You were made to farm, and now you're the emperor of an empire?

Chapter 383 Killed, Build a Jingguan

Jorah had no desire to become a slave, but to rebel would be foolish and a provocation against the lord's authority; the best option was to await his fate.

But waiting for a decision means losing control.

Jorah disliked being passive, always seeking survival in the face of death, and was always thinking and doing more. This was the reason he became a legendary mercenary. However, his personal strength was not enough to turn the tide on the battlefield, which led to his current predicament.

The bright young woman in front of him might be his only chance to escape.

She may not be a traditional noblewoman, since nobles with black hair and brown eyes are extremely rare, but her status is certainly high—those steel soldiers who slaughtered on the battlefield treated her with utmost respect, as if they were seeing their own mother.

She addressed the ruler by his full name, and it was undoubtedly someone close to the lord, dressed in a soft, white linen lining and a long knitted skirt, leading a donkey, standing there gracefully. Such demeanor and bearing were certainly the product of being pampered.

Jorah did the right thing.

Because of Borg, Gweil harbored complex feelings toward the mercenaries and was immediately moved with compassion.

She said, "This profession is not good."

The mercenary countered, "Miss, between someone with a sword and someone without, who do you consider guilty?"

Gweil thought for a moment and said, "Those who don't have swords aren't sinful, because they can't protect themselves or harm others. As for those who have swords... just look at the direction they swing them."

Gweil's answer was beyond Jorah's expectations. He thought that a naive and innocent noblewoman couldn't be very knowledgeable, but the truth was clearly not so.

Jorah seized every opportunity, and suddenly knelt on one knee like a knight, saying, "I petition the gods for a trial by combat, so that they may judge my sins."

The guard immediately shouted, "Lady Gweil, a trial by combat is a rule reserved for knights. The victor will be pardoned for all sins. This old mercenary is very cunning. I think you don't need to agree to his request!"

Gweil glanced at the guard, then slowly nodded: "I will speak to Roman."

Jorah was overjoyed and said, "Miss, you are kind and benevolent. I really want to be your and Lord Roman's guardian knight."

"Shut up! You idiot! You're not worthy to say that now!" The guard was furious, feeling he had failed to stop Gweil from being deceived.

Jorah was driven back, and when he saw Gweil leading the donkey away, a great weight was lifted from his heart.

If a trial by combat were to take place, his strength would guarantee victory—unless the blasphemers send the White Knight. But that possibility is extremely slim.

"Winning the trial by combat will grant me freedom," Jorah thought. But freedom was only the beginning; the rise of Roman the Blasphemer was unstoppable. Perhaps it was better to defect and save himself.

The Lord of the Valley is powerful and has a strong army. This war has proven that he is a towering tree in chaotic times and is worth relying on.

Even if it is destroyed in a future storm, the mercenaries can adapt to the situation, adjust their stance, and rejoin the party.

Jorah knew that the Knights of Conquest were brutal, bloodthirsty, and ruthless war machines, but they valued loyalty above all else, and the knights often said that 'loyalty is priceless'.

Among them, the guardian knights who stand at the top are the most devoted, regarding loyalty as their own life.

But Jorah is not a knight of honor; he is merely a mercenary with the green eyes of an old wildcat, an ungrateful wretch.

Jorah remained quietly among the slaves, awaiting good news from Gwyneth. In the darkness, his eerie green eyes slowly closed, waiting for the moment he would be freed.

At that time, he will not hesitate to offer his cheap loyalty.

……

Roman was so busy he barely had time to breathe.

Overall, there is no threat in the middle and lower lanes, only the top lane has caused some harassment to the city of abundance.

His forces deployed on the upper route suffered heavy losses, with only a small number managing to return, while the fate of the remaining soldiers was unknown, and their casualties were also unknown.

According to the logic of war, once the elite troops are defeated, the rest of the motley crew will scatter and disperse until they are withdrawn from the combat zone.

But the mercenaries were not ordinary men. Scattered across the vast wilderness, their aggression increased dramatically. Some were unaware of Makor's defeat and still believed they were in a superior position, so they followed East's orders and attacked the City of Abundance.

Now, thousands of mercenaries from all walks of life are active in the darkness outside, posing the last threat.

But it is precisely at times like these that we must not be hasty.

His main force had just gone through a major battle, running back and forth, which had exhausted their strength. Now was not a good time to launch an attack.

Wait until dawn, then rest for the night.

Jeter redeployed his troops, and the main force, which had recovered some of its fighting strength, was reassembled.

Most soldiers had sore muscles and stiff bones. They had assembled three times in three consecutive days and were about to go through a third major battle. The fact that they could still wield their weapons was a testament to their resilience.

Roman was also feeling unwell, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

He didn't sleep all night because he had to handle the aftermath and would personally lead the expedition today.

This is mainly because Lord Roman has a very strong sense of self, like a lion, and naturally hates any dangerous creature that enters his territory. He wants to cut off any claws that dare to stick their claws in.

In other words, how can one allow others to sleep soundly beside one's bed!
Roman enjoyed it immensely; being young and energetic, a short nap was enough to restore his spirits and keep him going. The march was tedious.

The army swept through the valley, searching for mercenaries without leaving any room for retreat.

Green shaded his eyes with his hand to block out the golden morning sun, gazing into the distance, and asked, "Is this the final battle?"

Roman glanced at him: "It's too early to say it's over."

He just wanted to develop his strength and crush them, but someone always jumped out and forced him to kill them.

Unfortunately, he doesn't yet have the ability to kill everyone.

Although the Black Iron Alliance suffered a major defeat, they can regroup their scattered troops and launch a second offensive. It may not be as powerful as the first wave, but it should not be underestimated and must be taken seriously.

Green said confidently, "No matter how many times we come, it will be the same result."

The main force of the river valley advanced steadily in a fan-shaped pattern, arriving at yesterday's battlefield. Someone shouted from afar, "Found it..."

What they found was the remains of a heavily armed battalion commander.

Roman led his men on horseback over and saw that the corpse had multiple knife wounds and a deformed head, but the facial features were still vaguely visible. This man had been ordered to hold off the enemy, but he was outnumbered and died here.

This is a side effect of war; if we can't trade space for time, we can only trade lives for time.

Aaron, who had been silent, suddenly spoke up: "I personally gave him this order."

Roman nodded slightly and said, "I know, his name is Weimar."

Jet said indifferently, "A soldier's destiny is to die on the battlefield."

"Yo-ho!" Green spotted his prey, let out a loud shout, and charged off on horseback.

A few minutes later, Green returned carrying a lance with a skinny, possibly underage, mercenary scout hanging from the tip. He said excitedly, as if he had just caught a rabbit, "We're here for revenge. What those mercenaries did to our people, we have to pay for."

Roman snorted and raised his right hand: "Pass on my order: full speed ahead, finish this quickly and get back!"

"Long live Your Highness!!" someone shouted.

The previously low morale swelled up like a balloon.

They possess the spirit and will of an ever-victorious army, stemming from rigorous training and a record of repeated victories. Upon seeing the remains of their comrades, their first emotion is not one of sorrow for their kind, but rather, "Screw it!"

The details of this war are self-evident.

When a disorganized guerrilla force encounters a regular army, they might have a chance of survival if they resort to guerrilla tactics, but they do not have the home-field advantage.

Roman vowed to cut off all foreign claws and not allow them to threaten the City of Abundance in the slightest!

Many mercenaries and islanders died in the sweep, those who laid down their weapons were taken prisoner, and many more enemies chose to flee.

Special forces and vanguard units pursued the enemy across the entire wilderness. The mercenaries who had escaped the slaughter were shocked to see their camps adorned with flags of thorny iron rings.

Damn it! When we went to raid someone's house, our own house got raided instead?

The outcome of this war was a foregone conclusion.

Roman soon learned that a captain named Ed had gathered the remaining soldiers in the valley, totaling several dozen men. They launched a surprise attack on the mercenary camp, cutting off their retreat and causing great losses to the mercenaries.

Roman led his army and escorted the spoils back to Plenty. He looked exhausted, his eyes were sore, and he swayed unsteadily on his horse, feeling as if his bones were about to fall apart.

"Roman! Roman!" Gervir waved vigorously from the roadside.

There weren't many people welcoming her in the city of abundance; they were mostly patrolling militiamen. Even during wartime, the able-bodied had things to do and jobs to be assigned, so Gweil stood out.

Roman rubbed his face and said with a smile, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm waiting for you. Are you hurt?"

“I’m perfectly fine.” Roman grabbed Gweil’s wrist and pulled her onto the horse.

Gweil leaned against Roman, turned her head and looked up at him, asking, "Roman, how are you going to treat these mercenaries?"

“Kill them, and build a mound of corpses,” Roman said.

"what?"

"Any other questions?"

“A mercenary wanted to request a trial by combat, to let the gods judge his sins, and said he wanted to become your knight.”

“Kill them too, and build a mound of skulls.”

(End of this chapter)