The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 480 - 480 260 Song of Life 7k2

480: Chapter 260: Song of Life (7k2) 480: Chapter 260: Song of Life (7k2) Three short-hilted sword blades flew towards Arthur.

Taking advantage of Arthur dodging, Bertrand switched from defense to attack, closing the distance rapidly with his steps.

His arm, stretching like a branch, thrust forward, and the fencing foil, nearly merging with his arm, reached close to Arthur’s throat.

However, as any Fiore Style swordsman would do in a life-threatening situation, Arthur almost subconsciously grabbed Bertrand’s slender foil tightly with his hand, his white gloves instantly slashed open by the blade, revealing a series of iron chain links hidden beneath the glove.

Those were the cut-resistant chain mail gloves he had specially ordered for today’s duel, coupled with Fiore’s unique trembling grappling technique, which was the best way to counter the thrusting prowess of the French foil.

Arthur held onto the blade tightly, restricting Bertrand’s movement, and in the blink of an eye, he shifted from the Long Tail Stance to the Bull Stance, his sword’s edge moving horizontally with a whistling sound and the force of thunderbolt, seemingly almost severing Bertrand’s head from his body.

But Bertrand’s reaction was not slow either.

He swiftly pulled his left arm from his cloak to protect his side, and a crisp snap was heard, and even the thin fog surrounding them trembled.

Bertrand cracked a smile and said, “Is that all you’ve got?”

The audience below exclaimed, “Is Bertrand’s arm made of iron?

How did he withstand that strike?”

“No, look at his arm, what is that?”

In the eyes of the audience, the equipment on Bertrand’s left hand turned out to be a shield merged with a gauntlet, and at the pinky of the glove, there was a spike that could be used as a dagger.

Even the well-informed Duke Wellington and Talleyrand, upon seeing Bertrand’s new weapon, couldn’t help but express their doubts.

“That shield, looks so strange!”

“I think I have seen something similar to this shield somewhere before, if I’m not mistaken, it should come from the collection of Duke of Somerset, but that item is from the 17th century.

By this calculation, the shield in Bertrand’s hand must also be quite old.”

King William IV turned to the sword-duel expert Angelo brothers for advice, “What is this?”

Big Angelo replied with a smile, “Your Majesty, today we are truly in for a treat.

I thought this was just an ordinary duel, but now it seems, rather than a duel, Bertrand and Mr.

Hasting seem to be showcasing their life’s learnings.

First, it was the Fiore Style swordsman employing Richtennal Style swordplay, and now, the foil master has brought out a lantern shield in response.”

“Lantern shield?” King William IV asked, puzzled, “Why is it called a lantern shield?

It doesn’t look like a lantern to me!”

Little Angelo, with a stern face, shook his head slightly and responded, “Your Majesty, just watch, this is a quite insidious weapon.

If Mr.

Hasting does not handle it well, the outcome of the duel could be determined in the next round.”

As Little Angelo finished speaking, Bertrand swiftly twisted his left arm and angled the shield towards Arthur.

Suddenly, a small hole appeared at the top of the shield, and dazzling light burst forth from it, shining directly on Arthur’s face.

The dim environment of the duel arena abruptly brightened, and the sudden increase in brightness caught Arthur unawares, leaving only brightness in his sight.

He could no longer see the stage and the audience, nor could he locate Bertrand.

However, the outcome of the duel was determined in an instant.

During Arthur’s moment of confusion, it was Bertrand’s prime opportunity to attack.

The Paris Sword Saint did not hesitate to let go of the foil’s handle held tightly by Arthur, his right hand reaching into his chest to pull out a dagger prepared earlier.

In a breath’s time, he closed in on Arthur, intending to drive the nail-like sharp dagger straight through Arthur’s chin into his skull.

Bertrand raised an eyebrow and said with a sneer, “It’s about time to end this.”

Upon seeing this, the gentlemen in the audience cursed, “Devious!

Shameful!”

The ladies covered their eyes with their handkerchiefs, dreading the sight of any blood-splattering scene.

However, the scenario they anticipated did not occur.

Perhaps hearing the audience’s admonishments, as Bertrand’s mouth curved in preparation to end the match, he suddenly felt as if something kicked him in the lower abdomen.

With a clang!

The crowd saw Bertrand seem to jolt up a short distance, his previously fierceexpression suddenly distorted, his face turning blue and purple, his mouth half-open but gasping for air, large beads of sweat dripping down his cheeks one by one.

“I…

you…”

Even in the noisy theater environment, Bertrand’s wheezing breath was quite clear.

His hand holding the dagger went limp like mud, his fingertips trembling, and the dagger fell to the ground with a clang.

The towering Paris Sword Saint clutched his abdomen in agony, crumpling to the ground, and while inhaling, he intermittently whispered faintly, “You…

I…

weren’t we agreed not to use so much force?”

Arthur, who made the key interception, was not much better off; he covered his foot and half-squatted on the ground, responding somewhat apologetically, “Sorry, Mr.

Bertrand, my reaction might have indeed been a bit excessive.

But on the bright side, at least the audience seemed quite entertained.”

The stands erupted into a thunderous applause and cheers.

The ladies blushed, and the gentlemen smirked and whistled, urging Bertrand to get up.