Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 254 Legion
The barbarian smoke signals twisted on the western horizon like a dying serpent.

Viscount Wilke stood on the newly recaptured border wall, his feet resting on fragments of a barbarian shaman's totem pole.

Messengers from the surviving lords of distant lands lined up, bringing not declarations of war, but bloodstained plea for help.

Those coats of arms that once mocked Wilkeshire as "nouveau riche" now droop humbly before the cross and anchor flag.

"The seventh family to request asylum."

Robin fiddled with a bronze token, a trophy he had taken from the barbarian chieftain's corpse that morning.

The claw marks on the token blend strangely with the anchor relief, as if foreshadowing some kind of destiny.

Suddenly, the sound of orderly footsteps came from below the city wall.

The newly formed War Spear Legion was patrolling the city, and the sound of three thousand heavily armored War Spear infantrymen's footsteps shook the gravel and caused it to tumble down.

The cross-shaped anchor pattern on their breastplates was stained blood-red by the setting sun, while the blades of their halberds gleamed with a cold, eerie blue light specially made by the workshop—proof that they were mixed with demon-slaying steel.

"Lord Viscount!"

A knight covered in blood charged onto the city wall, half of the white stag emblem on his cloak torn off: "The main barbarian force from the north is gathering! They say they're going to massacre the Anchor Cross."

Before Viscount Wilke could speak, Robin suddenly chuckled.

He pointed to the distant horizon.

There, Will's scout cavalry were constantly sending back messages and bringing refugees from the wilderness back to the territory.

“Tell those barbarians.”

Robin took off his Tang sword and stuck it into the wall.

"We were just worried that the testing stone wasn't hard enough."

A night wind suddenly rose.

The torches on the city wall spontaneously combusted, forming a giant cross-shaped projection in the air, illuminating the surrounding mountains and fields as if it were daytime.

The distant waterworks echoed with the roar of forging hammers, a rhythm like the heartbeat of a giant, causing the warhorses in the barbarian camp to neigh in alarm.

The surviving lords of the Westerlands gazed up at this miraculous scene and finally realized what was happening.

In this dark land, only the iron cross anchor dares to confront the abyss.

On the high platform of Pioneer Town's training ground, Robin's cloak fluttered like a black flag, beneath which a steel matrix of 30,000 warriors was grinding neat cracks into the frozen ground.

The cross-shaped anchor flag made a sharp, tearing sound in the wind, and the metal anchor pattern on the flag reflected a cold light, like 30,000 sharp blades hanging over the enemy's head.

The 15,000 warriors were like a mobile fortress. Their heavy armor, forged in sections, was refined through twelve processes, and the iron anchor reliefs on their shoulder armor were ferocious and terrifying.

The halberds they wielded had undergone three enchantment treatments, and the eerie blue luster of their blades was not from ordinary anti-magic steel.

It was a special alloy mixed with other metals, which had split open the skull of an adult Frostwolf during a test.

As the thirty formations simultaneously changed positions, the clanging of armor created low-frequency vibrations that caused the snow on the distant treetops to fall in a soft rustling sound.

Ten thousand crossbowmen knelt on the ground, their bronze crossbow arms, adorned with runes, were modified "buzzing crossbows".

These weapons, enchanted by the Wind Chime Witch herself and her team, can pierce through three layers of oak shields within a hundred meters.

Each crossbowman's triangular armor-piercing arrow has been optimized for weight distribution, and the buzzer at the end of the arrow emits a piercing whistle when flying at high speed.

That wasn't just decoration; it was a deadly move designed specifically to disrupt the hearing of magical beasts.

Their breastplates were lined with soft armor woven from the tendons of magical beasts. One test subject was struck with the full force of a knight's lance, leaving only a white mark on his breastplate. Five thousand Mo Dao soldiers stood like iron towers, their two-meter-long Mo Dao pointing diagonally to the sky, their blades wide enough to sever the forelegs of warhorses.

These burly men were the strongest men in Wilke territory, and each of them had experience fighting giant bears with his bare hands.

Robin personally designed a slashing training program for them: swing the knife three thousand times a day, with the goal of splitting a three-foot-diameter oak stake into uniform pieces of wood.

They stood silently, their muscular necks adorned with wolf bone necklaces—proof that they had slain more than ten magical beasts.

The system interface flashed on her retina, and the gold text of "[Legion Combat Strength Assessment]" made Robin's pupils light up:

Knight-level combat strength: 1524 people

Knight Apprentice Level Combat Strength: 6554 people

"My lord! Urgent report from the border!" The Ghost General's single eye gleamed with a faint blue light as he knelt on one knee, presenting a blood-stained map made of animal hide. "Khan Sarghman has personally led 50,000 barbarian warriors to assemble in Blackrock Canyon. This includes 300 war rhinoceroses, 1,200 frost giant wolves, and..."

The ghost general let out an excited hiss: "A fully grown silverback earth dragon, this is the perfect mount for you."

In order to fight this battle, the Ghost General specially returned from the Central Plains.

The drill ground suddenly fell into dead silence, with only the increasingly jarring sound of the anchor flag fluttering.

Robin's fingertips traced the dragon scale pattern on his sword, and he suddenly smiled—a smile colder than the north wind and sharper than a battle spear.

"Finally, a decent whetstone has arrived."

The clear, resonant sound of swords being drawn echoed throughout the arena, and thirty thousand halberds struck the ground simultaneously, the clanging of metal creating a sonic boom that caused icicles to fall from the edge of the platform.

Robin's life force condensed into an earthy yellow flame at the sword's edge.

"Pass on the order!" His voice, carrying the might of a dragon, caused the heavy armor of the front-line warriors to resonate with a hum. "The Warrior Legion will split into three routes to encircle the enemy from Ironthorn Ridge, Wind-Eroded Gorge, and Icefield Pass! The crossbowmen advance team, carrying thirty tons of potent sulfur, will set up a wall of fire at the northern entrance of Blackstone Canyon! The Mo Dao soldiers will follow me directly to the central army, target—"

The sword tip suddenly pointed at the Silverback Earth Dragon icon on the map.

"Bring this earth dragon back to me!"

The throats of 30,000 people simultaneously emitted low roars, the sound waves scattering the snow in the center of the drill ground and revealing the bronze anchor-patterned floor tiles buried deep beneath.

Looking at the army standing in perfect, orderly formation before him, Robin felt a surge of ambition.

"Let's go!" He cleaved the snowflakes in the wind with his sword, the blade drawing a burning cross-shaped anchor across the sky. "When our battle spears pierce the hearts of the barbarians, the entire continent will hear Wilk's war song!"

Thirty thousand pairs of iron boots began to crush the ground, and at the same time, the watchtowers around the training ground sounded their horns.

A flock of ravens took flight from the distant mountains.

Viscount Wilke's sword trembled restlessly in its scabbard, as if sensing its master's agitated fighting spirit.

He stood on the highest terrace of the castle, watching the 30,000-strong army surge into Blackrock Canyon like an iron torrent.

The soldiers in the front row, wielding massive blades, reflected a blinding glint of cold light.

The Viscount's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists. "My Order of the Iron Anchors has never shed blood since its founding!"

Ito leaned lazily against a pillar, twirling a copper whistle with a cross-shaped anchor pattern between his fingers.

That was a magical communicator left by Robin, which could only be used once and could only transmit a single fifteen-word message.

He glanced at the reserve troops training on the drill ground: although the 10,000 warriors were slightly less equipped than the main army, their imposing aura was already evident.

"If Your Lordship is itching for a fight," Ito's eyes suddenly lit up, "why not use them as practice targets?"

(End of this chapter)