Freyr listened to their conversation, and a thought suddenly struck him. Smiling, he said, "Is she that pretty? I find her just average, except for those enticing legs."
The knights were stunned. The young master, who had been silent throughout the journey, suddenly spoke in such a startling manner. Wasn't he supposed to be the clueless, quiet fool? It was precisely because they thought he was ignorant that the knights dared to speak so brazenly.
"Oh, aren't you all supposed to be real men?" Freyr laughed heartily, slapping the table. "She's just a girl. Look at you, clearly interested but only daring to whisper behind her back. How about this: whoever dares to chat her up, I'll reward him with ten silver coins!"
The knights burst into laughter. Though the young master had fallen out of favor and his words were a bit crude, his tone resonated with them. One bold knight immediately stood up, grinning. "Young master, I won't be polite about your reward!"
With that, he strode over and slapped the table, shouting at the girl, "Hey, beauty, how about a drink on me?"
The girl's eyes widened in surprise. Just as she was about to stand up, her companions held her back. The Wizard nearby leaned in to whisper something to the girl, likely to avoid causing trouble with a noble.
Seeing no reaction from the girl, the knight scratched his head. Suddenly, Freyr stood up, whistled toward the corner, and flipped his middle finger.
The knights were stunned! How could the noble young master, the Count's eldest son, behave so crudely?
Before they could react, the girl hurled a large mug at Freyr. The knight in front of Freyr swiftly leaped up, deflecting the mug with his arm. Beer splashed everywhere, even wetting Freyr's sleeve a bit.
The knights were instantly furious. Drawing their swords, they charged toward the corner. The girl drew her scimitar, and as soon as the two sides met, they started brawling.
The tavern descended into chaos. The timid fled, while the braver ones hid at a distance to watch.
The burly warrior alone faced the onslaught of five or six knights. Initially, both sides held back, especially the adventurers, who were cautioned by the grey-robed Wizard not to strike too hard. However, once the warrior took a punch to the nose, breaking it, he could no longer hold back. He swung his shield, sending a knight flying into the bar, shattering it.
The knights then ganged up on the warrior, soon inflicting several wounds on him.
The archer was in the worst shape. Archers excel at long-range combat, but in this confined space, he couldn't use his longbow and had to rely on a dagger, soon being overpowered.
The beautiful girl, although skilled, saw her companions faltering. She glanced at Freyr, obviously the leader of his group, and charged at him without hesitation.
The family's guardian knights were dutiful. Even in the chaos, they didn't forget their duty. As soon as the long-legged girl moved, a knight threw a table at her, causing her to stumble. Another knight followed with a sword strike that pierced her leather armor. However, the armor was magically enhanced, emitting a white light that deflected the blade, leaving her unharmed.
Seeing the girl get stabbed, the Wizard, who had been staying out of the fray, grew somber. He stood, raising his hands high, his fingers drawing symbols rapidly while chanting an incantation. A faint ring of light emanated from his fingers.
Suddenly, the fighting knights felt a heavy pressure, their movements slowing, and their swords becoming much heavier!
This shift placed them at a disadvantage, and several knights were quickly injured.
Freyr watched from a distance, his eyes shining with excitement. Slow Spell! This was real magic!
As the Wizard continued to retreat, his fingers moved quickly, and Freyr saw a fireball shoot from his fingertips towards the knights. Fortunately, one knight was skilled enough to slice the fireball apart, but sparks flew, setting small fires around the tavern. This turn of events immediately nullified the knights' earlier advantage. Despite outnumbering their opponents twenty to four, they barely managed to hold their ground.
Freyr felt something was off. This Wizard had cast seven or eight fireball spells in quick succession! Although Freyr didn't know the exact capabilities of a Gray-robed Wizard, casting so many fireballs continuously was clearly beyond the ability of a low-level Wizard.
Moreover, Freyr observed that the Wizard almost never chanted. Each time, he merely raised his hand and a fireball would shoot out at an astonishing speed! Such a display of power far exceeded what a Gray-robed Wizard should possess.
Freyr recalled from his magic books that Wizards excelled at long-range attacks but were extremely weak in close combat. Seeing that the Wizard had no warrior to guard him in the midst of the chaotic battle, Freyr grabbed a bottle and hurled it at him.
While Wizards could cast powerful spells, their close combat skills were indeed weak. The bottle forced the Wizard to dodge awkwardly, smashing against the wall and sending shards flying, which cut his face. As the Wizard clutched his face in pain, Freyr quickly lunged, grabbing his neck and tackling him to the ground.
Freyr's strategy was correct, but he had overlooked his own strength. At thirteen, he was a frail boy with limited power. Though the Wizard was weak in close combat, he was still an adult and easily overpowered the young Freyr, pinning him down. Just as Freyr was about to cry out, he heard a loud thud! The Wizard's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed unconscious.
Freyr pushed the Wizard off him and saw his loyal servant Focker standing there, panicked, holding a wooden table leg.