The Shadow of Great Britain

479: Chapter 259: The Sinister Sword (4K)_2 479: Chapter 259: The Sinister Sword (4K)_2 King William IV was rather curious, “You mean, this Mr.

Hastings also knows other schools of swordsmanship?”

“Not surprising,” Talleyrand sipped his champagne, “This lad knows over ten different ways to play poker, mastering a handful of swordplay techniques is hardly new.”

Duke Wellington also joked, “At least he must have learned the basic swordsmanship training of Scotland Yard officers.”

Upon hearing this, Lionel added, “Exactly as you said, Arthur had previously told me that he developed his swordsmanship based on what he learned in his police training and his own interests.”

When Angelo heard this, his previously somewhat displeased attitude toward Arthur immediately changed.

The reason being that Angelo’s sword moves were precisely from the basic training manual of Scotland Yard officers.

He complimented, “Is that so?

This young man must be quite diligent.”

King William IV also laughed and said, “The way you all talk about it, I’m really looking forward to it.

What techniques will he use?”

And just as everyone was guessing, suddenly, thick white smoke began to spread from the stage.

In an instant, the fog covered everything below Arthur’s shins.

Amid exclamations, he was seen dragging the 48-inch long English shortsword behind him, the blade pointing forward, while the tip disappeared into the fog, presenting his figure and sword in a perfect forty-five degree angle.

“Long Tail Stance?

Isn’t this young man joking?”

“Well, I must say, it indeed resembles the style of a Fiore Style swordsman; this young man doesn’t take Bertrand seriously at all!”

“It seems he is extremely confident in his footwork!

Using the Long Tail Stance to open the middle directly, tempting Bertrand to attack.

I must say, once this move is made, it indeed tends to get into one’s head, especially for a swordsmanship expert.

If Bertrand doesn’t attack under this circumstance, it’s like letting this young man step on his face.”

While everyone’s discussion hadn’t completely faded, suddenly, everyone heard a low, hoarse, and magnetic voice coming from beneath Arthur’s mask, almost like a church choir chanting hymns.

“Young knight, heed my teachings.

Honored lady, fear your God.

Thus, your reputation will grow.

Live by the knightly virtues, refine your skills.

Let your noble art of dueling,

Bring you honor in the wars.

Become the finest gladiator in a duel.

Longspear, lance, longsword, and heavy hammer,

Be brave and calm with whatever weapon,

Then grind them into dust in duels after duels.

Advance, press heavily, every action measured,

Charge, strike.

Or, despise his feeble martial arts.

This is why, wise swordsmen,

Are so respected and draw envy from thousands.

As I say, you must master:

All arts have length, measure,

This is the guideline, common to longsword…

As Arthur recited this, supported by the liquid CO2 procured from Mr.

Faraday, the already dense fog rose and churned behind him, with the massive smoke enveloping up to the height of three storeys.

In the glow of the lights, Arthur’s figure was almost entirely enveloped by the white fog, and everyone could only see a blurred silhouette lurking within the mist, unable to discern his movements any longer.

Inside the royal box, both young and old Angelo, seeing this scene, even two masters could not help but marvel at it.

“I didn’t expect it!

Really, I didn’t!”

King William IV couldn’t help but ask, “What was that poem just now?

It didn’t sound like English to me, nor French, but rather like German.”

Young Angelo slightly bowed and complimented, “Your Majesty, you indeed have a discerning eye.

As you said, the poem Mr.

Hastings just recited was indeed in German, not only in German, but also in medieval old German—the martial poetry—’Zettel’!”

“‘Zettel’?” King William IV exclaimed in surprise, “So that was the famous ‘Zettel’?

In that case, what sword moves was this Scotland Yard lad using today?”

Young Angelo nodded with a smile, “Exactly, Your Majesty, you must have guessed it already.”

Bertrand scanned the stage ahead, where visibility was very low; his gaze searched everywhere, yet he dared not make any rash moves.

However, amid the audience’s jeers and boos, Bertrand was finally compelled to move.

He shifted his foot forward and then suddenly lunged forward, executing a clean and sharp lunge with his sword.

Almost simultaneously, a dark gaping hole tore through the dense fog in front of him; a 48-inch English shortsword shot up like a moon reflected in the sea, deflecting Bertrand’s sword and causing him to slightly lose his balance.

However, before he could steady himself, Arthur’s off-hand had already reached his face in a flash.

Suddenly, the blower machine hidden beneath the stage whirred into action, blowing a fierce wind from specially reserved gaps in the bricks, scattering the thick smoke on the stage all at once, and nearly all the viewers instantly fixed their eyes on this classic scene that could have been a freeze-frame painting.

A foil locked in struggle with the English shortsword in mid-air, while Arthur’s off-hand fist was an inch away from Bertrand’s throat.

The Paris Sword Saint broke into a cold sweat on his forehead, at the brink of being defeated, when he firmly locked Arthur’s arm with his left arm.

Bertrand fiercely kicked Arthur’s chest, the mutual force pushing both men back to their positions before the strike.

Bertrand, with his foil propped in the brick seam, was half-kneeling, breathing heavily.

From the large sweat beads on his forehead, it was clear that, even though it was a performance, it took a lot of effort for the Paris Sword Saint to properly catch that move.

This complex stage environment was no longer simply comparable to a plain dueling platform.

Bertrand, looking at Arthur, muttered with a strained smile, “Had I known, I wouldn’t have taken this job.

The risks are indeed a bit high.”

Nobody could see the expression beneath Arthur’s mask, but Bertrand knew he must be smiling, “Mr.

Bertrand, it’s too late to regret now.

You’ve taken the money, now just play along with me in this act.

At most, I’ll add a bit more to your bonus.”

Upon hearing this, and after resting for a moment, the Paris Sword Saint stood up again, loosened his arms and neck, “It seems I really need to bring out some real skills today.”

Arthur also lifted his sword tip, switching from Long Tail Stance to Bull Stance, “Pleasure working with you, Mr.

Bertrand.”

The audience stands were still suffused with thin mist, and amidst the hazy night, the audience, still silent from the shocking scene, heard someone shout, “Is that Mist Swordsman from Germany, using German Longsword Ancient Martial Arts, Lichtennauer style?!”

Arthur, hearing this shout, just smiled and nodded at the shouting spectator, “Sir, it’s not only swift; there are also moves from German martial arts.

As everyone knows, swordsmanship concerns versatility.”

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, the audience erupted into roaring cheers.

In the box, both young and old Angelo were also smiling and clapping, “A pragmatic young man; he knows that swift fencing won’t work against a foil.

Switching to longsword techniques is also a smart move, Your Majesty, as you can see, this is indeed Lichtennauer style.”

Meanwhile, Bertrand, across from Arthur, opened his dueling coat, revealing three genuine French shortswords hanging on his belt.

Bertrand spoke loudly, “You’re right, swordsmanship needs switching up.”

“Three swords?” Arthur asked with a smile, “Are you going to use Four Sword Style?”

“What do you think…

Engarde!”

In the blink of an eye, three shortswords were thrown, reaching nearly before Arthur’s eyes!