xymnovel Chapter 88 Give it a smack.
Chapter 88 Give it a smack.
Chapter 88 Give it a good whack
Roger casually moved the pottery jar aside, leaving the hand grasping at nothing.
The man withdrew his hand, his eyes fixed on the empty wine glass he was toying with. "I just arrived today. I heard that a very famous guy surrendered to an old man who was about to die during the martial arts tournament."
"I'm a very curious person, and I want to learn how this coward shamelessly managed to get a knighthood. After I learn it, I'll also knight my hunting dog." The squire behind the man laughed wildly upon hearing this.
This guy is obviously here to cause trouble. Even Marne has his hand on his waist, just waiting for Roger's order to draw his sword.
The other party was clearly trying to provoke him, so Roger suppressed his anger and pointed to the emblem on the man's chest. "You don't need to learn, sir. Your family has always knighted wild dogs."
A burst of laughter immediately erupted in the hall. The man had shot himself in the foot, and his ugly, scarred face instantly turned red.
He jumped to his feet, pointed at Roger's nose, and cursed, "Bastard, how dare you insult my family!"
"Arise, I challenge you to a duel!"
Roger glanced up at his opponent; the man's head and physique were indeed quite robust. Roger wasn't confident he could win.
"What? Scared? You can admit defeat to me now and then kneel down to wipe my boots." The man probably didn't really intend to duel Roger; he just wanted to humiliate him.
Roger could easily admit defeat to Sir Gildonian without a care, but admitting defeat in public to someone who had repeatedly hurled insults at him was simply not his style.
"My lord, is a piece of trash worth your personal attention? Let me teach him a lesson." Olaf drew his knight's sword from his waist.
The man spat a glob of phlegm onto the table and said disdainfully, "What right does a dog have to duel me?"
This was suicidal, and Roger wasn't going to let it go.
"Fine, I accept your provocation," Roger replied, sitting upright at the table without looking up.
The man turned around excitedly and raised his hand, signaling to make room for the two to duel.
The moment the man turned around, Roger suddenly sprang up, wielding the pottery jar in his right hand and smashing it hard against the back of the man's head, sending him flying through the partition of the VIP seating area and crashing to the ground.
Roger jumped onto the wooden bench, bent down, and leaped off the wooden table. As he was airborne, his hunting knife was already drawn from its sheath. The moment he landed, he lunged at the fallen man, his left hand slashing towards his face.
The man had just turned around when a heavy punch slammed into his nose. His vision went black, and moments later, a sharp, pungent sensation shot through his mouth and nose, followed by a gush of foul blood.
The people in the hall screamed and made way.
Before the starlight had even faded, the sharp edge of the hunting knife was already pressed against his face, and a look of terror flashed in the man's eyes.
"No, no, no, we can't kill him! We can't kill him!" the startled attendant cried out, his voice trembling with fear.
"He's the Baroness's nephew! Her own nephew! Sir Roger, he mustn't be killed."
Roger held the hunting knife to the man's neck. This was not the time to kill. He also remembered that the hunting dog was the coat of arms of one of Argyle MacDougall's vassals.
This vassal family was the Baroness's maternal family.
"Young Master John, it was Young Master John who asked my master to teach you a lesson. My master had no intention of harming you," the trembling servant quickly explained for his master.
The guy on the ground, his face covered in blood, slowly came to his senses. Although there was anger in his eyes, he dared not retaliate again.
Roger slowly sheathed his hunting knife, then twisted the blade and slammed the hilt into the man's temple again. With a muffled thud, the man was knocked unconscious.
Seeing his master knocked unconscious, the squire knelt down in fear and begged for mercy, saying, "Young Master John only said he wanted to teach you a lesson. We didn't mean to hurt you. Please spare us."
Having vented his anger, Roger stopped arguing. He stood up, rubbed his left hand which had been injured when he hit the man, and ordered the bald man and the ponytail-wearing group who had surrounded him, "While he's asleep, strip him of all his armor and weapons. Since this is a duel, the winner should have the right to the spoils."
The bald man, the ponytail man, and the black dog immediately stepped forward and stripped the still unconscious man of all his armor and weapons.
Roger washed the cut on his left hand with beer and said coldly to the two kneeling squires, "Give us thirty pounds within five days to ransom, or this armor and weapon embroidered with the dog's head emblem will end up on a scrap metal stall near your territory, being sold for a pittance!"
"Did you hear that? Get out of here with your dog owner!" The girl with the ponytail kicked the arrogant lackey who had been bullying her master.
The two henchmen quickly got up, carried the limp "dead dog" out of the Moulin Rouge.
Roger turned to look at the wrecked partition of the private seating area and the shards on the table, and said with a wry smile, "We'll have to pay for this again."
"Alright, let's continue drinking."
It was late at night, and the last banquet at the Baron's Castle had just ended.
In the small study on the second floor of the mansion, Baron John, who had been holding back his anger all night, slapped the pale-faced John hard across the face in a fit of rage. "Foolish! Do you know you almost caused a disaster? If Roger had accidentally killed your cousin, how would I explain it to your uncle!"
John, pale-faced and clutching his swollen cheek, said angrily, "He dares!"
With a slap, Baron John delivered another slap, knocking the pale-faced John to the ground.
John the White-Faced's chicken-faced servant quickly stepped forward, picked him up, and stroked his cheek.
"Your Excellency, this idea was given to Master John by me. I am the one who should be punished." The chicken-faced servant mustered his courage to protect the pale-faced John.
Seeing this, Baron John became even more enraged. He grabbed the wine glass behind him and smashed it at the troublesome servant. Then he roared at the guards beside him, "Beat this rotten-ass bastard fifty times and throw him to the North Island Estate to serve as a servant to the cattle and sheep."
The palace knights quickly ordered two guards to drag Chicken Brother away, and also helped White-faced John up and took him away.
After a while, the knight of the inner court guessed that Baron John's anger had subsided, and quietly pushed open the door to enter. "My lord, Sir Roger is still downstairs waiting to be summoned."
"They're all bastards." Baron John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let him up here."
Roger followed Baron John's inner court knight into the study on the second floor with a sullen face. As he pushed open the door, a muffled cough came out. Baron John, who was sitting in the chair behind the desk, lowered his right hand that was covering his mouth.
"You're really something, you almost killed someone and still had the nerve to attend my entire banquet."
Roger could tell that the other party wasn't very angry, and didn't offer any explanation.
"Last time it was ruthless bandits and pirates, this time it's knights and lords, isn't it time for you, a feudal lord, to be next?" Baron John's voice was deep and serious.
Roger walked to the desk and stood still, replying coldly, "He provoked me, and our duel was between knights, not a violation of the law."
"If you used that ruthlessness in the arena, you wouldn't have become a laughingstock for the Campbell family," Baron John said, taking a money pouch from a drawer and throwing it on the table. "Here are three pounds. Return the stolen weapons and armor to them."
Roger stood firmly without making the slightest movement.
"Did you hear me? Do you even respect me as your uncle?" John's face turned red, and he suddenly coughed violently.
Seeing that the ailing Baron John was still trying his best to manage everything, Roger felt a pang of sympathy, after all, this middle-aged man was still on his side.
"Let him come to the Moulin Rouge to collect it himself tomorrow." With that, Roger turned and left, completely ignoring the bag of ransom money on the table.