Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 230 Ranch
The moonlight was obscured by thick clouds, and the figure of the demon general slipped into Robin's study like a ghost.

The candlelight cast flickering shadows on his pale face, making the scar appear particularly grotesque in the dim light.

"My lord!" The ghost general's voice was extremely low, yet every word was clear, "I examined the territory's accounts last night and discovered a fatal hidden danger."

Robin paused slightly in his amethyst goblet, the crimson liquid leaving a fleeting mark on the glass. He gestured for the ghost to continue, but his gaze lingered on the muddy tips of the other's boots.

This former nobleman had clearly just returned from some filthy slave market.

The ghost general's eyes gleamed with shrewdness as he spoke of "thirty-four thousand six hundred men." "Eight thousand able-bodied men have been drawn from the war camp, and half of the newly recruited knights' fiefdoms are now abandoned." His fingers traced invisible lines on the table. "Those knights, born from slavery, train by day and then have to cultivate the land themselves at night."

Robin's lips curled into a cold smile.

He was certainly aware of the problem; just last week, three Cavaliers collapsed on the training field due to overwork.

"Slave ships from Middle-earth dock at Black Harbor on the fifteenth of every month." The demon general's voice suddenly softened, as if discussing a work of art. "Female slaves cost only sixty percent of the price of males." His one eye stared directly at Robin. "Use them for breeding, and in three years we can produce a new batch of young laborers."

The candlelight suddenly flickered, illuminating a fleeting glint of cold light in Robin's eyes.

This proposal was both cruel and shrewd—to bind the knights with their families and to secure their loyalty with their offspring.

“Go do it.” Robin poured the remaining wine from his cup onto the ground, the liquid seeping into the cracks like blood. “But remember,” his amethyst ring suddenly pressed against the ghost general’s throat, “I want a living, loyal dog, not a stray dog ​​that dies from exhaustion.”

The candlelight flickered violently, casting the ghost general's pale face in alternating light and shadow.

He leaned forward, a morbid fanaticism flashing in his single eye: "Does Your Majesty know how the great nobles of the Middle Kingdom refer to their serfs?"

Robin's fingertips unconsciously traced the patterns on the Dragon Slayer Spear, a groove on the spear shaft perfectly fitting his knuckles.

“They call this ‘living assets’.” The Ghost General’s lips twisted into a sinister smile. “Like the purple melons planted in the territory, one crop is harvested and another grows.” He dipped his finger in wine and drew a rough map on the table. “Three days’ journey south along the Emerald River, in Earl Crawford’s ‘Livestock Farm,’ there are at least tens of thousands of serfs.”

Robin's pupils contracted slightly.

He recalled the slave ships he had seen last year, where blood seeping from the cracks in the decks was enough to attract seagulls.

"How sure are you?"

"Seventy percent certainty," the Ghost General suddenly lowered his voice. "Those nobles, to save money, only have ordinary soldiers guarding them, and even knight apprentices are rare." He licked his lips. "We just need to disguise ourselves as barbarians."

The Dragon-Slaying Spear suddenly stood upright on the bluestone ground with a "clang".

Robin stood up, his shadow completely enveloping the Ghost General: "Summon forty elite knights and four hundred knight apprentices." His voice carried a cold, self-persuasive quality. "Remember, we're here to give those serfs a different way of life."

Just then, moonlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the Crawford family crest hidden in the Ghost General's sleeve—it was still stained with dried blood.

"No one is more wise than my lord!"

The pre-dawn fog shrouded the banks of the Emerald River. Forty knights, their horses with hooves wrapped in cotton, moved silently across the muddy riverbed, followed by four hundred knight apprentices.

Robin's new Tang sword lay across the saddle; the Dragon-Slaying Spear was too conspicuous, so he had a new Tang sword forged.

"arrive."

The ghost general reined in the rope, his pale finger pointing to a vague outline in the mist.

It was a huge enclosure made of thorns, with iron rings nailed to the wooden stakes still hanging with half a broken chain.

The night breeze carried the stench of excrement and blood, along with the faint sound of a child crying. Robin's amethyst ring suddenly became hot.

This is a sign that the Dragon Devouring Breathing Technique has sensed a large number of life forms.

He slowly raised his left hand, and forty knights simultaneously formed a battle formation, each with a cold glint in their eyes beneath their masks.

“Remember,” Robin’s voice was colder than the morning mist, “only kill the guards.”

The fog along the Emerald River is thickest before dawn, like a heavy shroud covering the Earl of Crawford's "Man and Livestock Farm".

Robin's amethyst ring glowed eerily in the darkness. Forty Bauhinia Knights dispersed like ghosts, their horses' hooves wrapped in cotton cloth making only a soft "plop" sound as they trod on the muddy riverbank.

The demon general's single eye gleamed with a morbid glee behind his mask.

He was once the master of this land, but the Earl of Crawford—that fat vulture—has been using these swarms of slave soldiers to nibble away at his borders time and time again.

He remembered that three years ago, in late autumn, his thirty most elite knights were worn down and killed in the wheat field by this group of worthless serfs.

"Southeast corner, three watchtowers." The ghost general's voice was hoarse, like a rusty knife scraping bone, his fingers tracing precise arcs in the mist. "The guards on the towers change shifts every quarter of an hour, and now is when they are most exhausted."

Robin slightly raised his new Tang sword, and forty knights simultaneously took down their pulley bows from their backs, the cloth strips wrapped around the arrowheads soaked in pine resin.

"put."

Three rockets tore through the fog and precisely embedded themselves in the thatched roof of the wooden tower.

The fire roared up, tearing a blood-red gash through the darkness before dawn.

The warning bell rang only once before abruptly stopping, as the ghost general himself threw a short spear that pinned the bell-ringer to the bronze bell.

"Kill the guards! Open the gates!" Robin's growl was clearly audible amidst the chaos.

He spurred his horse into the flames, and with a horizontal slash of his Dragon-Slaying Spear, he cut two guards, who were holding up their trousers, into four pieces at the waist.

The sound of intestines sliding off mingled with the crackling of the flames, creating an eerie harmony.

The sight in the livestock pen made Robin's stomach churn.

Thousands of serfs, barely clothed, were chained to wooden stakes like livestock, many with their ankles worn down to the bone.

In the corner, a small mountain of corpses was piled up, and several "living" bodies that were clearly still alive were carelessly thrown on top, left to be devoured by maggots.

A girl, no more than five or six years old, was curled up in a pile of dung, holding a rotting baby in her arms.

"Beasts!" Robin gritted his teeth. His new Tang sword suddenly flashed with an earthy yellow light, shredding the five guards charging towards him into pieces.

These so-called "guards" were nothing but thugs and hooligans, without even proper armor.

The ghost general had already severed the iron lock on the main railing. His movements were frighteningly practiced, clearly indicating that he had studied the layout of the place beforehand.

As the gate collapsed with a crash, the former nobleman suddenly shouted in pure Middle-earth aristocratic language: "Run north! Cross the river and you'll be free."

(End of this chapter)