Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 251 Report
"My lord, are we just going to abandon the mission like this?" a young high knight couldn't help but ask. "What about Lord Nash?"

Yuan suddenly ripped off his shoulder armor, revealing the wound on his shoulder.

That wasn't a typical penetrating wound, but rather an abrasion.

"See this? There's an Order-level marksman in the enemy ranks." He gritted his teeth and poured a healing potion onto his wound. A plume of smoke rose immediately, accompanied by a hissing sound as flesh burned. Clearly, life force was still corroding his body through the wound. "If we don't leave now, we'll all become their living beacons."

Under the cover of night, the Seven Hundred Swordsmen and the Fire Knights withdrew from the western border like ghosts.

They abandoned all unnecessary supplies, not even bothering to collect the bodies of their fallen comrades, all to bring back the most crucial intelligence to the Middle-earth:
The military strength of Viscount Wilke's territory has swelled to the point where it can directly confront the elite forces of the capital.

As the last squad crossed the border marker, Yuan glanced back.

Under the moonlight, a row of dark shadows appeared on the ridgeline of the western border at some unknown time.

Those were the scout cavalry of Wilke Territory; the anchor emblems on their helmets gleamed coldly in the moonlight, like hundreds of pairs of watchful eyes.

“Tell Lord Nash,” Euan’s voice faded into the night wind, “that the capital is no longer facing just one rebellious family.”

"It is not a rising steel army."

Inside the allied forces' tent, the air was so thick it seemed you could wring water out of it.

Yu An knelt on one knee, blood still seeping from the wound on his arm.

That was a "memorial" left by Robin, complete with a bleeding effect.

The intelligence scroll he brought back was spread out on the sand table in the center, detailing the scale of Wilke Territory's military: seven hundred heavy cavalry, three thousand heavy infantry, and a workshop producing fifty sets of anti-magic steel armor per day.
"Report?"

Nash Woft's aged voice broke the silence.

The elderly Knight of Order slowly rose to his feet, his cane striking the ground with a dull thud.

He walked up to Yu'an, and his withered fingers suddenly pressed against the wound on the latter's arm.

"what!"

Yu'an let out a suppressed cry of pain.

Nash's fingers were covered in blood, and then Euan's wound stopped bleeding.

At the same time, he compiled the information he had just received.

The actual strength of the Iron Anchor Knights: 600 regular knights and 400 reserve knights.

A reserve knight is a knight who does not yet have a warhorse or armor.

Forging workshop expansion plan: monthly production of 1,000 sets of armor.

Wilke has completely taken control of the five border territories, and its territory has reached the standard of a count in the West and a duke in Middle-earth.

There was dead silence in the tent.

The faces of several earls from the Middle-earth border turned deathly pale instantly. Their territories were right next to Wilke's territory, including the Earl of Minnesota who had attacked Wilke's territory before.

Bob's hand unconsciously reached for the hilt of the sword, but recoiled as if electrocuted when it touched the scabbard.

He thought of the new scales growing on the emperor's temples, and of the imperial guards that had been frequently mobilized in the capital recently.

“This is not a rebellion,” Solomon suddenly grinned sinisterly, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “This is the prelude to a change of dynasty.”

Nash slammed his cane heavily on the ground.

The old knight surveyed the crowd in the tent, his gaze finally settling on Euan: "Order the entire army to halt the attack." His voice suddenly lowered, "As for His Majesty, we'll deal with him after we ascertain how much power Viscount Wilke still possesses."

The representative of the Rhine family, that always arrogant silver-haired old knight.

He was none other than White Rhine, the biological father of the Ghost General. He was not originally white-haired; his hair turned white overnight after he learned of the deaths of his younger brother and his most beloved son.

He was staring intently at the Emerald Valley mark on the sand table. The gilded wine glass in his hand was deformed, and expensive wine dripped from between his fingers, spreading a dark red stain on the intelligence scroll, mingling with Yuan's dragon-blood handwriting, a shocking sight.

"We need to reassess."

The old knight's voice was as dry as sandpaper.

He subconsciously touched his left shoulder, where there was an old wound from thirty years ago, which was now throbbing with pain.

Bob Wolfe breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

He noticed the expressions on the faces of the people inside the tent: the border counts’ eyes were darting around, several viscounts were tapping their sword sheaths unconsciously with their fingertips, and even the most radical vice-commander of the Knights of Sword and Fire was staring silently at his wrist guards.

There was a fresh scratch on it, from the arrow of that mysterious archer.

"Three months."

Nash's voice suddenly rang out.

The old knight had appeared at the tent entrance unnoticed, his figure towering against the light. "I need three months to verify the authenticity of this intelligence," he said, his cane carving a deep mark on the ground. "During this time, anyone acting without authorization..."

Suddenly, a burst of dragon flame erupted from the tip of the staff, burning the flag representing the vanguard on the sand table to ashes.

"Considered treason."

That night, the Allied camp was unusually quiet.

There was no pre-battle clamor, no heroic pronouncements from the knights.

The only signs of tension were the patrolmen's frequent glances toward the western border and the logistics officers' quiet increases in food and fodder reserves.

Everyone is instinctively preparing for a potential long-term standoff.

Inside the central tent, Nash stood alone, facing a communication crystal.

The outline of the royal palace was vaguely reflected in the crystal.

The old knight's finger hovered above the activation rune, but he hesitated to press it.

The family crest on his chest was burning hot, a warning from the depths of his blood: the Wolford family was standing at a crossroads in history.

The communication crystal finally lit up.

Nash Wolford's aged face gradually blurred in the dissipating crystalline mist, but his final warning remained as clear as if carved by a knife: "Your Majesty, the military strength of Wilke Territory has exceeded our estimates by three times."

"three times?"

Rebaton's fingers crushed the gilded armrest.

The debris cut his palm, and dark red blood dripped onto the open intelligence scroll.

The young emperor suddenly sneered.

The palace steward standing to the side shuddered; he recognized that smile.

The last time His Majesty laughed like that, the skull of a duke from the Middle Kingdom was made into an ornament for the armrest of the throne.

"Issue the decree." Rebaton's voice was soft, yet it caused the candlelight in the entire palace to dim by a third. "Order the nobles of all regions of the Holy Ming Su Province to be summoned to Nash's command."

The steward's eyes widened: "Your Majesty! What if the rebels in the western border take this opportunity to cause trouble?"

"As long as our army doesn't retreat even a step, they won't be able to get into chaos." The emperor suddenly raised his hand, and a bead of blood in his palm floated in the air, transforming into a bewitching rose. "Let me see what this Viscount Wilke is capable of."

The moment the blood splattered, the steward finally saw the glint in the emperor's eyes.

That wasn't anger, but some more complex emotion.

(End of this chapter)