The Distinguished Mr. Rose Chapter 30: Chapter 30: Knightly Prowess Vs a Good Ole One-Two

Read chapter 30 of The Distinguished Mr. Rose by QuiteTheSlacker on NovelPedia.

Chapter 30: Knightly Prowess Vs a Good Ole One-Two After the good Harper’s admirable attempt, a few more brave souls stepped up to the challenge. None, unfortunately, provided as entertaining a show - they were summarily defeated, pummeled, and thrown off to the side. Poor Ruggiero had his work cut out for him. Not a moment passed where the man wasn’t treating someone’s wounds or preventing them from passing on to the next world: the underworld to be exact. At one point, a group of players even attempted to ambush Lady Bradamante through sheer number. She did allow it beforehand, but nonetheless it was a very shameful display - especially with how casually they were dispatched. The paladin hadn’t used any more strength than she presented in the beginning, and yet the length of her spars were quickly shortening with each subsequent opponent. Even after all her bouts, Bradamante’s face remained pristine without a drop of sweat. Her armor? Untouched. Her boredom? Very evident. She yawned and stretched her body, smoothing out the muscles that had still yet to be used. “This has been a very… informative experience,” she said, cracking her neck. “Would anyone else like to step forth? I do hope the next one is competent.” The remaining players sat frozen in their seats, much to her disappointment. “Hm, I see. It can’t be helped, then… Ruggiero and I will have to devise a very, very arduous course if we’re to make you lot of some use. But really, I expected more - such a shame.” Bradamante sighed and crossed her arms. “This is your last chance. Will no one else truly move me?” Silence. No one spoke a word… except for Mili. “Hey, Marco,” she said, turning towards him with a wicked smile. “Why don’t you give it a go? I’ve seen those fists of yours. You’re probably the most experienced person here when it comes to brawling.” Marco stared at her in horror. “You kiddin’ me? I’ll get my ass kicked down there.” “Language, Mister Bernardi,” Lucius tutted. “Sorry. But really, how’s an old fella like me supposed to win against her?” Mili wagged her finger. “Tsk, tsk, you don’t need to win, big guy. All you gotta do is land a solid one-two, and she’ll even give you some fancy trinket for your troubles.” Marco tried to protest, but Mili wouldn’t budge and looked up at him—her eyes sparkling with expectation. The old mobster was powerless before her excitement, and so he stood up, reluctantly, and dragged himself over to the arena. “Oh?” Bradamante mused, eyeing him up and down. “You have a different presence compared to the others. Those scuffed hands… you’re a man who’s drawn blood.” Marco grimaced and raised his guard. “I ain’t proud of it, miss. All I can do now is use them to protect, unlike the idiot of before who ran around thinkin’ he was some wannabe hot shot.” The lady didn’t know exactly what he said, but she understood his intent. The past was inevitable. Your regrets, your mistakes: They were forever engraved in memory. She nodded, and bid him a sad smile. The paladin seemed to have regrets of her own, and so toward the good Marco, she extended to him a kindred acknowledgement. “Such is the curse of those left among the living. Your name, warrior?” “Call me Marco.” “Very well then, Sir Marco. Let us have an insightful spar.” This time, Bradamante was the one to rush in first. She leapt into the air and came crashing down with a smash of her heel. The old mobster couldn’t follow her movements. However, he had one advantage compared to the previous challengers: natural, battle-worn instinct. He ducked away from her leg and barreled forward in a relentless series of feints and punches. The indomitable lady, the paladin who had treated the other players as mere playthings, was forced into a sincere defensive for the very first time. Her gaze hardened; her hands clenched with resolve. Phantom traces were left in the wake of Marco’s assault. What made him a difficult foe was his complexity: He never repeated the same attacks twice. A fake o