The Extra Wants To Live

Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Would you like to receive treatment?"

"It's okay. I'm already fine." Carl spoke leisurely, lowering his visor and extending his hand to Harmon.

Harmon was worried about Carl, but it was all for nothing. Carl was completely fine.

Harmon had never seen Carl in combat, let alone seen him recover from his injuries within hours.

The flag rose again and waved, and Carl looked across, holding the reins tight.

Phew!

The moment the trumpet sounded, Carl and Billford once again ran towards each other.

Carl licked his blood-soaked lips and clenched his teeth. If he made one mistake, his tongue would be cut off.

Billford stood firm, intent on unhorsing Carl as he had at first. Carl had told him to fight with all his heart, and Billford was doing so without regard for consequences.

That old-fashioned aspect made him a great guy, but when he actually got beaten up, it felt a bit unfair.

It wouldn't be so bad since after the match Carl could tease him by saying,

"You beat up your master; that's too much."

Carl grinned, and Billford's dark brown eyes, visible through the slit in his visor, narrowed as if smiling.

'Look at that smile on his face.' Carl braced himself for shock, muttering a joke to himself that no one could hear.

Kwaaaaang!

Once again, there was a loud noise accompanied by shock.

Billford struck Carl with all his might as before, and this time his spear split lengthwise instead of shattering.

Carl's body floated up as if he were about to fly, and he barely managed to sit down on the saddle.

This time, Carl avoided hanging on so precariously like the first time by letting go of the lance right after the impact and holding on with all his might.

"Ugh! Gasp!"

But the impact was so great that Carl couldn't help but sway back and forth even while sitting on the horse.

Carl waved his hand vigorously to indicate that he wanted to continue the fight and rode his horse back to his original position.

Flutter! Flutter!

This time, Carl scored again against Billford. Carl knew that Billford would be more aggressive in defense than before, so he swung his spear with all his might.

Only the crown-shaped spear tip broke off and flew away.

Even though he had thrown his spear down, Billford probably didn't even feel the impact of Carl's spear.

The crowd cheered at the incredible performance of the young squire and Carl's success in scoring both times despite being hit by Billford's attacks.

"If this keeps up, I'm going to have to do this all day," Carl said.

"I think it would be better for you to take a break. We'll finish next time," Billford responded.

"That… no. Let's do that." Carl hesitated, not knowing how to respond to Billford's serious words, then nodded with an awkward smile.

This was really scary.

"Master Carl, please get treatment."

"Don't worry, I won't die."

Carl spoke calmly and held out his hand to receive the spear. Harmon, seeing blood flowing out of the crack in Carl's helmet, fidgeted with worry.

However, Carl, who was already fine, reassured him.

'Then, what kind of amazing thing will you do?'

Carl thought, looking at Billford with half-expectation and half-anxiety. Billford had said he would finish it, so he really would finish it…

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Phew!

As the crowd got excited by the unexpectedly thrilling match, the trumpet sounded again. Carl and Billford made their third charge, aiming their spears.

'It's no different from just now,' Carl thought, aiming his spear and paying attention to Billford's movements.

He planned to break the lance again. If the tip of the spear just grazed Billford's shield, it could break, and Carl would earn another point, extending the match to the next three rounds.

Seeing Billford approaching, Carl tensed up and prepared to strike.

…

"Lord Carl! Lord Carl!"

"…ah?"

Carl opened his eyes to a voice calling him. Billford's pale face blocked out the sun.

"What is this…?"

Carl staggered to his feet and looked around. He saw people running around in panic.

"Therapist! Therapist… ."

Those who had been screaming for a therapist were shocked to see Carl standing up and closed their mouths. It was as if they had seen a corpse rise.

"… Did I fall off my horse?"

"That… yes… I'm sorry."

"What a pity. I was planning to do it all day."

Carl sighed deeply and got up.

Then he looked down and saw blood dripping, realizing he was in a terrible state.

"What on earth have you done?"

"Your breastplate instead of your shield, and that was… … ."

So, what this means is that Billford aimed at Carl's breastplate instead of his shield, intending to end the match.

"So my lance is broken?"

Billford looked around and muttered, "I fell from my horse and hit a fence, and it broke."

"Did you avoid it? How?"

"I hung on the horse's left flank."

Carl suddenly remembered the last sight he had seen.

Billford, right in front of him, suddenly disappeared like a mirage, and Carl's vision went black.

Hanging on the horse's side in uncomfortable armor, Billford had thrust out his arm and struck Carl in the chest with his spear, causing Carl to fall off his horse.

"You've been very generous from the beginning."

"That…"

"Let's aim for the win. But I feel good about losing to you."

Carl smiled and patted Billford on the shoulder.

The difference was so absurdly large that Carl didn't feel bad about losing. Carl left the arena on his own two feet, holding the reins of the white horse that waited at his side.

The situation was so absurd that there was no applause or cheering.

Still, Carl felt relieved.

Now that it had come to this, should he go watch Catherine's game?

'By the way, if my body was still weak, I would have died from the shock alone, right?'

It made Carl wonder if Billford really intended to kill him.

Of course, Billford didn't know much about Carl either.

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