Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 221 Invasion
The corpses of five hundred barbarian warriors stood frozen in the purple mist, like a black forest frozen by frost.

Their muscles still retained the ferocious posture of their charge, and the purple melon poison made even the weakest of these elite warriors, who possessed the strength of knights, unable to even fall.

Robin stepped on the icy ground, and the tip of his Dragon Slayer Spear pierced through the bone armor of the legendary barbarian warrior.

The other man's wide-open pupils were still frozen in disbelief—he couldn't understand until his death why his axe blade, which was powerful enough to split the city gate, was deflected by a young nobleman's casual parry.

“Two legends, one hundred great knights, and four hundred elite knights.” Ironjaw counted the spoils of war, his voice filled with suppressed shock. “Three years ago, such strength would have been enough to wipe out three earls.”

The purple mist gradually dissipated, revealing the battle camp standing ready in the rear.

The soldiers were wiping the blood-stained spears, many of them still looking dazed.

Most of them were serfs three years ago, but now they have personally ended the barbarian warbands that struck fear into the hearts of the entire North.

“Do you remember Leo’s Knights?” Robin suddenly spoke, her fingertips tracing the new scratches on the gun. “Back then, we didn’t even dare to confront them head-on; we could only ambush them in the shadows of the Bauhinia.”

Andy Sue, who was applying fresh venom to a crossbow bolt, grinned upon hearing this: "Now it's their turn to hide from us."

On the castle terrace, Viscount Wilke crushed an ice crystal.

The old lord looked at the flags fluttering on the battlefield and couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"You brat!" he chuckled as he turned around, the familiar cracking of bones echoing from beneath his armor.

After ascending to legendary status, this body finally regained its peak condition from twenty years ago. "Order the kitchen to prepare a feast tonight using the yak from the Ice Plains sent by the barbarians!"

The snow line in the distance suddenly trembled slightly.

A emaciated snow wolf emerged from a pile of corpses, the totem pole tied to its back emitting a green glow.

The message carved by the dying barbarian shaman with his last strength is now being scattered along with the wolf's claws as they run northwards across the frozen land, where tens of thousands of wolf riders are gathering.

Marquis Sonata's jade wine glass suddenly shattered.

He gazed at the churning green clouds on the northern horizon, the dust kicked up by tens of thousands of wolf riders.

Three days ago, he was still basking in the glory of having fooled the barbarians—until the scouts brought back the village filled with totem poles.

"My lord," the scout captain knelt on the ground, trembling, "it's not a thousand people, it's fifteen tribes! They even have breastfeeding mothers carrying their babies on their backs to fight!"

Deep within the icy plains, the ancestral altar of the Frostwolf tribe is burning.

The aged shaman threw bone powder into the sacrificial fire, and the flames suddenly surged ten feet, transforming into a giant flaming axe that stretched across the sky.

In the firelight, a scene from three hundred years ago emerged—the iron hooves of noble knights crushed totem poles, and blood-stained contract scrolls burned on the corpse of a barbarian chieftain.

"Look!" The shaman's roar tore through the rift valley, and the permafrost cracked open like a spiderweb. "They paralyzed our warriors with poison in their mead and stole the land from our ancestral gods with gilded parchment!"

Warriors from fifteen tribes pounded their chests simultaneously, and tens of thousands of bodies draped in wolf skins erupted with a thunderous roar like an avalanche.

They pulled out the ice crystal bottle from their waists, and the bluish-black severed fingers inside suddenly stood upright, like live snakes that had smelled blood.

"revenge!"

"revenge!!"

"revenge--!!!"

The sound waves surged one after another, shattering the thousand-year-old ice formations on the cliff edge.

Young mothers lifted up the babies strapped to their backs, and those toothless little mouths let out sharp howls;

The white-haired old warrior slashed open his wrinkled face, smearing his blood on the faded patterns of the totem pole. The direwolves began pounding their skulls against the ground.

The dire wolves tore at their forepaws, letting their blood soak into the iron spikes on their paws.

Even three-year-old children were scraping the wolf head brand under their collarbones with stone chips until they were bloody and mangled.

The shaman plunged his bone staff into the sacrificial fire, and the flames instantly split into tens of thousands of fire serpents, piercing into the pupils of every warrior: "Today, we will rebuild the altar with the skulls of nobles! We will irrigate the frozen earth with their blood!"

"Ouch——"

"Awwww——"

He was met with a chorus of wolf howls that echoed from the far west all the way to the edge of the melting glaciers.

Every ice crystal on the permafrost resonated, as if the souls of ancestors slaughtered three hundred years ago were all awakening.

The border walls began to crumble and collect dust.

When the first scout was thrown from the tower by the sound wave, the nobles finally understood—what they had let in was not a knife, but an avalanche that had been brewing for three centuries.

Sonata's messenger suddenly collapsed to the ground.

On the parchment map, the wolf head symbol representing the barbarians had covered the entire Western Wall.

Even more terrifying were the arrows drawn in blood, which didn't point towards Wilke's territory, but instead plunged straight into the heart of the western border.

“They’re seeking revenge,” the goatee-bearded count said, his fake beard soaked with cold sweat. “They want the ancestral land that was taken from them three hundred years ago!”

The goatee count's fake beard suddenly fell off in half and stuck to his chin, which was slippery from cold sweat.

"Thirty-seven border fortresses have lost contact," the messenger's voice sounded like a rooster being strangled. "The last message said the barbarians have stuck our ancestors' severed fingers all over the city walls."

Suddenly, the Marquis of Mink Fur overturned the table, and the jewel-encrusted wine glass rolled to Sonata's feet.

The wine spread across the carpet, resembling the direction of the blood-red arrows on a map—pointing directly to each of their territories.

"Your plan!" He grabbed Sonata's mink coat collar, the gold thread embroidery snapping with a crack under his brute force. "You said it was just to let in a few stray dogs!"

The other nobles wandered around aimlessly like headless flies.

The youngest viscount even knelt on the ground and vomited; his territory was right on the path the blood arrows were bound to take.

Marquis Sonata's jade ring suddenly cracked in two.

The crisp sound of jade shattering brought the chaos to an abrupt halt.

The nobles then realized that their nominal leader had never left the main seat, and not even the sable fur on the armrests had been disturbed.

Marquis Sonata's gilded cane traced a burning path on the map, and two eerie green phosphorescent flames suddenly burst forth from the empty eye sockets of the barbarian skull embedded in the cane's head.

“Three hundred years ago, our ancestors taught these beasts with iron and fire—” The cane slammed heavily on the ground, and the rumble of gears meshing echoed from beneath the castle, “The land of the West recognizes only the blood of the nobles!”

With a loud bang as the mechanism was activated, the painted dome of the council hall suddenly cracked open, revealing a hidden giant sand table.

A miniature version of the Western Frontier emerges in a magical glow, with each castle model adorned with a bloodstained family crest flag.

"Look closely!" The Marquis pulled open his sable cloak, revealing an embroidered scroll depicting his family history on the inner lining—in the picture, a hand wearing his family ring was crushing a barbarian crown into a piece of iron. "How utterly they were defeated back then!"

(End of this chapter)