Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 208 Where to Go
In the distance, Wind Chime appeared on the magic airship. She removed her spiderweb mask and waved to Robin from afar.

Robin's gaze had already crossed the forest, looking towards Viscount Wilke's territory—that was where the real battlefield lay.

"Let's go back," Robin said softly. "Our journey has only just begun."

In this battle, Robin perfectly displayed his formidable fighting prowess, making Wind Chime no longer dare to underestimate him.

As dusk fell, Viscount Wilke's estate was bathed in the crimson light of torches, and the human wall formed by five thousand warriors resembled a raging red tide.

As Robin led the seven blood-soaked knights through the city gate, cheers erupted. The rhythm of the wooden shields clashing with the spears shook the city walls, causing dust to fall, as if the entire earth was boiling.

Robin's hair was covered in blood scabs, and the dragon scale patterns were faintly visible through the gaps in her armor.

He gripped Leo's Holy Sword of Judgment tightly, the remaining holy light on the blade reflecting off the torches atop the city walls, illuminating the knightly code inscribed on the sword in a crimson glow.

The code that once symbolized absolute authority is now flowing with the blood of its original owner, congealing into dark red beads at the tip of the sword, before falling into the rough, raised hands of the warriors.

"Leo, the guild master of the Knights Guild, is dead!" Robin's roar pierced the sky, his voice carrying the lingering echo of the Dragon Slayer Spear tearing apart the legendary knight.

He raised the sword of judgment high, the light reflecting off its blade so bright that everyone squinted. "That so-called sacred code will be rewritten by our own hands today!"

A brief silence fell over the crowd, broken only by the heavy breathing of the other people.

Suddenly, Andisu knelt on one knee, blood seeping from beneath his tattered armor, yet he still pounded his chest forcefully: "We are willing to follow our lord to rebuild order!" The seven knights followed suit, the metallic sound of them kneeling like the booming of war drums.

The soldiers erupted in cheers. They tossed aside their makeshift weapons, and some tore off the burlap sacks bearing the marks of slavery, revealing their scarred chests.
Some people tied fragments of Leo's broken sword to their waists, as if they were medals of supreme honor.

Robin gazed at the red ocean of civilians before him, the dragon scale patterns pulsating violently beneath his skin.

Grand Knight Westin's gilded carriage rolled over the gravel road of Viscount Wilke's estate.

The nobleman, who had once commanded the knightly order, clutched the brocade box containing his family crest, gazing through the carriage window at the silver dragon banner fluttering atop the city walls.

That was Robin's newly designed battle banner, with dragon claws gripping a broken knight's sword, fluttering in the morning breeze.

“Master, the city gate guards did not stop us.” The steward’s voice was trembling with anxiety. “But look there.” He pointed to the training ground in the distance, where thousands of soldiers were practicing a newly improved spear formation. Their leather armor no longer bore noble crests, but instead bore simple anchor marks—the symbol of free men.

Westin's face was ashen, and the veins on the back of his hands bulged.

Last night, as he knelt before the Viscountess, she toyed with a ruby ​​ring on her finger, her casual tone sharp as a blade: "Westin, times have changed. When Allen can use a commoner knight to slay a powerful figure of the Order, how long can the bloodline of the nobility protect you?"

At this moment, he finally understood that those warriors he had once regarded as "inferior people" had now become the true masters of the territory.

On the castle terrace, Viscount Wilke watched the fleeing noble caravan, his engraved silver cup swaying gently in his hand.

The red wine gleamed crimson in the morning light, mirroring his mood at that moment.

“I never imagined that Allen would actually kill Leo, the strongest warrior in the Western Regions.” The Viscountess’s voice came from behind, her long purple silk dress trailing on the stone ground, and her cloak embroidered with bauhinia flowers faintly revealing sorcery runes. “Aren’t you leaving?” The Viscount swirled his cup, his gaze following the dust kicked up by the Westin carriage.

"Go? Where to?" The Viscountess chuckled, her fingertips brushing against the stone irises carved on the edge of the terrace. The petals slowly bloomed with a purple glow under her touch. "With Leo dead, the royal family's sword will sooner or later be wielded against all 'unstable' territories. Unless we complete the revolution." She turned to her husband, her eyes gleaming with fanaticism, "nowhere else is death."

The viscount remained silent for a long time, then lowered his head and stared at the reflection in his cup.

He recalled thirty years ago when he led more than twenty knights to take over this place. The slave soldiers kneeling outside the manor had eyes that were completely different from the warriors on the training ground today.

Then it was numbness; now it's a burning wildfire.

“You knew all along that Allen was destined for greatness.” His voice carried a hint of relief. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sent false intelligence back to the Round Table Council so many times.”

The Viscountess walked to his side and gently rested her head on his shoulder: "Because I see in his eyes the same thing you did back then—a weariness of the old order." She looked up at the horizon, where Robin was in the center of the training ground. "Now, it's time for the Iris Banner to truly bloom."

The wind in Aspen Valley whipped up sand and gravel that lashed against the Westin's carriage, causing it to lurch violently. The family crest from the brocade box rolled to the ground at his feet.

The old knight drew back the curtains, his pupils shrinking sharply—ahead at the valley entrance, a thousand warriors stood like a black iron wall, with Andisu at the forefront wielding a rock-hard battle axe. The bloodstains on his armor had not yet been washed away, and the anchor badge on his shoulder armor gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

“Lord Westin, you should leave from somewhere else!” Andy Su’s voice was like iron tempered by ice. His battle axe slammed heavily onto the ground, and the sparks that flew out illuminated the new scar on his left eye.

Behind him, twenty knight apprentices raised compound pulley bows, the golden runes on the arrows flowing, which were the prototype of Robin's improved earth-burst arrows.

Westin's Adam's apple bobbed as he looked at the warriors he had once dismissed as "commoners."

They gripped rough wooden-handled spears, but their eyes were sharper than ever before.

Some still bore the brand of slavery on their necks, but had newly tattooed an anchor above the brand—a silent mockery of the old order.

"Andy, don't forget who you are!" Westin forced himself to remain calm, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I am the Grand Knight Commander of Wilke Territory, not you..."

"What do you mean, 'my'?" Andy Sue suddenly shouted, interrupting the other person.

He took a half step forward, the clanging of armor startling the birds in the valley. "Is this the person who made me use the wrong breathing technique for five whole years? Is this the person who locked the high-level sword manual in the oak cabinet?" He pulled open his collar, revealing the twisted veins on his chest. "Look at this scar! This is proof of your so-called 'lack of talent'!"

Westin's face turned deathly pale instantly.

He recalled how, in order to ensure that the children of noble families consistently ranked at the top in the assessment, he deliberately taught them incorrect breathing techniques.

At this moment, the pale gold patterns on Andy's chest were spreading—the marks of Robin using his life force to reshape his meridians.

"Get out of the way!" Westin's adjutant suddenly spurred his horse forward, his longsword aimed straight at Andysu's throat. But his movement froze halfway—three earth-burst arrows grazed past his ears, blasting the boulder behind him into dust.

The soldiers raised their long spears, the dense forest of spear tips shimmering in the sunlight, resembling a black wall of thorns.

(End of this chapter)