Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 197 Lower Class

Viscount Rhine's pupils constricted, realizing he had been ambushed! But being a seasoned general, he quickly regained his composure and shouted, "Change formation! Shield wall to protect the flanks, wizard apprentices prepare fireballs!"

The battlefield was filled with deafening battle cries, and arrows rained down from the sky.

Viscount Rhein gripped his rapier tightly, watching his soldiers retreat steadily amidst the long spear formation, and was secretly alarmed: Wilke's army was far more terrifying than the intelligence described!
Viscount Rhine's back slammed heavily against the shield, the chainmail digging painfully into his ribs.

Before he could catch his breath, a muffled "thud" sounded in his ears—the guard knight who had just tackled him was frozen in place, an arrow with a ghostly blue rune stuck in his forehead, and a bead of scarlet blood slowly sliding down the shaft.

“This is impossible.” Viscount Rhein’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently as he struggled to sit up and stared in the direction from which the arrow had come.

The cliffs of Baiyang Valley resembled the fangs of a giant beast in the night, while a thousand meters away in the shadows, a young figure calmly drew back the compound pulley bow, the moonlight gilding him with a cold, silvery edge.

“He’s a legendary archer!” Viscount Rhein’s voice trembled with barely concealed emotion.

He suddenly recalled the legend of the Earl of Minnesota describing the ability to "take a man's head from a hundred meters away," and now he finally understood why Martin's greatsword of black iron was shattering inch by inch. Under such precise sniping at such a long distance, even the strongest defense was useless.

Screams echoed across the battlefield as yet another knight's neck was slashed open by a long spear.

Viscount Rhein gripped his rapier tightly, the blade reflecting his tense face.

When he saw the magical detection crystals flashing in the enemy formation, cold sweat instantly soaked his back. It turned out that from the moment they stepped into the ambush, their every move had been under the enemy's control.

"Retreat! Everyone retreat immediately!" He yanked the reins sharply, and the warhorse reared up.

The allied soldiers behind them, like frightened birds, were routed in the hail of arrows and the barrage of spears.

Viscount Rhein glanced one last time at the valley entrance, which was ablaze with flames. His deep gray eyes churned with complex emotions: fear, resentment, and a hint of barely perceptible excitement.

“Wilker,” he murmured, his cloak fluttering in the night wind, “this game is much more interesting.”

The sound of horses' hooves faded into the distance, leaving only a mess of corpses and broken weapons, telling the harrowing story of this crushing defeat under the moonlight.

On the watchtower of White Poplar Valley, the moonlight gilded Robin's silver hair with a frosty hue. He wiped the gleaming bowstring, his voice as cold as the night wind: "Pass down the order: those who surrender, regardless of their origin as slave soldiers, will not be killed!"

The lieutenant, Grand Knight Thor, paused slightly in his grip on the parchment scroll: "My lord, these slave soldiers are nothing but discarded pawns in the hands of the nobles, their fighting strength is weak."

“It is precisely because they are expendable that they are useful.” Robin slung his compound pulley bow across his shoulder. “The nobles of the Middle Kingdom drive serfs into the army; aren’t they also war spears bound by chains?” He looked toward the direction of the retreating allied forces, where the torches of the remnants scattered like fireflies in the night. “Which of our three thousand war spear soldiers didn’t come from the fields?”

The three-tiered structure of the noble army clearly emerged in his mind: the royal guards were the lord's personal blades, the knights were the backbone of the charge, and the slave soldiers were merely flesh and blood shields to wear down the enemy's arrows.

These soldiers, born of serfs, wore coarse linen clothes and carried weapons made from rusty farm tools. On the battlefield, they didn't even deserve to have names.

But Robin knew that as long as they were given trust and hope, these "abandoned pawns" could become the sharpest fangs. When the cry of "Those who surrender will not be killed" echoed through the valley, the fleeing slave soldiers gradually hesitated.

Some threw away their broken wooden shields, while others removed the iron plaques around their necks that symbolized their enslavement. The moonlight illuminated the surprise on their faces, which were stained with blood and tears.

As Robin watched the defectors being incorporated into the logistics team, a light that had never been seen before began to quietly ignite in their previously timid eyes.

Viscount Wilke, leaning on his ornate cane, climbed the watchtower and gazed at the newly reorganized troops in the valley. His aged voice trembled as he said, "Allen, you are shaking the very foundations of the Middle Kingdom's nobility."

“Father!” Robin turned his head, the gilded patterns on the Dragon Slayer Spear reflecting the light in his eyes. “When these slave soldiers know that they can eat their fill and stand tall in Wilke’s territory, who would still want to be a lamb to the slaughter?”

The night wind whipped up his cloak, like unfurling a silent battle flag.

This war is no longer just a struggle for territory, but also a contest over who belongs to whom.

As dusk settled, it gradually enveloped Poplar Valley.

One to two thousand seven hundred slave soldiers huddled in the makeshift camp. They were dressed in rags, and the chains on their bodies gleamed coldly in the moonlight. Their faces were full of exhaustion and fear.

Before this, they were merely insignificant expendables in the noble army, pawns that could be discarded at any time on the battlefield.

However, at this moment, steaming hot wheat porridge and black bread were distributed to them. The long-lost aroma of food brought tears to the eyes of many. For these slave soldiers who had long suffered from hunger, this simple meal was an immense blessing.

After the slave soldiers had filled their stomachs, the warriors, holding long spears, lined up neatly around the camp, forming a solid human wall.

Torches were lit one by one, and the flickering flames illuminated the entire camp as bright as day, casting the shadowy figures of the slave soldiers on the ground.

Robin, clad in battle armor, wielding the Dragon-Slaying Spear in his left hand and resting his right hand on the new Tang sword, strode onto the high platform.

He stood tall and straight, his silver hair shimmering in the firelight, his gaze firm and sharp as he surveyed the crowd below.

"You lowly people!" Robin's voice boomed like thunder, shattering the silence of the camp. "Look at the chains on your bodies, feel your hungry bellies, think about everything you suffered in the armies of the Middle Kingdom nobles! You were driven like livestock, used as cannon fodder on the battlefield, and could be whipped or even killed at the slightest mistake! Is this the life you wanted?"

The slave soldiers below the stage all lowered their heads, and memories of past suffering flooded back like a tide. Some clenched their fists, and some had tears welling up in their eyes.

Robin continued, “I know you once thought this was your fate, that you would never escape your slavery and would spend your lives in pain and despair. But today, I tell you, your destiny changes from this moment on!”

"You are now in Viscount Wilke's territory, which is different from where you were before! Here, there is no wanton bullying by nobles, no inhumane treatment. If you wish, you can become free citizens of this land, no longer inferiors!"

(End of this chapter)