Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 235 Strong Enemy
The Shadow Assassin's black cloak darted swiftly among the treetops, the hem of the cloak torn open in three places by thorns.

Normally, this would have been enough to make him feel heartbroken for half a day, but right now he just wanted to run faster.

"Fuck you bastards!" he finally cursed as he crossed the border, his voice startling a flock of night owls. "Two legends? Six great knights?"

Recalling the scenes he witnessed during the reconnaissance, his temples throbbed. The shouts of the knight apprentices on the training ground could shake pine needles from three miles away.

The communication crystal at his waist suddenly heated up. As the assassin drew it, Earl Crawford's roar shattered the ice shards three steps away: "Where is he? Where is the evidence?"

"Evidence?" The assassin stomped on the crystal, and the last thing he saw in the shards was the scene on the walls of Viscount Wilke's territory: twelve giant ballistae, each with two knight apprentices who could draw the strings with their bare hands. "I almost became evidence!"

He touched the scar on his neck.

Three days ago, the viscount's arrow flew past him almost grazing his Adam's apple.

Even more terrifying, when he was hiding in the tree canopy, he clearly saw the figure carrying the Dragon Slayer Spear in the center of the training ground. He was only caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, and his Shadow Concealment spell almost failed.

"This job will cost extra." The assassin suddenly stopped in his tracks. A figure wearing a silver mask stood in the moonlight ahead. "At least three times the pay."

Laughter from beneath the silver mask sounded like a venomous snake slithering through withered leaves: "A wise choice." A large bag of gold coins was tossed over, containing not only glittering coins but also two unidentified scrolls. "This is the deposit."

In the Earl of Crawford's study, a crystal wine glass shattered into countless sharp fragments on the scarlet carpet.

The count's fat fingers gripped the secret letter tightly, the parchment groaning under its weight.

"Wilk," he gritted his teeth as he squeezed out the name, veins bulging on his forehead.

The scene of the looting was still vivid in his mind; the slaves he had carefully raised were driven away from the pasture like livestock, and the priceless ledgers disappeared without a trace.

The steward nervously handed over a battle report: "My lord, this is the battle loss suffered by the allied forces of the minor nobles of the Middle Kingdom at the Wilke border last month."

The count's pupils contracted sharply. The parchment clearly recorded: three legendary knights had fallen, twenty-four great knights had perished, and over two thousand elite soldiers remained forever on that land where the bauhinia flowers bloomed.

As for the slave soldiers, he didn't treat them as human beings at all.

"Damn it!" He slammed the battle report on the table, but had to force himself to calm down.

His fingers unconsciously caressed the gem on the family ring as the Earl quickly calculated in his mind: with the Crawford family's current strength, rashly starting a war would be tantamount to throwing an egg against a rock.

Just as he was suppressing his anger and preparing to consider the matter carefully, the captain of the guards rushed in in a panic: "My lord! Something has happened to the jade caravan!"

The crystal glass in the count's hand fell again.

This caravan laden with treasures was his last hope for a turnaround.

"Those bandit gangs are suspected to be knights from Viscount Wilke's territory..." The captain of the guard's voice trembled. "The caravan guards said that although the attackers were disguised as bandits, some of them used the Swift Breathing Technique!"

The Gale Breathing Technique is the signature basic breathing technique of Viscount Wilke's territory, and many knight apprentices practice this breathing technique.

The count's face turned deathly pale instantly, and he spat a mouthful of blood onto the luxurious carpet. This was hardly a robbery.

This was clearly a blatant humiliation of him by the Wilke family!

"Pass down the order!" He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his voice chillingly cold. "Strengthen the security of all trade routes. Also, go and summon the envoy from the Shadow Council."

Not only did he hire assassins, he also planned to unite with other nobles to form a coalition to attack Viscount Wilke's territory.

In the Earl of Crawford’s secret chamber, the candlelight cast distorted shadows of three people onto the wall covered with maps.

The count's fat fingers drew a deep furrow on the sand table, pointing directly to the Bauhinia Castle in Viscount Wilke's territory.

"Look, everyone!" The Earl's voice trembled slightly with suppressed anger. "Wilker's expansion has threatened the interests of all of us." He pointed to several key locations on the sand table. "In the past six months, they have encroached on the territories of four border families."

The silver-masked messenger chuckled softly, his voice beneath the mask carrying a metallic chill: "So, Count, you've finally come to your senses? Assassination alone won't solve the problem."

The third person, seated in the shadows, was an envoy from the long-established noble family of Lorraine in Middle-earth. He slowly removed his hood, revealing a scarred face. "One of my family's caravans perished in that border conflict," he said, glancing warily at the Earl, "but Wilke now commands two legendary knights and is suspected of secretly harboring a legendary archer. What makes us think we can win?"

A sly glint flashed in the count's eyes. He pulled open a hidden compartment and took out a roll of parchment bound with a black ribbon: "This is a map of the troop distribution in Wilke territory, provided by an insider who wishes to remain anonymous." He paused deliberately, "More importantly, I have persuaded other nobles who primarily cultivate slaves to join forces."

"I believe you have all noticed that over 90% of the caravans attacked recently were engaged in the slave trade." The count's words caused a long silence in the meeting.

Clearly, many people could not refuse Lord Crawford's words.

The silver mask suddenly leaned forward, the candlelight flickering on it: "With the forces the Shadow Council can mobilize, we can launch a surprise attack during the blooming season of the Bauhinia flowers." He tapped the sand table lightly with his finger, "At that time, their main force will be busy harvesting purple gourds."

The Lorraine envoy stroked the scar on his chin, then suddenly revealed a sinister smile: "Including the private armies of our six families, how many troops can we muster?"

A long-absent smile finally appeared on Earl Crawford's plump face. He raised his wine glass: "At least seven legends, fifty great knights, two hundred knights, and..." The glass slammed heavily onto the sand table, "...twenty thousand elite soldiers!"

In Middle-earth, the minimum standard to be considered an elite soldier is a knight's apprentice.

This shows that the strength of the nobles in the Central Plains is indeed greater than that of the nobles in the Four Realms.

As the crows flew across the Emerald River, the moonlight cast an eerie purple glow on their wings.

Inside Lady Elsa's bedroom, the crystal mirror reflected the dangerous curve of her lips.

Her nail-painted fingertips gently caressed the secret message on the raven's leg. The moment the parchment touched her skin, more invisible words appeared, which could only be awakened by specific witchcraft.

"Seven legends?" She suddenly laughed, the amethyst pendant on her chest trembling slightly with her laughter. "That idiot Crawford, he's going to empty his entire fortune!"

The reflection in the mirror suddenly distorted, revealing an image of Robin training Ironjaw.

(End of this chapter)