Simon has his own plans.
In competitive meetings, group scrimmages are arranged first, and teams with more people are the first to arrange games in group scrimmages.
Currently, the only people participating in the group melee under Simon are Fatty, Miller, Gabriel, and Pedi. Including Simon himself, there are only five people in total. Once someone is injured in a team fight and has to be replaced or plays with an injury in the next game, it will be a huge disadvantage in the battle.
This young Roman boy and his comrades looked very capable, otherwise they would not have survived from the Emirate of Samaria to the slave ship to Provence and then to Simon in Dresden. If they can help Simon in the brutal melee that follows, Simon's chances of winning will definitely increase.
In this way, the list of nine people participating in the group melee in Simon's name was recorded by the clerk on a large parchment filled with the names and number of participating nobles. It is worth mentioning that since Regel only brought his own attendants, the number was too small, so he had no intention of participating in the group melee.
In addition, Simon and Regel both signed up to participate in the single jousting competition. If there is no winner in the immediate duel, it will be moved to a further duel on foot.
"Sire, your team melee competition will be arranged in two days. When the time for single-person competition comes out, we will send someone to post the notice at the entrance of the king's castle. I have to trouble you to ask the servants to pay attention." The young clerk While dipping the ink in the bottle, he raised his head and said respectfully to Simon.
In this way, Simon, Regel and his team took Komnenos and his three comrades back to the inner city of Dresden.
The hotel where Komnenos and the others stayed was not far from the tavern where Simon and his party lived. In the past two days, Simon would take Fatty and the others to get to know each other in the open space outside the city and train together.
………………
Time soon came to the day when Simon competed.
It was a sunny morning, and the sunshine drove away the light hoarfrost on the grass, leaving behind a drop of dew that shone under the light and remained on the surface of the plants.
Many citizens walked towards the crude arena outside the city. The merchants entrusted their wives and apprentices to manage their shops, while the craftsmen simply put down their work and went outside the arena to join in the fun.
When Simon, Regel and Komnenos arrived at the arena together, it was different from the deserted situation when they came to sign up two days ago. At this time, the periphery of the arena was crowded with all kinds of spectators.
There are poor people here who are barefoot and wearing tattered linen clothes, as well as vendors wearing dyed linen robes and pointed slippers. There are mercenaries wearing cotton and leather armor with axes and short swords at their waists, and there are also dusty travelers who have gone through many vicissitudes of life.
People were chattering about the nobles who were about to compete and the recent rumors in the city. Some children were having a great time walking through the legs of adults.
Simon and his party bypassed the smelly civilian spectators and came to the wooden stand where there were only a few soldiers holding royal heraldry flags and nobles sitting here and there.
"I am Simon from Dorsten. I would like to know when my competition will start?" Simon found the clerk holding the parchment with the list of contestants at the edge of the stand.
"Sir, let me have a look," the clerk said, lowering his head and spreading the parchment on the big wooden table, using his fingers to search carefully among the rows of names recorded in Latin, "I found it, Your Majesty. Sir, your match will be held in the afternoon, against Baron Edmund from the Count of Thuringia and eight of his soldiers."
"Very good, thank you." Simon nodded thoughtfully. From this point of view, the morning should be a group melee showdown involving more than ten people.
"Thuringia, Baron Edmund..." Gabriel seemed to have heard of this name somewhere. At this time, he kept reciting it silently, as if digging for some memory in his mind.
"These two distinguished lords, you can sit on the edges of the wooden stands. However, your attendants can only stand on the grass next to the stands." The clerk put away the parchment again, raised his head and faced Simon and Regel said immediately.
So, Simon and Regel dismounted, left their horses to the care of the fat man and the young attendant, and then walked onto the wooden stand and picked a spot on the right edge of the stand.
Simon and Regel chatted in low voices for a while, and not long after, other low-level nobles came to the competition venue one after another and sat on both sides of the stands. At the same time, several teams that were going to participate in the morning competition were warming up in the areas designated for the participating teams on both sides of the arena, putting on armor, checking weapons, and joking with each other with relaxed faces.
"The king has arrived!"
A deep and resonant shout came from the avenue in the distance from the inner city of Dresden to the arena outside the city. Simon and the nobles in the stands couldn't help but stood up and looked towards the avenue in the distance, trying to catch a glimpse. The style of the king of the kingdom.
"What are you waiting for? Bend your knees and salute the king!"
A royal knight wearing exquisite full-body mail and a robe with a royal heraldry rode a beautiful white horse wearing a horse coat with a royal heraldry, galloping on the road, still unaware of both sides of the road. shouted the citizens who stood watching the excitement.
Wherever the royal knight rode, the people standing were like wheat blown down by the strong wind, bowing down in no particular order, lowering their heads and kneeling down on one knee to salute. After Simon and the lower-ranking nobles around him reacted, they also saluted in the direction of the king in the same manner.
Simon raised his head slightly, and his bright eyes looked directly at the king who had walked not far away, and the dukes and bishops following him.
The king has long, somewhat white curly hair, sharp eyes like an eagle, and a tall nose. His goatee was carefully trimmed and looked neat. The king did not wear armor, but wore a bright Tyrian purple robe and a cloak with the royal spear emblem. He rode a strong white horse and marched slowly on the avenue.
The dukes and bishops riding behind the king were equally noble and gorgeous. Simon found two familiar figures among them—Prince Otto, who was following the king, and the bishop of Cologne, who was wearing a white bishop's uniform.
Some soldiers drove aside the civilians blocking the road at the edge of the arena. At the same time, several royal soldiers worked together to push open the movable fence prepared for the king's entrance at the edge of the stands. Afterwards, the king and his party went straight through the fence, rode to the front of the stand, dismounted with the help of their servants, and took their seats in the middle seat of the stand.
There were no fancy opening ceremonies and performances like those of later generations. After the king, distinguished high-ranking nobles and clergy took their seats, the game was about to officially begin.
A fat messenger with a rich face held a roll of parchment, walked to the front of the stand, cleared his throat, and said loudly to the nobles in the stand with his unique rhythmic tone: "I am the royal messenger. Officer Siegfried, on behalf of the respected King Heinrich and the royal family, welcomes you all! Without further ado, ahem, as we all know, in our Germanic tradition, we advocate force and heroes! Here, we A grand tournament will be held soon to select the warriors who are most worthy of respect and love, award them with the prizes prepared by the royal family for warriors, and give them the honor they deserve!"
"Oh oh oh!"
There were loud cheers and screams from the crowd. The simple words of the messenger aroused the most primitive passion in everyone's heart. Whether they were civilians or nobles, everyone imagined that they could become the last warrior standing on the field and enjoy the supreme honor.
"The first game will officially start soon. The two sides are Baron Reginald from the Principality of Franconia and his nineteen elite soldiers..." As he said, the herald pointed to the participating teams on the right side of the field. A group of elite soldiers in the area who were ready to go stretched out their right arms. Suddenly, the spectators from Franconia in the crowd and the nobles of the Principality of Franconia in the stands cheered loudly, and the scene was very lively.
"I have heard of Baron Reginald," Regel whispered into Simon's ear. "His name is enough to scare every Swabian. In the past wars between the Franconian Principality and the Swabian Principality, , the army led by Baron Reginald has never been defeated, and he himself often rushes into the enemy's formation and kills the enemy to the point of being routed. Everyone calls him Reginald the Fierce Bear!"
Simon followed Regier's hand and saw that in the competition team area on the right side of the field, there was a sturdy man with an unruly beard, wearing a long-sleeved chainmail suit and a bright red jacket. The middle-aged man wearing a heraldic robe and holding a beautifully decorated Norman helmet under his arm was waving from a distance to the Duke of Franconia who was sitting in the center of the wooden stand.
"The one facing Baron Reginald is Baron Ernest from the Principality of Bavaria and his nineteen soldiers!" the herald officer said in his unique rhythmic tone, and then turned to the left of the arena. The side team area raised his left arm.
"Oh oh oh!!!"
The audience from the Principality of Bavaria and the admirers who had heard of Ernest's name shouted the loudest, and the louder cheers directly overshadowed the cheers when Baron Reginald appeared just now.
At this time, Baron Ernest, who was the center of the audience, waved to all those who supported him very gracefully.
"My Lord, it's actually Baron Ernest," Regel joined the cheering team without saying a word. When he got tired of shouting, he sat back in his seat in the stand with a flushed face and trembled. He said to Simon, "He is the notorious Ernest of those damn Magyars. Countless Magyars died at the hands of him and his elite cavalry. God, can I see it with my own eyes?" This influential figure in the mouths of countless minstrels makes me so excited that I almost faint!"
It took an unknown amount of time for the wave of cheers to gradually dissipate. Simon looked at the well-equipped private soldiers of the two barons who were eager to try. While looking forward to the next competition between the two teams, Simon was also a little worried. After all, if your team can successfully advance, it will inevitably face one of these two powerful teams.
"Now is not the time to give up. The arrow is already on the string. Even if the King of Heaven comes, I will pull off his beard!" Simon shook his head and encouraged himself secretly.
