Chapter 203: Different Perspectives
"Men like him, they can’t be defeated by normal soldiers, can they?" Nereida said, staring in shock at the way nothing seemed capable of even scratching the powerful witch. Again and again, he deflected attacks with his thick forearms, snatched blades with his bare hands, or slammed into his opponents with enough force to send them flying across the platform, landing stunned or at the very least disoriented.
"In the Vale, we train for this," Virve said flatly. She wasn’t boasting, nor was she confident in victory against someone like the Sandbox Witch, but it would be foolish to think that she had no practice in fighting people like him. "Sir Thane has a method that he teaches for fighting people like Lady Nyrielle’s progeny or the Templars of the human’s church."
"First, the swords are getting in the way," she said, pointing at the heavy weapons wielded by the bearish gladiators. "They should be closing to a distance where they can work with their own claws. Only with bare hands can you successfully entangle your foe. They need to use superior size and weight along with grasping attacks to pin him in place for the spearmen to exploit the opportunity."
"Instead, they’re doing things backward," the veteran soldier continued. "The spearmen are trying to act as distractions and harassers, setting up for a ’killing blow’ from the swordsmen. It won’t work against someone like the Sandbox witch. He isn’t threatened by those timid spear thrusts at all, he can ignore them entirely if he wants, which means the heavy swords have no chance of landing a blow that he hasn’t seen coming."
"Does Sir Thane’s method work?" Nereida asked as she watched the fight unfold below. Already, Jacques had defeated all but one of the spearmen and one of the swordsmen and both of his remaining opponents bled from countless small wounds inflicted by the witch’s magical thorns.
"Sir Thane says that if we’re lucky, the sacrifice of four or five men can create an opening to kill the enemy," Virve said flatly. "You have to remember, human knights like the Templars wear layer upon layer of armor. Plate over a gambeson with mail covering their heads, necks, and other vulnerable areas."
"You have to pry that off them," she added, flexing her wickedly sharp claws in front of the serpentine woman’s eyes. "The first soldier or two to grapple with a Templar might manage to pull them from their horse, or to tear at the buckles holding some of their armor in place. It takes a second and third person to cause enough damage to the armor that a spear thrust by a fast, mobile soldier from the Horned Clan has a chance of hitting a vital area."
"That, that’s horrible," Nereida gasped. "How many people have to die just to kill one of your enemies? If battles are like that, how could you ever win a war?"
"Raaaaa!" Jacques shouted, shattering the shield of the last spearman with a heavy blow from his tail while he grappled with the swordsman in front of him, pummeling his helmet until the man sank to his knees.
In the lower levels of the audience, people roared along with Jacques. Several shouts of "Knock him out!" could be heard and some people stomped their feet in time with every powerful blow that rained down on the last man’s helmet.
On the upper levels, a few women with more delicate sensibilities hid their eyes in the shoulders of their male companions and a few mothers reached out to cover the eyes of their children. Violent bloodsport was one thing, but this final display of strength and dominance felt too savage when they were certain that a single blow would have ended the fight.
On the fighting platform, Jacques raised his arms in celebration of his victory, taking a moment to savor the cheers of the crowd before he turned to the highest level, looking to meet Heila’s gaze and see her reaction to the battle.