Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 193 First Battle
As the days went by, the militiamen's formation movements became increasingly neat and standardized.

They, who were originally lazy, could stand at attention under the scorching sun without moving an inch, and when they marched, their steps were neat and uniform, and their slogans were deafening.

Gradually, they developed the bearing of soldiers, and their eyes became resolute.

As the sound of orderly footsteps echoed across the training ground, Alina finally understood Robin's good intentions.

Looking at the high-spirited and disciplined militia, she couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Robin and more confidence in the upcoming battle.

On the training ground, three thousand militiamen marched in unison towards us.

The man in his originally loose and sloppy clothes now exuded the aura of a steel torrent, and the rhythm of his leather leggings hitting the ground startled the white doves under the eaves of the Viscount's mansion.

Viscount Wilke's gold-rimmed glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he hurriedly steadied them. His cloudy pupils reflected the wolf-headed battle flag fluttering in the militia formation—the emblem that Robin had personally drawn.

"Is this the three thousand militiamen I gathered for Allen?" The old nobleman slammed his cane heavily on the bluestone slab, causing the jade at the tip of the cane to tremble slightly.

He looked at the farmers in the group who used to carry hoes in the fields, now moving in perfect unison like precise gears, even their head turns were perfectly synchronized. He muttered incredulously, "How...how did they do that?"

Just then, the sound of wheels rumbling came from afar.

Twenty horse-drawn carriages loaded with weapons slowly drove into the training ground. The moment the carriage panels were lifted, a cold glint flashed – two-and-a-halberds, each two and a half meters long, were neatly stacked. The bronze-cast halberd heads resembled both spears and axes, and the blades gleamed with an eerie, dark blue, a mark of special quenching.

Robin leaped onto the high platform, his Dragon-Slaying Spear drawing a golden arc: "Soldiers, from this day forward, what you hold in your hands are not farming tools, but fangs that can tear apart the enemy!"

The weight of the long spears caused the militiamen to gasp as the weapons were distributed.

Robin personally demonstrated, his long spear drawing a sharp trajectory in the air: "First move, Thrust!"

The spear tip pointed straight to the sky. "Second move, cleave!" The halberd slashed down with a whooshing sound. "Third move, pull—" The halberd swept across, kicking up a cloud of grass. "Remember, the essence of the three-hit combo lies in its continuous, surging flow, leaving the enemy no time to breathe!"

Viscount Wilke's fingers unconsciously traced the hilt of his sword.

When the first row of militiamen raised their spears in unison, the sound of them cutting through the air merged into a deep hum, like the roar of a giant beast.

He squinted, watching the exquisite combination of attacks from the long spear—thrusting to break the defense, slashing to break bones, and pulling back to hook the throat. The three movements were linked together, forming a perfect cycle of offense and defense without any blind spots.

What alarmed him even more was that the three thousand militiamen moved as one, their long spears rising and falling, their formation so tight that it resembled a flowing steel wall.

“Father, this is a battle formation specifically designed to counter cavalry.” Robin appeared beside him unnoticed, the dragon scale pattern faintly visible beneath his sweat-soaked collar. “When they form a square formation, even the most elite knights will be smashed to pieces when they charge.”

The old nobleman gazed at his son's resolute profile and couldn't help but smile with pride. At that moment, the sound of clashing swords filled the training ground, the dense forest of long spears gleaming coldly in the setting sun, more dazzling than any of his treasured possessions. He took a deep breath, his voice trembling: "Go prepare a victory celebration. Tell the kitchen to bring out all the thirty-year-old ale from the cellar."

In the cellar of Viscount Wilke’s mansion, a thirty-year-old barrel of ale was opened, and the rich aroma of ale mixed with the smell of roasted meat filled the training ground.

Robin wiped the oilcloth on his long spear, the gilded patterns flowing in the firelight. The militiamen sat around the campfire, some practicing their grip on the spear, others discussing the upcoming battle in hushed tones.

Alina leaned against the weapon rack, her gaze following Robin's figure, her blue eyes filled with amazement—who could have imagined that these farmers who once carried hoes could now form such a steel battle formation that she was in awe?

"Scouts report!" A knight galloped in, sparks flying from his hooves. "The Earl of Minnesota has personally led an army of five thousand and has crossed the Maple River!"

The training ground fell silent instantly, with only the crackling of the campfire.

Viscount Wilke slammed his hand on the armrest, causing ripples in the ale in his glass. "They've come after all. That old bastard has been eyeing my territory for twenty years." He turned to look at Robin, a hint of worry flashing in his aged eyes. "They have three hundred knights, over a thousand knight apprentices, more than three thousand regular soldiers, and... supposedly they've hired a black wizard's sorcery squad."

Robin gripped his halberd tightly, the cold metallic touch of the metal emanating from his palm. He gazed at the neatly arrayed militia, three thousand halberds gleaming coldly in the moonlight, like a slumbering steel forest: "Pass down the order, ambush at Poplar Valley tomorrow morning." He turned to Alina, "Could you lend me the Knights' Guild's magic detection scroll? Dark wizards' spells need advance warning."

Alina waved her hand, and a knight brought over a sack: "It's been prepared for you." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the militiamen's resolute faces, "But... are you sure you want to use these hastily trained militiamen to fight the enemy? Minnesota's knight apprentices are not to be trifled with."

“They are blades I forged myself.” Robin’s voice mingled with the rustling of the night wind through Goring. “The terrain of Poplar Valley is narrow, making it impossible for cavalry to launch a charge. When the long spear square is erected, the lances of those knight apprentices will only become spears that break themselves.” He raised his hand to summon his adjutant. “Notify the blacksmith to build chevaux-de-frise overnight and set up a triple defense at the entrance of the valley.”

Viscount Wilke looked at his son's composed demeanor and felt a slight worry in his heart, but considering that his son was an Order Knight, he was not so worried.

Even if the army couldn't win, with Allen's strength, he could easily kill these five thousand soldiers just by hacking them down.

Although the Earl of Minnesota has many knights, there are definitely no more than two who can truly break through to the legendary level, and it is even less likely that he will have any Order Knights.

The moonlight shone on the dragon scale pattern on Robin's shoulder, overlapping with the portrait of the Wolford family's ancestor in his memory. Viscount Wilke gripped the sword at his waist and said in a deep voice, "I will personally lead the family knights to guard the rear flank and not allow a single enemy to flank and attack from behind!"

Robin smiled and nodded, not taking the five thousand enemy soldiers seriously.

As night deepened, the wind in Baiyang Valley carried the smell of rust.

Three thousand militiamen, carrying long spears, moved silently forward in the darkness before dawn.

They may not be the strongest warriors, but the sound of their synchronized footsteps echoed through the valley with a chilling power.

This is the steel torrent forged by Robin with discipline and tactics, about to face their first bloody battle.

(End of this chapter)