Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 255 Blockage

In the western border nobles' allied camp, the night wind carried the stench of blood as it swept through the tents.

"No, this is terrible!" A scout knight stumbled into the central command tent, half a barbarian arrow still stuck in his armor. "Fifty thousand elite barbarians are heading towards Blackrock Canyon! They're going to—"

"Crack!"

Marquis Sonata's sword suddenly drew three inches from its sheath, its cold light reflecting off the scout's pale face.

"Cholera disrupts the morale of the army."

The Marquis's voice was colder than the blade of a sword. He slowly rose, his cloak bearing the family's eagle-shaped shield emblem sweeping over the candlesticks, plunging the tent into a dim light.

In the shadows, several guards had already placed their hands on the scout knight's shoulders.

"Drag it out and chop it up."

A short scream came from outside the tent, followed by a dull thud as something heavy fell to the ground.

Sonata slowly wiped the scabbard, his gaze sweeping over the silent generals: "Now, who has any 'bad news' to report?"

In the corner, a viscount suddenly fell to the ground, only then realizing what had just happened.

"Give the order." Sonata suddenly kicked over the sand table, shattering the markings of Black Rock Canyon. "At dawn tomorrow, the entire army will set off."

Marquis Sonata's sword tip trembled slightly above the sand table, the cold light reflected from its blade dancing across the faces of everyone in the tent.

"Report——!"

The curtain was suddenly flung open, and an envoy wearing a cloak with a bauhinia crest strode in.

His boots were stained with fresh blood and mud, leaving dark red marks on the carpet with every step.

"Baron Allen has led 30,000 elite troops to reinforce Blackrock Canyon." The messenger's voice was eerily calm. "The vanguard has already engaged the barbarians."

"Wow--"

An earl knocked over a wine glass, and the deep red wine spread across the sand table, as if blood had soaked into the map.

The goatee-bearded count's knuckles turned white from clenching his fists. "Why should he help us?"

The envoy slowly raised his head, a cold smile curving his lips beneath the shadow of his cloak: "The Baron has instructed me to convey this message to you all."

He suddenly raised his voice, each word as firm as iron:

"The Wilker family's score with you all can be settled later, but the barbarian must die now."

The Sonata's sword tip rang out and returned to its sheath.

This action immediately eased the tense atmosphere inside the tent.

“That’s just like him.” The Marquis stroked the dents left by time on the hilt of his sword, recalling the young knight who insisted on distributing food to refugees even amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood. “In Allen’s eyes, some things are more important than power and strategy.”

As the messenger turned to leave, his cloak billowed, revealing a short sword at his waist.

The hilt of the sword was wrapped with barbarian scalp, and the braids were still dripping blood.

"Because we have the same enemy."

These words landed lightly in the tent, yet weighed as heavily as a thousand pounds.

The night wind blew through the tent, extinguishing half of the candles. In the darkness, only the iron badge representing the cross anchor on the sand table remained, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Marquis Sonata's knuckles slammed heavily against the edge of the sand table, causing the obsidian chess piece representing the main barbarian force to shake. His gray sideburns gleamed with a cold, iron-gray light in the morning glow, like a drawn sword.

"Pass on the order." His voice suddenly lowered, hissing like a viper flicking its tongue, "Have the Lion Knights retreat three miles—and remember to leave behind plenty of tattered flags."

The adjutant was about to turn around when the marquis's calloused hand pressed down on his shoulder armor: "When you fled, you threw away the Warren family's gold-trimmed battle flag too." A ferocious smile appeared on his lips. "Barbarians love to collect these."

Suddenly, a rapid horn sounded outside the tent.

Three short and one long signal was the barbarian's signal to launch a general offensive.

Sonata abruptly flung open the tent flap. On the distant horizon, a dark mass of barbarian cavalry surged toward the allied forces' "scattered" left flank like a tidal wave. "What fine hunters," the Marquis said, stroking the notch on his sword where a barbarian chieftain had been beheaded. "It's a pity he can't smell the blood on his own body."

"Tell the archers," Sonata suddenly drew his sword, its blade reflecting the first rays of dawn, "when the tip of my sword is touched by the sunlight."

“Send these barbarians to see the wolf god they worship!”

Robin stood with his hands behind his back on the cliff of Blackrock Canyon.

At the entrance to the canyon, a fortress built of logs and steel protrudes like fangs.

Those massive logs were forcibly pressed into the iron frame using a water-powered forging hammer, creating a modular structure that allows for rapid assembly.

The crossbows mounted on the battlements adjusted their angle slightly, emitting a sickeningly loud grinding sound.

"My lord, the barbarian vanguard is three miles from the gate!"

The ghost general's voice came from a megaphone on the rock wall.

These copper pipe networks, which spread throughout the canyon, allowed the defenders to operate with ease.

Robin tapped the rock face three times with his fingertips, and the cross-shaped anchor flag on the distant gate immediately swayed left and right, signaling the attack.

The canyon suddenly became eerily quiet.

When the barbarian cavalry charged into the canyon within a mile, the ground suddenly collapsed.

The wooden planks disguised as rocks fell over, revealing a horse trap that was ten zhang wide.

The thirty wolf riders at the forefront fell into the pit before they could even scream, their bodies riddled with poisoned iron spikes.

"put."

Robin's voice was soft, yet it carried throughout the entire canyon through the copper pipes.

"boom--!"

Dozens of columns of fire suddenly shot out from the cliffs on both sides; the oil pipes buried in the rock crevices had been ignited.

Flames, like giant pythons, swept across the canyon, burning the second wave of barbarian cavalry, along with their mounts, to charred remains.

The heatwave blew their bronze helmets off, and the molten metal twisted in mid-air into bizarre bauhinia flower shapes.

The surviving barbarian shaman suddenly knelt down and wailed. He finally saw the totem hanging on the gate of the stronghold: the heads of seven legendary barbarian warriors, fixed to the lintel by a crown woven from iron thorns, their empty eye sockets all looking towards the direction outside the canyon.

There, the sounds of battle between the western noble alliance and the main barbarian force could be faintly heard.

Salgman's battle axe slammed into the rock wall, sparks flying onto his menacing visor.

The bronze armor of this barbarian Zotula had been pierced by an iron arrow, and blood was dripping continuously from the seams of the armor.

"Answer me!" He grabbed the shaman's bone chain and lifted him into the air. "These iron spikes, oil, and damned iron arrows—when did the Western Frontier acquire an army like this?!"

The shaman's bone mask fell off during the struggle, revealing an old face covered in tattoos.

His single eye suddenly widened, gazing into the depths of the canyon.

There, a huge cross-shaped anchor flag was slowly rising, its fluttering in the smoke as if it were alive.

"Listen, Zuo Tula."

The shaman's withered fingers pointed towards the fortress.

A strange metallic hum was coming from underground, growing louder and louder until it finally caused gravel to tumble down.

Salgman suddenly realized something, and his face turned deathly pale.

“Heavy weapons of war?” He released the shaman, his voice hoarse and inhuman. “This is definitely not the army of a local noble.”

(End of this chapter)