As dusk fell, Baron Otto returned to the inn after his visit.
"Today went fairly well, though it cost us dearly, but at least the bishop agreed to issue the letter of introduction," Baron Otto thought, a deep sense of distaste rising as he remembered the bishop's greedy face. But then he glanced at the letter in his hand, and those unpleasant feelings were pushed aside. "Eve, your sins will be redeemed, and the three of us will meet again in heaven."
Baron Otto paused and wondered, "I wonder what little Mike Bai is up to today." With that, he walked into the inn's main hall.
"Little Mike Bai, I'm your favorite Uncle William, aren't I? Can you really bear to see me without even a mug of ale?"
"Mike Bai, are you thirsty? How about a pint of ale?"
"Mike Bai, you must be tired from standing all day, let me massage your legs."
As soon as Baron Otto entered, he saw Mike Bai sitting in the center of the hall with a blank expression. In front of him was a deflated coin pouch, and beside him, William was hopping around like a sycophant.
"What... happened here?" Baron Otto asked, looking confused at Sir Patrick.
"What else could have happened?" Sir Patrick replied, tossing a bulging coin pouch in the air, the jingling of coins clearly audible. "Gambling ruins people."
"Gambling ruins people!" Mike Bai muttered after taking a sip of the ale William handed him. "Children shouldn't gamble."
"Yes, yes, I shouldn't be gambling," William quickly agreed, his tone excessively servile.
Mike Bai tossed the coin pouch back to William.
With a swift motion, William grabbed it, carefully counted the twelve silver dinars inside, then, after confirming it was correct, started fawning over Mike Bai once more.
"Next time, you must invite Uncle William along!" William said.
Baron Otto shook his head, bewildered. "What on earth is going on here?"
"We went to see a jousting match today," Sir Patrick said as he put away the coin pouch, becoming serious. "There's this knight, William Marshall—he's quite interesting."
Earlier that day, when Mike Bai had placed both Sir Patrick's coin pouch and his own savings on William Marshall, the surrounding crowd was stunned, whispering and speculating about where this reckless spender had come from. Only the betting clerk grinned broadly, confirming the wager and issuing Mike Bai a ticket.
"This is one fat lamb, just need a few more like this!" the clerk thought to himself.
After that, Mike Bai returned to Sir Patrick's side, just as William came back from placing his own bet.
"If you lose, don't come crying to me," William teased with a wicked grin. Mike Bai turned his head away, ignoring him.
At this point, two pages entered the arena, each holding a green flag, signaling the start of the match. The knights, one in red and the other in blue, urged their horses into a gallop.
The sound of the horses' hooves filled the air, and in a few breaths, the dust kicked up by their powerful strides seemed to be tangible. The crowd's excitement reached a fever pitch as the knights charged toward each other.
Under the bright sunlight, the two knights looked like golden warriors. As they neared each other, they aligned their lances, holding them steady with their left hands, using their right hands to balance them.
The two knights finally collided, the blue knight's lance smashing into the red knight's shield, snapping with a loud crack, while the red knight's charge had no effect. The crowd erupted in applause, their cheers deafening.
The blue knight, like a victorious general, raised his broken lance high, enjoying the praise as he rode back to the rest area.
"So, the red knight is useless," William commented with a triumphant grin. "It looks easy, but a knight has to balance his body on a speeding horse and control his lance's aim with his wrist. Without at least a year or two of training, you won't even be able to hit a stationary target, let alone a moving one."
Just then, Sir Patrick interrupted. "Red and blue knights are taking a break now. After changing lances, they'll continue."
From the start of the next round, the red knight was already lagging behind. His old horse struggled to keep pace, while the blue knight accelerated, taking advantage of the red knight's sluggishness. The blue knight charged in and landed a heavy blow to the red knight's ribs.
Again, the crowd cheered as the blue knight raised his lance high, while the red knight limped off, clearly injured.
William turned to Mike Bai. "Do you see that barrier in the middle?"
Mike Bai looked confused, so William continued, "That's to separate the knights. They must hold their shields with their left hand and their lance with their right. This forces them to strike from their weakest direction against the opponent's most protected side."
"Exactly!" William added with a smirk. "You see, the blue knight is pretty good. He can avoid the shield and still hit his target. Though, he's not as good as me. Back in my day, I—"
Mike Bai tuned out, instead asking Sir Patrick, "What's the flag for?"
At that moment, a page inserted a red flag into the blue knight's resting area.
"Points for the joust," Sir Patrick explained. "Each clash that hits the shield scores no points, hitting the body gets one point, and a hit to the helmet scores three. After five rounds, the one with the highest points wins."
"Why's a helmet worth so much?" Mike Bai asked.
"Ha, silly Mike Bai!" William laughed. "The head isn't like a wooden target, it can dodge. And even if you hit it, the curved helmet usually deflects the blow."
"There's another rare situation," Sir Patrick added, his tone serious. "But it's very rare."
As the match resumed, the blue knight gained another point, his attacks growing more brutal and arrogant as he began to taunt his opponent. The red knight, already wounded, trembled under the pressure.
Mike Bai watched, feeling uneasy. "Is this it? Is he really going to lose?"
"No," Sir Patrick said sharply. "The blue knight is pushing his horse too hard. His mount can't keep up with the pace."
The red knight, despite being injured, was still managing to accelerate. He seemed to have calculated his distance carefully, and just as the blue knight aimed for a blow to the head, the red knight suddenly spurred his horse into a desperate lunge, his lance aimed directly at the blue knight's helmet.
There was a deafening crash. The crowd gasped in shock. Both knights were thrown from their horses, but their saddles caught them, preventing them from falling.
The audience was silent as they waited to see who would recover first.
Suddenly, cheers erupted—everyone had seen the blue knight's hand twitch. He seemed to be trying to raise his lance, as he had before, but he collapsed instead. His iron-clad body crashed to the ground with a deafening thud.
The pages rushed to assist, but it was too late. The blue knight's helmet had a massive dent, and the lance had struck him in the throat, knocking him unconscious.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Mike Bai felt something was off as he noticed William's hand stop mid-air. His expression twisted with unease. "Isn't a headshot worth more points?"
Sir Patrick narrowed his eyes. "No, this isn't about points. The red knight's lance struck the blue knight's throat—he's knocked out."
The realization hit Mike Bai. His bet had paid off, but the victory felt hollow as he watched the blue knight's limp form being dragged away.
"Ha!" William laughed, slapping Mike Bai on the back. "Told you, Mike Bai, you should've trusted Uncle William's judgment!"
Mike Bai's face remained stone-cold, but internally, he felt like everything was falling apart. "I'm finished... I've gambled away everything. What now? I'll be lucky if I even get stale bread tomorrow."