The Shadow of Great Britain

481: Chapter 260: The Song of Life (7k2)_2 481: Chapter 260: The Song of Life (7k2)_2 King William IV and a host of important guests all turned their heads to look at the Angelo brothers beside them.

Unexpectedly, the two battle-hardened Swordsmanship Masters were unfazed by the scene.

Young Angelo explained with a smile, “As you can see, Your Majesty, this is the importance of wearing a groin guard in a duel.”

Lionel timely inquired about the opinions of the two experts, “What do you gentlemen think of the quality of this duel?”

Great Angelo stroked his chin and nodded slightly, “I must say, they are fighting quite classically, and the duel is more intense than I imagined.

Although I can’t see their full footwork because of the fog on the stage, just based on what I see now, they are recreating the daily life of Sword Saints from the medieval and Renaissance periods.

The only shortcoming might be that their fighting is overly complicated.”

In another box, Great Dumas laughed heartily and swung a punch into the air, “Damn it, I knew Arthur could handle it!”

Disraeli subconsciously tugged at his trousers; he felt a phantom pain in his lower limb, “That kick was too vicious; I feel like Bertrand is about to fly into the sky.”

Dickens looked at Tennyson beside him with a strange expression, “Alfred, didn’t you just say you wanted to compose a poem?

Where is it?”

Tennyson, who had just begun to feel inspired, was rendered speechless by the scene and simply shook his head as he watched Bertrand on stage, who seemed about to faint.

Heine, seeing this, rolled his eyes, “What’s so difficult about that?

Watch me.”

He cleared his throat and began to recite unbidden, “Ah!

Dearest one, can you tell me why roses are so pale?

Why do the crisp violets in the orchard wither?

Why does the lark in the sky sing so mournfully?

Why does the loveliest flower bloom with the scent of death?

Why do I waste away day by day?

Ah!

My dearest one, why must you leave me?”

Upon hearing this, everyone was deeply moved and couldn’t help but look at Heine with respect.

Tennyson, also a poet, was stunned for a while before commenting, “This…

this is truly turning decay into magic.”

Great Dumas even grabbed both of Heine’s hands, “Heinrich, did you write this just now, or was it prepared in advance?”

Heine shrugged and said, “I wrote it before; it was originally a love poem.

But I thought it fit quite well here too, at least to explain why the female protagonist would leave me.

Of course, I didn’t mean to express that; I meant that I don’t have a problem in that regard.

Mister Bertrand is just an exception.”

Meanwhile, taking advantage of the time the audience spent commenting, Arthur and Bertrand on the duel stage also recovered.

The two protagonists got up from the ground.

Bertrand looked at the foil lying on the ground, intending to pick it up, when he saw Arthur grip the Longsword hilt and hurl it towards him in the posture of a javelin throw.

As a Sword Saint-level Master, Bertrand was naturally prepared for this, knowing that the Fiore Style hid such a technique known as ‘Sky-soaring Fairy’ with a lethal range exceeding ten meters.

Bertrand rolled to avoid the English Shortsword, which could pierce through three adults, and with a loud bang, the sword plunged into a mahogany wardrobe set below the stage like lightning.

It was then that the audience noticed the inconspicuous cabinet placed under the stage.

Before they could guess what the purpose of this cabinet was, Bertrand had already rushed ahead, flinging open the wardrobe.

Immediately after, he was seen holding a flail mace in his hand.

Just as he was about to return to the stage to continue the fight, he noticed that Arthur on the west side of the stage had also taken out two pickaxes from his weapon cabinet and was preparing to storm the stage.

“Ah?!”

Bertrand, sweating profusely, quickly discarded the mace aside and took out a Tarlov greatsword from the weapon cabinet.

But seeing that Arthur had changed his weapon, Bertrand also threw aside the greatsword.

Before the audience could express their dissatisfaction with the contestants’ armaments with boos, Bertrand selected his ultimate weapon, a poleaxe, from his arsenal.

However, when Bertrand picked up the poleaxe and rushed back to the stage, he realized that a baffling fog had risen on the stage, with a massive amount of liquid carbon dioxide crazily absorbing the heat from the air, causing the temperature of the Astley Theatre stage to drop several degrees.

Gentlemen tightened their coats, and ladies redraped the shawls that they had previously removed due to the heat.

As for Bertrand on the duel platform, the sweat on his gloves and clothes had already frozen, forming a layer of thin frost.

In the glow of the torches, his entire person shimmered, looking as if he were wearing armor studded with diamond fragments.

Arthur, who had just ascended with a 70-inch Devil’s Trident, had now disappeared without a trace; during the moment Bertrand turned to retrieve his weapon, Arthur had already concealed himself in the fog.

Bertrand looked around the stage, not daring to make any rash moves.

The poleaxe’s large size gave him the advantage in reach, but also limited his mobility.

At a time when he couldn’t determine his opponent’s location, making the first move would be tantamount to exposing his vulnerabilities to the enemy.