I built a manor in the Middle Ages

Chapter 212: Force is better than hard work

"Sir, you're drunk!"

In Ponsburg, Luc, who had just left a lively banquet, was helped by Miller and drunkenly made his way back to the tavern.

"Who would have thought that old Pons, at his age, could drink more than a young man in his twenties or thirties?"

Luke, his face flushed, hiccuped as he reminisced about the banquet that had just taken his time.

Overjoyed by the great victory, old Pons held a grand banquet, not only bringing out all the wine in the storehouse but also summoning all the women he could to the castle.

During this time, while pouring wine for Luc, he inquired whether the Burgundian knight, whom old Pons greatly admired, was married. He discovered that he already had a wife and sighed for a long time.

Halfway through the meal, the topic of Berg's death came up.

Luc didn't go into detail about Berg's death, only saying that he accidentally fell off his horse during the pursuit and his throat was pierced by a sharp branch. He even looked annoyed when he said this.

Old Pons didn't doubt Luc's words too much. After all, in his opinion, if Luc could be captured alive, Berg should definitely be captured alive. That way, Luc could not only get the armor, but also get a large ransom.

“The greedy will eventually be devoured by greed, and Berg is proof of that,” old Pons remarked.

Now that Berg was dead, old Pons, though old-fashioned, was not pedantic and immediately began to think about how to swallow up the other party's territory.

But all of this is no longer relevant to Luke.

The night breeze dispelled much of his drunkenness, and Luc shook off Miller's support, taking a walk alone under the stars.

"Old Pons took over the quarry this afternoon, and a long-term stone contract can be signed as agreed in the next day or two."

“The church does not entirely need limestone, so the stone needed in the short term can be offset by the value of the catapult.”

"Yes, we need to hurry up and produce a batch of malt liquor, and see if we can open a channel in Old Pons first."

Many thoughts flashed through his mind. Luke leaned against the tree trunk, looked down at the layered oval-leaved grass at his feet, and bent down to pick a handful.

"And the population."

Grain production is gradually getting back on track, and trade routes are constantly expanding. What Luc is now in dire need of is more people for the estate.

"With more people, more value can be produced, and with more people, more troops can be armed, thus preserving everything we have."

The experience of Berg is right before our eyes: no matter how you develop and expand, if you don't have the ability to protect it, it's all just a pipe dream.

"Is it just about recruiting people there?"

At the banquet just now, Luc was interested in buying prisoners of war, but old Pons also wanted to take them all.

"What kind of grass is this?" Under the moonlight, Luke suddenly noticed that the grass in his hand was somewhat unusual.

"This is soldier grass."

A response came from the darkness, and Byrne and the fat man emerged from the stable, their chainmail clattering.

"But that's a Saxon colloquialism. In monasteries, it has another name: 'whelk grass'."

"Applying it to soldiers can stop the bleeding."

Luke suddenly realized, slapped his forehead and clicked his tongue. He had drunk too much and his mind was clouding. It was just plantain!
Stuffing the blade of grass into his pocket, Luke glanced at Byrne's green eyes: "Why didn't you go to the banquet?"

Byrne is skilled in martial arts, and after fighting alongside him, Luc found that although he is taciturn, he is steady and reliable, and Luc had a good impression of him.

Moreover, information about the interior of the monastery is not something that ordinary people can know.

As one of the few places that have preserved and passed on medieval technology and culture, the monastery is extremely secretive about information, and ordinary people will not be allowed to peek through even a crack in the door. "Wandering knights are not popular at banquets unless I am the champion of the tournament, so I plan to rest for a while and then leave here to go to Italy and other places to take a look."

Luc had already paid the five hundred pfennigs, said goodbye to Byrne and the other man, urinated on the tree roots, shook himself off, and turned back to the castle with Miller.

—He's going to talk about the emerging ideas about population!

……

"These damn creatures have huge appetites! They ate all the food we brought!"

On the mountain path, the wheels of the car made a dull creaking sound as they rolled over the small stones. Miller, wearing a sleeveless chainmail and a concave helmet, walked at the front, holding a Germanic round shield in one hand and a spear in the other. He glanced at the blue mule beside him and said irritably.

This blue mule was Grimbald's mount, which Luke traded for his lame horse.

For Luc, a lame warhorse was not as good as a strong blue mule, after all, he still had a lot of farmland to cultivate. For example, Miller's father, Robert's family, had five acres of land that kept the couple very busy. Because of Robert's boasting, no one else in Ward Village wanted to help him. It was only by Luc's intervention that the farming could continue smoothly.

Grimbald readily agreed to the exchange. He had long since grown tired of riding a mule behind Byrne; in his words, it was "too uncouth." Besides, even a lame warhorse, however slow, was faster than a mule. The only advantage of a mule was its ability to eat coarse food and be easy to raise, but this sole advantage was completely absent in the blue mule.

This guy can eat so much!
After hurling a string of random curses, Miller looked down at his equipment, and a look of joy returned to his face.

This armor didn't belong to him, but that didn't stop him from being smug. Why had he joined his master's guard? Wasn't it for this moment of glory? He felt that he didn't look like a peasant soldier now, but more like a noble knight's squire!

With this dream that made Miller feel intoxicated, he touched the scar on his chest through the thick chainmail.

Miller now regards the scar that nearly killed him as a source of pride.

He led the way, followed by three mule carts loaded with stones and supplies. Luc led an unridden mountain horse, while George, riding another warhorse and wearing sleeveless chainmail and a concave nose helmet with a knight's sword at his waist, guarded him on either side.

As for Luc himself, he changed into a brand new set of long-sleeved chainmail, a complete and intact nose guard helmet, and a pair of iron gauntlets!

At first glance, this looks like an army so well-equipped that it could serve as a count's guard!

Hans followed closely behind the last mule cart. Luc glanced at Hans, the only one whose appearance hadn't changed much. The guy was too big for many of his clothes.

Thinking of the other supplies still loaded in the truck, Luke couldn't help but smile.

Old Pengsong lived up to his reputation as a devout believer, keeping his promise and taking all thirty percent of the spoils.
Excluding the full set of equipment that Luc is already wearing, Berg has already put on.

The eight riders and eight private soldiers who were almost completely wiped out brought Luke a set of sleeveless chainmail, a concave nose helmet, a complete set of double leather armor, a padded armor, a knight's sword, two notched German short swords, an eight-foot spear, and three concave fan-shaped shields.

The remaining peasant soldiers had relatively simple equipment: three notched woodcutting axes, four pitchforks, and ten thick wooden clubs.
In addition, there is a decent single-handed bow and twelve arrows.

At this moment, it was hanging on Luke's waist. This bow, which was half a person's height, was much more durable than the one Luke had made himself.

In addition, the devout and generous old Pons, intoxicated by the wine, even waved his hand and gave Luc one of John's precious warhorses, along with the lame horse he had traded for the blue mule with the fat man.

It's worth mentioning that the dented nose guard was John's equipment, which Hans had smashed flat with a hammer.
It seems the dent is even worse than his original flatbread. Luke thought to himself awkwardly.

In any case, the rich spoils of war have increased the entire Knightsburg's armament several times over!
A day later, the group returned to the church.

Ryan, who rushed over upon hearing the news, stood there dumbfounded, staring incredulously for several moments. It wasn't until Luc dismounted that he finally spoke, somewhat woodenly, after a long pause:

"Sir, have you... kidnapped a baron?"

"Pretty much," Luke laughed.

"Hoo~" Even more shocked, Ryan touched the chainmail on the men's bodies and the warhorses beside them, and took a deep breath, saying, "We probably couldn't afford this equipment even if we sold it for ten thousand pounds of ale."

"Therefore, forceful methods are more effective than diligent cultivation."

(End of this chapter)