Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 222 Fury

The Count with the goatee's trembling hand suddenly steadied.

He stared at his family's Red Deer Banner on the sand table, with a miniature carving of the battle axe that his ancestor had used to kill the barbarian chieftain under the flagpole.

“I still have two thousand private soldiers in my territory,” he ripped off the remaining wisps of his fake beard, revealing claw marks from his youthful battles with dire wolves, “all of them must be transferred to Ironthorn Fortress!”

As if infected, the nobles straightened their bodies one by one:

The Marquis of Mink smashed the crystal wine cabinet and took out his ancestral barbarian skinning knife.
The young viscount, who had vomited, wiped his mouth clean and suddenly unfastened the fabric of his ceremonial robe, which had been fastened all the way to his neck, revealing a body covered in old battlefield wounds that seemed out of place for his age.

Even the most cowardly clerk tore his silk shirt, revealing the family motto "Never Negotiate" branded on his collarbone.
Sonata's fingertips traced the edge of the sand table, and the magical glow suddenly turned blood-red: "Send orders to the various families—"

"Abandon all the surrounding villages!"

"Burn the unharvested farmland!"

"Lure the barbarians to Blackrock Canyon—"

He suddenly lifted the hidden compartment at the bottom of the sand table, revealing a replica of the terrain from the decisive battle three hundred years ago.

“There, with the bones of their ancestors,” the Marquis’s voice suddenly resonated with the spirits of their forefathers, “we will teach them another lesson!”

Suddenly, the wine glass in Mrs. Aishar's fingertips froze into ice, the crimson wine solidifying into blood-like streaks within the ice crystals.

With a gentle flick, the ice cup turned into dust and scattered in the wind.

"Two hundred thousand elite troops? Six hundred thousand slave soldiers?" A mocking smile curled at the corner of her lips. "They're just adding a few more sacrificial offerings to the barbarian altar."

The intelligence scroll in Fengling's hand moved automatically without wind, revealing an image of the Western Frontier army gathering—knights clad in magnificent armor were polishing their ancestral weapons, while slave soldiers were chained together like livestock.

"Madam, the Western Border nobles still have ten legendary figures in command."

"Legend?" Lady Aishar suddenly chuckled, her fingertips tracing the surface of the crystal ball. The scene shifted to the northern ice plains—where dozens of barbarian elders clad in animal skins were performing a sacrificial war dance. The frozen ground beneath their feet cracked with each dance, revealing massive skeletons buried deep underground. "If the barbarians dare to invade the western border, they can't possibly only be legendary figures."

She suddenly turned around, her skirt sweeping across the ground where purple ice flowers bloomed: "Tell Allen." The ice flowers conjured an image of Wilke leading his army to harvest the purple melons, "The Western nobles are now like grasshoppers in autumn—"

The crystal ball suddenly shattered, and the fragments formed a map of the Western Frontier in the air, with black mist representing the barbarians devouring castle markers one by one.

"The more you bounce around," Mrs. Aishar blew away the last crystal, "the faster you'll die."

When the wind chime was writing a message, it was discovered that the ink automatically solidified into a line of text:
"Take advantage of the chaos to annex Black Pine Forest Territory; I have an inside man there to help you."

When she looked up in shock, Mrs. Aishar was already standing on the edge of the terrace, gazing at the churning green clouds on the northern horizon.

Suddenly, all the bronze candlesticks in the Knights' Guild Hall went out.

The Western Envoy's gold-embroidered cloak trembled in the darkness. His impassioned plea for help still echoed under the dome, but now he stood frozen like a goose with its throat being choked—because the Suicide Squad Medal in Master Odom's hand was turning into rust inch by inch before his eyes.

"The Western Frontier was destroyed?" The old knight's voice was like sandpaper rubbing against raw iron. "Three hundred years ago, the population of the western barbarians was three times what it is now." He suddenly slammed his rusted medal on the table. "Back then, the Knights' Guild lost seven legends in battle, just to earn the right for you western nobles to affix your fingerprints to the contract—"

Suddenly, blood seeped from the portraits of past presidents on the four walls of the hall.

In the oldest portrait, the first president's severed right arm points at the messenger: "Look at what you've done all these years!"

The severed arm in the portrait actually rose up and pointed towards the western border outside the window. "Turn the border fortress into a winery! Use the training ground to grow lavender! Even melt down the ancestral barbarian-slaying sword and make it into jewelry!" The envoy's knees buckled and he knelt down. Indeed, he was wearing a newly made purple-gold sword ornament at his waist—the raw material was the ancient sword from the family's armory.

“Reinforcements are welcome.” Odom stepped on the messenger’s dropped letter of distress, the wax seal of the Western nobles on the parchment melting. “But I want you to hand over the original contract from three hundred years ago.”

The entire council chamber fell into a deathly silence.

The vice presidents suddenly turned pale. The contract not only recorded the division of land, but also the oath made by the nobles to "never enslave the descendants of barbarians".

“It seems,” Odom’s steel boots crushed the sealing wax, “that you burned the contract a long time ago?”

As the messenger scrambled out the door, the magic map in Alina's hand was spread out on the table, and Odom's charcoal pencil drew harsh lines on it.

As the lines extended, the temperature in the entire conference hall seemed to drop sharply.

The charcoal pencil suddenly broke.

"Blackrock Fortress, Frostwolf Canyon, Ironthorn Line"—each time the old knight uttered a name, a strategic stronghold on the map would be marked in crimson, signifying "all fallen."

The red-bearded vice president's wine glass shattered on the ground, and the aged ale seeped into the cracks between the floor tiles, forming zigzag patterns that resembled the circuitous routes of a barbarian army.

Ryslanka slammed his fist on the table, making the weapons rack on the wall vibrate: "Only three days! Even if you put 130,000 pigs on the border—"

“A pig won’t get stabbed in the back,” Alina suddenly interrupted softly.

Her fingertip pointed to the edge of the map—behind those fallen fortresses, where the newly built holiday estates of the Western nobles were clearly marked.

The magical images revealed that the walls of these manors were actually built with the stone blocks of a border fortress.

Odom's breathing suddenly became heavy.

The old knight drew a semicircle on the map with his charcoal pencil, connecting all the occupied territories into one.

This arc shape resembles a scimitar, and the blade points directly into the unsuspecting heart of the western frontier.

“They’re employing the ‘Spine Breaker’ tactic.” Odom’s voice sent chills down everyone’s spines. “They’re specifically targeting the days when noble private troops are changing shifts.”

The magic lights in the conference room flickered on and off, casting ever-changing shadows on everyone's faces.

Such accurate intelligence means that the barbarians must have an inside agent among the nobles, or worse, that someone deliberately let the information slip by.

"Give the order." Odom suddenly tore open his knight's robe, revealing his chest covered in claw marks. "Activate the 'Bronze Oath'."

Several older knights staggered backward at the same time.

That was a forbidden agreement left by the first guild master: when the human territory faces a crisis of survival, the Knights Guild can temporarily take over the military power of all nobles.

"But teacher!" Alina grabbed the old man's arm anxiously, "The enemy forces in Middle-earth?"

"Tell the Bauhinia Organization to hold them off while we deal with the barbarians. Lady Aishar probably doesn't want to take over a ravaged Western Region!"

(End of this chapter)