Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 200 The Old Order

Mrs. Aishar glanced at him, her eyes full of disdain.

“Strength? What does strength matter in the face of absolute interests?” she sneered. “Alan Wilke has become the hope of the West, surrounded by countless warriors yearning for freedom. As for Leo, he is nothing but a loyal dog of the old order, and his existence will only hinder our journey to the continent of Pavel.”

"We are all destined for the continent of Bavel, where endless treasures and powerful magic reside." Lady Aishar's voice carried a hint of fanaticism. "To achieve this goal, we cannot be bound by the order here. If Leo truly intends to block our path, then he must die."

The room fell silent; everyone was stunned by Mrs. Aishar's words.

They knew that Mrs. Aishar was the head of the Bauhinia Organization, and her words represented the organization's will.

“But how can we ambush Leo?” an elder asked, frowning. “He is surrounded by many knights, so getting close to him will be no easy task.”

Lady Aishar smiled slightly, a sly glint in her eyes. "Don't worry, I already have a plan," she said softly. "Leo won't have many guards with him on his trip to Wilke Territory. We just need to ambush him on his return journey and we can wipe him out in one fell swoop."

“What about Alan Wilke?” another elder asked worriedly. “Won’t he become an obstacle for us?”

A cold glint flashed in Lady Aishar's eyes. "Alan Wilke is a variable, but he's also key to our journey to the continent of Pavel," she said slowly. "We can cooperate with him to fight against the royal family. As long as we can open the stargate, what does it matter to us if he wants to overthrow the entire kingdom's rule?"

The people in the room nodded in agreement. Although Mrs. Aishar's plan was risky, it was the only way for them to achieve their goal.

"Alright, everyone go and prepare." Lady Aishar waved her hand. "Remember, this operation cannot afford to fail. If Leo really insists on going his own way, then we'll have to send him to his death. We also need to take control of the Knights Guild as quickly as possible to pave the way for our journey to the continent of Bavel."

Everyone left, leaving only Mrs. Aishar in the hall.

She gazed at the sky outside the window, her eyes gleaming with ambition.

The twilight outside Poplar Valley was dyed amber by the campfire. Robin stood on the makeshift arena, the Dragon Slayer Spear leaning against him, the dragon scales appearing and disappearing in the firelight.

Twenty soldiers, covered in blood, stood upright. Their cloth clothes were patched with blood, but the long spears they held were polished to a shine.

These serfs, who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood, now had an unprecedented burning passion in their eyes.

"Watch closely!" Robin took a deep breath, and his clothes fluttered even without wind.

A faint light emanated from his palms, and his bones cracked softly. His ordinary steps instantly created afterimages, and when he threw a straight punch, the air emitted a tearing shriek.

The onlookers gasped in astonishment. Some instinctively took a half-step back, yet were captivated by the astonishing power and couldn't look away.

“This is basic boxing.” Robin stood up, white steam rising from his black hair. “It’s a breathing technique that uses specific breathing rhythms to mobilize the body’s qi and blood, multiplying strength, speed, and reaction time.” He glanced at the more than two thousand pairs of eyes below the stage. “Originally, this was a closely guarded secret of noble knights.”

A suppressed commotion arose from the crowd.

The lame old soldier, who had been whipped by the knight, clenched his fists. The boy who always practiced spearmanship in the dead of night stared wide-eyed. Even the cook in charge of logistics stood on tiptoe to look.

Robin took the leather breathing manual from his waist, its yellowed pages rustling in the wind: "But in Wilke, there are no secrets." When he handed the manual to the first soldier in line, the man's rough hands trembled violently, as if he were holding not a parchment scroll, but the scorching sun.

"Practice with me." Robin began to demonstrate the breathing rhythm, the rise and fall of his chest gradually synchronizing with his heartbeat, "Inhale as if swallowing a river, exhale as if splitting metal and stone!"

The twenty selected warriors roared in unison, their turbid blood surging through their meridians.

Some people blushed and shed tears, while others knelt on one knee due to excessive force, but no one relaxed.

When they finally mastered the technique and threw their first punch, the explosion in the air startled the owls around the camp.

"We can learn too!" the crowd suddenly erupted.

The cook, holding a wooden spoon, rushed over, the wounded soldier, his arm wrapped in bandages, staggered closer, and even the women who were helping to carry the arrows clenched their clothes tightly.

Looking at the jubilant crowd, Robin knew that from this moment on, Wilke's spear was no longer just a weapon made from farm tools, but a sharp blade that could truly tear apart the shackles of class.

The night wind carried the distant sound of horses' hooves across the camp, and at this moment, in Poplar Valley, a hope burned even more intensely than the campfire.

Using the system panel, Robin determined the attributes of the twenty people he would learn first, selected the most suitable breathing techniques for them, and combined them with the fist techniques he created to accelerate the learning speed of the breathing techniques.

To help them master the breathing technique as quickly as possible, Robin also channeled a stream of life force into their bodies, enabling them to master the technique even faster.

The twenty men selected were the most valiant in killing the enemy, and naturally, they were also the most physically fit, which enabled them to fight so bravely.

Therefore, the chances of becoming a knight's apprentice are very high, and it is not impossible for him to become a full-fledged knight in the future.

On the other side, twenty official knights serving as officers watched the militiamen learning breathing techniques with complicated expressions.

Robin naturally noticed them as well. After arranging the training for the twenty militiamen, he beckoned to the twenty knights, signaling them to come with him.

“I know you’re not convinced. Are you worried about being surpassed by these new free people?” Robin’s voice was deep and powerful.

His gaze swept across the faces of each knight, carrying an undeniable air of authority.

“My lord, we are not worried about being surpassed.” An older knight stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and revealed a hint of unwillingness in his eyes. “It’s just that this breathing technique has always been the exclusive domain of knights. It is really hard to accept that it is being taught to these serf-born warriors.”

Robin nodded slightly, his eyes firm and composed. "The glory of a knight does not come from noble status, but from courage and strength," he said slowly. "These warriors fight bravely on the battlefield, and their courage and determination are no less than yours."

“But, sir…” another knight began, but Robin interrupted him by raising his hand.

(End of this chapter)