attention to someone like Gerald.
His blade had never encountered death, and was therefore stuck at a bottleneck it could never break past or reach its pinnacle.
Though the swordplay in dojos might be captivating, it was an art completed without regard to the rest of the world—it would never be as effective as swordcraft developed on the battlefield when it came to lethal effectiveness.
Besides, as a believer of the God of War, Gerald clearly felt through the clash of blades that Mufasa’s swordcraft contained a fraction of divine grace.
Unlike Gerald’s aura which strengthens him physically and empowers his blade, his opponent had parried every single one of his blows even though the ‘volume’ of divine grace was far less than his!
It was something simply inconceivable for believers of the God of War. After all, the strength of aura, which was the most common form of divine grace from the God of War had always determined the victor!
In the end, Gerald realized something he would never have imagined before: the reason his opponent could parry his blows and restrained the path of his swings was fully dependent on the man’s own skill. The only function of the divine grace that the Flatfish Swordsman possessed was to keep him immune from Gerald’s aura, to stop Gerald from slicing the man’s weapon and kill him while ensuring that they could fight on equal terms.
The might of the Flatfish Swordsman was solely dependent on the swordcraft he cultivated!
And as his opponent, Gerald could feel his aura the most—Flatfish Swordsman wasn’t putting on airs, but he really had been facing death time after time in search of triumph against it, and in the end his swordcraft developed to unbelievable heights!
Gerald couldn’t help being more shocked at the depths of his heart.
Barring deserters, green soldiers who could survive a terrible battle would see that inexperience fade and themselves become up-to-standard. Survive twice and they would be veterans who would definitely make the middle-tiers of an army, thrice and they would be a precious resource in any regiment.
In this world, such veterans would have more right to be granted their patron deity’s blessing.
In comparison, it was not unusual for the silly-looking Flatfish Swordsman who had survived countless near-death situations to develop such monstrous swordcraft!
“Why…”
Gerald’s throat felt dry even as he realized the sheer magnificence of his opponent, knowing then that the Flatfish Swordsman was holding back in their duel—or he would have been instakilled. “Why would a powerful person like you serve an ordinary traveling merchant? How much does he pay you for his services? Lancaster can double it!”
“I’m sorry, but I’m just not interested in serving the whims of nobility.”
Mufasa might have bumblingly agreed in the past since Gerald wasn’t asking that he convert, but that he joins Lancaster as a mercenary.
Even so, after he had witnessed for himself their willful arrogance and contempt, Mufasa no longer saw nobles in a favorable light. That was why he would so determinedly refuse the offer.
He turned to leave the courtyard, although he turned toward the ragged Gerald at the gates while ignoring the stunned looks of the two guards standing on both sides of the gate.
“Another word of advice: Mister Marni Wilf isn’t just some traveling merchant. If I often face death, he is one who gets along with death.”
With that, Mufasa left the courtyard, his last words to Gerald wafting in the wind. “You’re ending yourself if really do provoke him, remember that.”
Meanwhile, Gerald froze where he was, disbelief etched in full over his face.
There was no telling how many times he was left in disbelief on this day, and he could well use up that emotion for the rest of his life.
That traveling merchant who looked so weak as if any bandit would kill him was that impressive?
Gerald returned inside the mayor’s residence dejectedly, but those inside had already known the outcome of the duel after watching from the balcony.
Whether it was because she thought that Gerald had embarrassed her or because Marni wasn’t giving in to her, the noblewoman had a troubled look on her face.
And when he saw Marni’s unfathomable smile, Gerald felt a chill when he remembered the Flatfish Swordsman’s advice.
He hung his head, steel his heard and seethed. “I’ve lost. I will leave the Temple of Glory!”
“Gerald… you should reconsider,” the noblewoman said with a frown.
She then turned to money and spoke pleadingly, “Gerald is still young. Could you forgive his rudeness, Mister Marni?”
“I’m sorry, but the deed has been signed and not even I could break its power. And you would know that us merchants value deeds the most.”
Marni shrugged and replied helplessly. “And you shouldn’t be asking me that—it’s up to the God of War to forgive him.”
