Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 195 Archer

Before the smoke of battle had even cleared from Poplar Valley, Robin had already begun a new deployment.

Five hundred militiamen, led by twenty official knights, carried blood-stained halberds as they walked out of the valley, their iron boots clanging rhythmically on the gravel.

They reinforced the barricades, installed magical detection crystals on the cliffs on both sides of the canyon, and sentries were scattered throughout the forest like hidden peregrine falcons, ready to light warning smoke signals at any time.

"Allen!" Viscount Wilke's voice came from afar.

The old nobleman rode a tall horse, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses shining brightly. He waved a captured enemy flag, oblivious to the mud splattered on the corners of his robe. "That was a brilliant battle! A truly brilliant one!"

Robin removed his helmet, his sweat-dampened silver hair plastered to his forehead, and leaned the Dragon Slayer Spear against his shoulder: "Father, although Minnesota has been defeated, the Central Plains will not give up easily." He pointed to the winding official road outside the valley, "We have already sent people to ambush at the crossroads. Once the enemy returns, these sentries and garrison troops will be the first line of defense."

The old nobleman gripped his son's shoulder excitedly, his aged hand trembling slightly: "Good! Good! Even when your grandfather was expanding the territory, he never fought such a satisfying battle!" He suddenly lowered his voice, his gaze sweeping over the busy militiamen, "But... can those long spears and strange formations really withstand a regular army?"

“Yes.” Robin answered decisively, the dragon scale patterns on his skin gleaming faintly. “Minnesota’s cavalry is hampered in narrow terrain, while our long spear phalanx is designed to counter heavily armored troops.” He beckoned his adjutant and unfurled a parchment map. “You see, Aspen Valley guards the western border. As long as we hold this position, the central army will be like a thorn in our side.”

Viscount Wilke stared at the dense markings on the map, letting out an excited murmur.

"Pass down the order!" The old nobleman swung his cane sharply. "Tonight, open the granaries wide and reward the entire army! Tomorrow, tomorrow we will repair the castle and solidify Wilke's reputation even further!"

As night deepened, the bonfires burning in Baiyang Valley shone like brilliant stars.

Robin stood at the valley entrance, listening to the cheers coming from afar, but his eyes remained fixed on the direction of the Central Plains.

In the Great Hall of the Earl of Minnesota's castle, the candlelight cast his hunched figure onto the mottled stone walls.

He clutched his blood-stained cloak, his nails digging deep into his palms, and looked down at the whispering nobles below, a sinister glint in his eyes.

“The wheat fields of Viscount Wilke’s territory stretch as far as the eye can see, and the cellars are filled with magical ores.” His voice was hoarse but seductive. “Even their militia can form an impenetrable steel battle formation.”

"Absurd!" A young nobleman stood up abruptly, his sword striking the long table with a crisp sound. "Wilker has only been enfeoffed for a little over twenty years. Where does he get the resources to support such a large army? It must be that you, Earl, underestimated us and acted rashly, and now you want to drag us down with you!"

Whispers immediately filled the hall.

The Earl of Minnesota's face flushed crimson. He staggered, gripping the back of his chair, his knuckles turning white from the force. "You think I'd joke about the life of a legendary knight? Martin's greatsword is broken in Aspen Valley, and there's a mysterious archer who can take a man's head from a hundred meters away!" His voice suddenly rose, causing the crystal chandelier above him to sway slightly. "Wilk is hiding at least two legendary experts!"

"Two legends?" A sneer came from the corner. A noblewoman wearing a black veil twirled a ring inlaid with magic crystals. "Old Earl, as far as I know, Wilke's only worthwhile asset is a mere boy who has just come of age. Could it be," she deliberately drew out the last syllable, "that you've been scared out of your wits by a mere brat?"

A burst of laughter erupted in the hall. The Earl of Minnesota, his veins bulging, suddenly laughed eerily: "Don't believe me? Go ahead and try!" He ripped open his collar, revealing a gruesome arrow wound on his chest. "When your knights also die in that valley, you'll know just how sharp Wilke's fangs are!" As he slammed the door shut and left, the murmurs grew even louder.

Some people frowned as they studied the Wilke Territory on the map, while others scoffed dismissively, but no one noticed the black-robed figure flashing through the shadows.

Those were the Wizarding Council's informants, recording these rumors word for word.

The Earl of Minnesota had just returned to his bedroom when he breathed a sigh of relief.

The Earl of Minnesota leaned back in his carved chair, veins bulging on his forehead, the poisoned arrows shot by the legendary archer still seeming to whistle before his eyes.

He squinted his cloudy eyes, and the image of Robin with his silver hair flying and his bow drawn flashed through his mind, making him shiver.

"Those fools, thinking Viscount Wilke's territory is easy prey," the Earl muttered to himself, his fingers unconsciously stroking the scar on his chest.

He looked out the window and saw the nobles of the Central Region stirring with greedy eyes, staring at his battered territory like hungry wolves.

"Pass on my orders," the Earl sat bolt upright, his voice deep and powerful, "exaggerate the power of Viscount Wilke's territory to the extreme. Say they have a mysterious magic workshop capable of forging incredibly powerful composite bows, and an inexhaustible supply of magical ores." A sinister smile curled at the corner of his lips. "Let those ambitious fellows try their luck in Aspen Valley. Once they've suffered a crushing defeat, they won't have the energy to covet our territory anymore."

In the taverns of the Middle Kingdom, knights sat around a campfire, listening to the tales of Viscount Wilke’s territory.

"The Wilke lad is said to be able to shoot a bird in the eye from a kilometer away," a knight's voice was filled with awe.

"Hmph, it's just an exaggeration." Another knight curled his lip in disdain. "That old bastard from Minnesota always makes excuses when he loses. I want to see if the archers of Viscount Wilke's territory are really that good."

Meanwhile, in a secret chamber in the imperial city, Rebaton toyed with the dragon crystal scepter in his hand, runes flashing on the scepter.

“Wilker’s strength should not be underestimated.” His gaze turned sinister as he looked towards the Central Region. “That old fox from Minnesota is trying to use someone else to do his dirty work. But regardless of whether those nobles win or lose, our plan cannot change.” He turned to the wizard behind him. “Notify Soros to speed up the assembly of the Black Magic Legion. Once those fools have exhausted the strength of the Knights Guild and the Bauhinia Organization, we will reap the benefits.”

The Earl of Minnesota, draped in a sable cloak, stood on the watchtower of the castle tower, squinting as he looked down at the distant road.

Tens of thousands of noble troops surged like a black tide, their banners fluttering and their armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

A sinister smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, like a vulture lurking in the darkness, waiting for its prey to be both wounded before it could devour it.

(End of this chapter)