The middle-aged man was burly and scruffy, with a cunning look about him. He held a silver coin from the kingdom, lifting it high and then swinging it back and forth, continually calling out to attract passersby to join the challenge.
Gwynnis stopped to watch, curious about the man's strength. He had long wanted to test his own strength. According to his system panel, he now had a strength value of 8, but what exactly did that mean?
He watched as many were lured by the silver coin to take on the challenge. These challengers varied – local farmers, city guards out for fun, traveling mercenaries, and more, all different in age and profession, but sharing a common confidence in their arm strength. Each invested a copper coin in hopes of winning the substantial silver coin.
However, one by one, they were defeated, regretting the loss of their copper coin. This piqued Gwynnis's interest.
Though the man holding the contest was unremarkable in appearance and not overly muscular, he consistently won, which indicated some skill. The man was counting his copper coins with a big grin.
Seeing Gwynnis's eagerness, Rosalyn leaned in and whispered, "Maybe we should leave, this man seems very skilled."
Gwynnis turned and smiled, "Do you think I'll lose?"
Rosalyn hesitated, then nodded. "You're not the brute strength type. Purely in terms of physical power, it's not your strong suit. There's no need to force it."
She tried to pull Gwynnis away, but he shook off her hand and sat down at the table.
He tossed a copper coin and said, "Let's go!"
The middle-aged man, smiling broadly, quickly pocketed the coin and got ready.
"Go!"
Their hands clasped together, they adjusted their breathing, preparing to start. The previous losers gathered around, speculating on who would win. Some, still smarting from their losses, hoped Gwynnis would redeem them, while others wanted him to lose for their own consolation.
"3…2…1!"
As the countdown ended, the contest began. Gwynnis exerted his strength suddenly. Though lacking technique, he was serious and used all his might.
Everyone's attention was riveted on the match, and Rosalyn and others grew anxious.
But the middle-aged man was skilled. Facing Gwynnis's strong push, he remained composed, eyes locked on Gwynnis, assessing his strength, preparing to counterattack.
Gwynnis, with his 8 points of strength, was still at a slight disadvantage. His wrist was pushed down a bit, slightly tilted. He needed more strength to maintain the balance.
Honestly, the middle-aged man was secretly surprised. He hadn't expected Gwynnis, not particularly large or muscular, to hold out this long.
The contest turned into an endurance battle.
But gradually, Gwynnis began to lose ground. His hand was increasingly pressed down, reaching a very precarious angle. The onlookers started shaking their heads.
"He's done well to last this long."
"The young man is good, but it's a pity."
"This guy has been winning here for months; I've never seen him lose."
The crowd was abuzz with comments, and some local merchants joined in the excitement. According to them, the middle-aged man defending his position was genuinely skilled, having remained undefeated for several months.
Gwynnis was gritting his teeth with effort. His body tensed, dripping with sweat, he desperately maintained the last bit of angle.
Finally, he resolved to accept defeat. His 8 points of strength were not enough to overcome his opponent.
But what about 9 points?
Yes, he hadn't used the personal points earned from killing those two men from Inverness. While straining to keep from losing, Gwynnis opened his system panel in his mind and allocated the extra skill points to his strength.
9 points of strength.
As the skill points were added, Gwynnis felt a surge of power flowing into his body, his bones even emitting a slight cracking sound. His arm, already at a dangerous angle, was forcefully brought back by the sudden increase in strength.
The spectators were wide-eyed in disbelief.
How was this possible? He was about to lose, and yet he turned it around?
Those who had arm-wrestled knew how hard it was to come back from a nearly table-touching tilt of the arm.
Even the middle-aged man was incredulous, facing such a situation for the first time. He exerted all his strength, veins bulging on his temples, but to no avail. He could only watch as his wrist was pressed down, lower and lower, closer to the table...
Rosalyn held her breath, her lips parting in a surprised smile. She couldn't believe it – Gwynnis might win?
Everyone's attention was fixed on the match, the outcome nearly decided.
However.
Just then, a slender figure darted past, and in the blink of an eye, the pouch hanging from Gwynnis's waist was cut away.
The figure weaved through the crowd and quickly disappeared into an alley off the street.
Gwynnis, shocked, lost focus on the contest. His strength drained away, and his wrist was immediately pressed to the table by the middle-aged man.
The man exhaled a long breath, wiping the sweat off his forehead in relief.
But Gwynnis jumped up in anger, not over the loss of the match, but because the stolen pouch contained Sophia's jewelry. The very jewels he planned to sell in the city to pay off debts were stolen in broad daylight?!
Unbelievable!!
Furious, Gwynnis kicked the chair away and dashed toward the alley where the figure had vanished.
Of all those present, only he and Rosalyn knew what had happened; the others were still lamenting that Gwynnis was about to win but suddenly lost.
Realizing Gwynnis was chasing the thief, Rosalyn immediately reacted. She pointed at the middle-aged man and shouted to the guards behind her, "Catch him!"