To provide a suitable venue for the martial arts tournament, Moscow's racecourse has now been transformed into the tournament arena.
To accommodate more spectators, the Prince also specially raised the stands and set up exclusive noble boxes for the dignitaries.
The martial arts tournament has been going on for several days and is still in the preliminary elimination stage, as there are already two hundred participants, and the number is still increasing.
The Moscow Prince has set up generous rewards: the top three can receive large amounts of gold and silver, and if they wish, they can also be granted land and become a Lord.
This made countless people yearn for it; many farmers, citizens, and even tribal people participated, not to mention countless wandering warriors and mercenaries—a chance for class ascension was right before their eyes.
Moreover, Rostislav was unwilling to end the competition quickly with simple and crude group martial arts; if it wasn't one-on-one, how could he open a gambling den to make money and prolong the duration of the tournament?
Moscow's one-on-one duels have no equipment restrictions, and the main form is back-and-forth foot combat, which allows both contestants to control their strength and avoid major casualties.
Cavalry combat is not the mainstream in the North after all, and the Prince's decision was also to adapt to the environment; otherwise, he would definitely have heavily promoted cavalry combat.
Such a lengthy competition naturally costs money like flowing water, but the Moscow Prince understood that the money spent now was to earn more in the future.
Of course, there were also group competitions that made the audience's blood boil and reach climaxes, with at least one held every day.
The participants were all the most desperate daredevils; group martial arts is the closest combat form to a battlefield, and the participants' weapons are also unrestricted, so basically any kind of bloody situation could occur.
Compared to one-on-one duels, that was much bloodier and the risks were much greater; at least dozens of bones, large and small, would be broken, or even several corpses; to minimize permanent casualties, Rostislav sent his Persia doctor to provide free medical care to the contestants.
The most gentle event was archery, which was also the last event of this martial arts tournament; to increase the fun, Rostislav not only set up fixed targets but also moving targets; the Moscow Prince hoped to select some excellent archers through this event.
The racecourse casino has been raking in profits recently; facing such a grand martial arts tournament, both ordinary people and noble merchants had a very strong desire to bet.
Thus, at the racecourse casino, scenes of instant riches and sudden destitution played out daily, which undoubtedly further stimulated people's nerves and made the atmosphere even more enthusiastic, and seeing the steadily rising financial statements, Rostislav was happy every day.
The crisp sound of swords clashing and the warriors' battle cries made the atmosphere even more fervent, as hormones surged wildly, stirring the fighting spirit of every warrior.
Whenever someone was knocked down in the arena, the cheers grew stronger, and beneath that grand sound, there were also curses, because someone from the team he bet on had been knocked down.
Peddlers were spread throughout the crowd, hawking kvass and various snacks, and personnel from the casino encouraged spectators to place bets; to facilitate betting, the casino set up many clerks to help people bet.
"This scene reminds me of the Roman Colosseum; I wonder if my little one can even compare to one-tenth of that Colosseum."
In the Prince's box, Rostislav, reclining on a lounge chair, popped expensive walnuts into his mouth while asking the person beside him.
To the Prince's left was a spotless fruit platter, filled with dried fruits and nuts, all rare goods in the North.
Rostislav's lazy posture on the chair had a certain Roman noble air; if this were in Rome or Constantinople, it would probably be criticized as decadent, but this was Northeast Rus'.
Today, the Prince's retinue was not his personal guards and attendants, but warriors equipped with crossbows; these commoners were now wearing chainmail, conical helmets, holding crossbows, and vigilantly watching everything around them.
"Are you testing my history, Lord Rostislav? The Roman Colosseum could accommodate fifty thousand spectators, and yours... I don't think I need to say more."
The person questioned by the Prince had a Middle Eastern-style beard and a Persia face, but the cross on his Persia armor indicated his Christian identity.
He had the aura of someone who had long held a high position, indicating his unusual background, and his Persia armor made him appear even more imposing.
"Moreover, your holding such martial arts tournaments makes it hard not to think of the decadent Roman Emperors."
The man narrowed his eyes as he spoke.
"I didn't feed Christians to lions, nor did I make the poor fight each other."
Rostislav completely disdained that potential moral criticism; his teacher's scolding was far more severe than this, and he still managed to endure it.
The moralists in the church often scolded him for this, but unfortunately, this was Rus', and these people didn't even need the Prince to suppress them; the warmongers within the church themselves suppressed them, and there were even a few priests among the people fighting below now.
"Anwar Faris Nur, I hope your governance skills are as good as your religious knowledge; Abdul has praised you to the skies, so don't disappoint his praise."
Rostislav looked at this Persian; this man had once served as a high-ranking official under a certain warlord in Persia, and was also a rare Persia Orthodox Christian.
After his warlord's demise, this man was captured as a slave, then bought by Abdul, and then given as a gift to Rostislav.
The Moscow Prince valued this slave greatly; he was the best slave Abdul had sent to him, and also the kind of talent he most needed.
The Moscow Prince immediately gave this man good treatment, but he still had to talk with him first to understand if he could be trusted and to test his abilities.
"My Lord, I will naturally do my best to serve you, but I am not only skilled in books, but also in swords and spears; if permitted, I would be very happy to show you my martial arts."
The Persian's words were full of confidence, and then he looked at the battle below, which was nearing its end.
Broken shields and snapped weapons lay everywhere, several people lay there, their fates unknown, and blood splattered the fine sand on the ground; staff members were helping or carrying the defeated contestants out of the arena, and three people were still standing in the arena, the strongest who had remained until the end of this round.
Now they were enjoying the cheers of the crowd, because they were on the same team, which meant they were the victors.
"Oh? Then give it a try."
A servant brought Bulgarian wine, and Rostislav took it and drank it in one gulp.