Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 226 Summoning
The Frost Tribe's ice crystal totem pole suddenly shattered.

Beneath the old chieftain's ice armor, muscles bulged and bulged, and the bone goblet in his hand was crushed into dust.

It's been three days.

There was no news from the Ice Claw tribe for three whole days.

Those were five hundred of the most elite Frostwolf Knights, not to mention the Frostwhisper shaman personally leading the team.

"Impossible!" His voice made the frost wolves outside the tent tremble on the ground. "Even the most fortified Ironthorn Fortress in the Westerlands could not withstand my son's frost magic."

The high priest trembled as he presented the ice crystal plate used for divination, its surface bearing the shining North Star.

That was the life mark of the chief's son.

It was now murky and rotten like flesh.

"Investigate!" The old chief's roar shattered the twelve bone candlesticks inside the tent. "I want to see them alive or dead!"

In the pre-dawn mist, 1,300 barbarian warriors gathered like a tide at the border of Wilke territory.

Their heavy footsteps made the earth tremble slightly, and their exhaled breath condensed into eerie totems in the morning light.

The leading barbarian chieftain wore a battle robe sewn from knight's skin, and nine skulls inlaid with ice crystals clattered together at his waist.

As he raised his blood-stained battle axe, all the barbarian warriors simultaneously slashed their palms, letting the blood drip onto the ground beneath their feet.

"By the barbarian gods!" The chieftain's roar shattered the icicles on the treetops. "Today we will soak our weapons in the blood of our enemies!"

The bronze alarm bell in the watchtower suddenly shattered.

The sentry's spear clattered to the ground, his pupils reflecting the distorted black smoke on the horizon.

That was no ordinary beacon fire, but a hideous human figure hundreds of feet tall.

Smoke Shadow's head slowly turned, its empty "eyes" facing the direction of Wilke's territory.

"Retreat!" The sergeant ripped off the anchor badge from his chest and slammed it to the ground. Amidst the sparks flying from the metal hitting the stone slab, three soldiers leaped off the tower like arrows. They didn't even dare look back as they landed; the "arms" of smoke were reflected in the ice crystals crushed by their boots.

Inside the Lord's Castle's war room, a crack suddenly appeared in the crystal sand table.

"The Northern Watchtower has lost contact." Ito crossed the sand table, smashing all the obsidian chess pieces representing the barbarians to pieces. "Those beasts are practicing witchcraft, a blood sacrifice. They're using human sacrifices to summon unknown monsters!"

Viscount Wilke's sword automatically drew three inches from its sheath, the runes on the scabbard, which had never lit up in three hundred years, now glowing with a bloody light: "Order the Warhorse Regiment to be on high alert." The old man's voice suddenly sounded twenty years younger, "Let those barbarians see that in the face of absolute power, any witchcraft is just a joke."

The bugle call sounded on the drill ground.

The moment five thousand halberds fell to the ground simultaneously, the entire training ground seemed to sink.

These rough weapons gleamed with a cold, hard glint in the morning light.

The halberds still had splinters from the wood that hadn't been properly planed, and their blades were far less sharp than a knight's sword. But when they were lined up in such neat rows, like a steel jungle, even the howling north wind seemed to freeze.

“Not quite good enough.” Ito’s fingertips brushed the tip of the halberd, sparks flying from his knight’s glove. “But it’s enough to hurt the barbarians.” His boot toes ground against the broken mold, the ceaseless hammering of the blacksmith’s shop these past few days finally transforming into the dense forest of death before him.

The reason only 5,000 halberd-wielding soldiers were deployed was mainly due to a shortage of weapons. Halberds are much easier to forge than knight's swords, especially since Robin uses a casting method, which, combined with assembly line production, greatly speeds up the process. It's no exaggeration to say that the time it takes to forge one knight's sword is enough for a blacksmith to forge a hundred halberds.

However, equipping thousands of them at once would put considerable pressure on Viscount Wilke's territory, not to mention the pulley crossbows that they are currently working hard to develop.

Robin finally returned as Viscount Wilke's cloak swept past the crenellations of the city gate.

“Father.” The young man held his dragon-slaying spear across his face. “There are seven legends hidden in the barbarian army. I personally led the army, while you and Uncle Ito lay in ambush and killed the legendary barbarian warriors at the crucial moment.”

The old lord and Ito exchanged a glance and burst into laughter.

Will, dragging his battered body, knelt on one knee. The knights behind him, equally wounded, stood as straight as drawn swords.

The young knight apprentices were still trembling, but their hands holding the swords were as steady as a rock.

“My lord,” Will’s voice was like sandpaper rubbing against iron, each word laced with bloodlust, “please allow us to fight alongside you.”

Robin saw nothing but hatred in their eyes.

"your injury"

"Nothing to fear!" Will suddenly roared, his voice shattering the icicles on the eaves. He pulled the broken sword stuck in the ground with a backhand stroke. "Let those barbarians see what true chivalry is!"

The knight apprentices behind him all patted their right hands on their chests.

Robin's maniacal laughter echoed across the city walls, startling a flock of crows into flight.

"Good! Good! Good!" he shouted three times, each shout louder than the last. "But now—" he suddenly stopped laughing, his eyes sharp as knives, "all of you get the hell back to heal your wounds!"

Andysu stepped forward, the anchor pattern on his armor gleaming coldly in the sunlight. He patted Will's shoulder heavily, so hard that the wounded knight groaned. "Trying to earn some credit?"

Andy Sue's voice carried a hint of mockery, "Let's heal your injuries first. If you develop chronic illnesses," he deliberately dragged out the words, "you'll only be able to count supplies in the rear."

Will's face flushed red instantly, and he straightened up abruptly, about to retort.

"Save your breath, you cripple." Ironjaw's giant axe slammed down in front of Will's feet, sending up shards of stone that hit his battered armor. "In your current state, you'll only be a hindrance on the battlefield." The giant leaned down, his ferocious face almost touching Will's. "I don't have time to collect your corpse."

Robin smiled as she watched Will tremble with anger.

He turned to look into the distance, the blade of the Dragon Slayer Spear gleaming dangerously in the sunlight: "Heal your wounds, and I'll take you to hunt down barbarians." His voice wasn't loud, but it silenced everyone. "Then—not a single one will be spared."

Will's knuckles turned white from gripping the weight so tightly.

He took a deep breath, the cold air mixed with the smell of rust filling his lungs, and finally slowly lowered his head—for the first time, this stubborn knight yielded to reality.

Beneath the city wall, five thousand warriors marched forward in formation like an iron torrent.

The tips of each long spear gleamed coldly, and their synchronized steps caused the ground to tremble slightly.

Five hundred crossbowmen followed closely behind, their pulley crossbows gleaming dangerously in the morning light.

Robin led the way, his Dragon-Slaying Spear pointing diagonally at the ground, the trail left by the spearhead burning with a faint purple flame. He didn't turn around, but simply raised his hand and made a simple gesture—all troops, speed up!

(End of this chapter)