Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 260 Illusion
The magical device at Robin's fingertips made a soft "click," the sound of gears turning like unlocking an invisible lock.

The massive stone walls of the fortress began to twist, and the seemingly indestructible bricks and stones lost their color, revealing the simple wooden frame structure underneath.

The crossbows on the towers have been transformed into scarecrows entwined with vines, and the gate tower of the Black Iron City is now nothing more than a few bamboo poles supporting canvas.

"My lord, the magic of the third batch of wizard apprentices has been exhausted." Ironjaw emerged from the shadows, his metal mask still stained with remnants of magic from the spellcasting. "In the last half hour, the eastern wall has already begun to flicker."

Robin stroked the patterns on the surface of the magical device.

This is a masterpiece that combines illusion with the aid of physical objects.

"It's been long enough."

He looked toward the dust rising at the canyon's exit.

Those were traces of Salgman's remnants' hasty retreat.

Ironically, the barbarian army never discovered until their deaths that the "second formidable pass" they feared was nothing more than an optical illusion covering a simple wooden frame.

“Let’s tally the results.” As Robin turned around, the illusion device completely stopped working.

After the last piece of the "city wall" disappeared, the real scene behind it was revealed:
One hundred wizards and their apprentices were slumped on the ground, each with a crystal ball in front of them that had run out of magic.

Further away, craftsmen were busy dismantling the metal mirrors used to refract light and shadow.

"My lord!" The ghost general rushed in excitedly, "I just received a message from the main battlefield, and Marquis Sonata's side is also..."

Robin raised his hand to interrupt the report.

He bent down and picked up half of a barbarian totem that he hadn't had time to take with him. A line of small characters was engraved on the back of the totem:
May the Wolf God protect us and help us return home.

With a slight exertion of the fingertip, the totem turned to dust.

As the night wind disperses the powder, on the distant horizon, a real cross-shaped anchor flag is rising slowly in the morning sun.

As the first rays of sunlight pierced the morning mist over the Parret Plain, the old Marquis Wenk's broken sword plunged deep into the chest of the barbarian chieftain.

The last Order Knight of the West has half of his body carbonized.

That was the price paid for burning away the very essence of life.

His cloak had long since turned to ashes, revealing the tattered armor beneath.

But a smile played on his lips, because the barbarian chieftain's bronze battle axe was also stuck in his chest cavity by his ribs.

"The Western Frontier," the old marquis coughed up blood and saliva mixed with fragments of internal organs, "will always have knights standing tall."

The corpses of the two powerful figures of order fell to the ground simultaneously, and the dust they stirred up formed a strange golden halo in the rising sun.

On the distant horizon, the barbarian army finally spotted the "reinforcements" they had been waiting for.

Those were battle flags with crosses and iron anchors covering the sky.

Robin stood on the foremost chariot, fiddling with the now-defunct illusion device in his hand.

Behind him, soldiers of the Warhorse Legion were using spears to lift the helmets of barbarian deserters, the blood-stained bronze helmets forming an eerie wave of blood in the morning light.

"My lord!" The ghost general excitedly pointed at the collapsing barbarian army, "Should we pursue them?"

Robin shook his head.

He looked toward the far west, where the sky was gathering unusually dark clouds.

“Leave a few alive,” he said softly, “so they can take today’s story back to the snowfield.”

The surviving barbarian warriors cried as they fled back to their homeland.

Marquis Sonata knelt on the blood-stained battlefield, the old marquis's body still warm in his arms.

His fingers dug deep into the seams of his father's tattered armor, his knuckles turning white from the excessive force.

In the distance, the battle flags of the Warhorse Legion fluttered in the morning breeze, each flag stained with the blood of the barbarians, yet showing little damage.

When he pronounced "Allen Wilke," a bitter, rusty taste filled his mouth.

The young man they once mocked as the "son of a nouveau riche" is now the only Order Knight standing in the West.

Even more frightening is-

The Warhorse Legion was standing in neat rows, and the soldiers were wiping their weapons with a chillingly skilled demeanor.

These soldiers showed no ecstatic joy at victory, only a cold discipline, as if the battle that had just annihilated the main force of the barbarians was nothing more than routine training.

"My Lord Marquis"

I heard the sound of teeth chattering beside me.

Sonata turned his head and saw Count Grace staring intently at his sword.

The hilt of the sword was engraved with a satirical poem mocking the Wilke family.

The old nobleman's silk gloves were soaked with cold sweat, glistening sadly in the morning light.

Suddenly, the sound of orderly hooves rang out in the distance.

Baron Allen's black warhorse trampled over the barbarian chieftain's banner, with the heads of a barbarian shaman and another barbarian general hanging on either side of the saddle.

As he reined in the Sonata, the sunlight shone precisely on his excessively young face.

“The West needs rebuilding.” Robin’s voice was soft, but it made all the nobles straighten their backs. “See you at Wilke Castle in three days.”

As he rode away, a viscount suddenly collapsed to the ground.

This nobleman, who once publicly threw the Wilke family crest into a latrine, was now slowly leaking a foul-smelling liquid from his crotch.

Further away, a brand-new cross-shaped iron anchor battle flag was rising slowly over a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood. At the base of the flagpole was the barbarian chieftain's crown, inlaid with ancestral wolf teeth.

Sonata suddenly laughed.

He released his father's gradually cooling body and reached out to catch a snowflake falling from the sky.

The snowflakes were icy cold, and they made him tremble slightly the moment they landed in his palm.

The rules of the new era are always written in blood.

When Robin's warhorse galloped through the gates of Pioneer Town, the entire town erupted in cheers.

"The young lord is back!"

Cheers swept through the streets like waves, and the people crowded on both sides of the road, throwing freshly picked flower petals into the air.

An elderly woman with white hair trembled as she presented her treasured ale, while children excitedly brandished wooden swords, mimicking the charging posture of a war legion.

Robin's gaze swept across the crowd.

The baker who lost his right arm is holding up a freshly baked rye bread with his left hand.

The girls who had been abducted by barbarians wore brand-new linen dresses and had bauhinia flowers, symbols of freedom, pinned in their hair;

Further away, refugees rescued from various territories embraced each other and wept bitterly. The ground beneath their feet still bore the scorch marks of war, yet they had already eagerly sown the seeds of spring wheat.

"We won! We really won!"

An old farmer with a wrinkled face suddenly knelt down and wailed, pounding his rough hands on the ground as if to confirm that this was not a dream.

His three sons had all died under the barbarian's blade, yet he was now laughing like a child.

The soldiers of the Warhorse Legion stood tall, their backs straight, the bloodstains on their armor gleaming dark red in the sunlight.

They silently accepted the cheers, but their eyes kept glancing at the figure at the very front of the procession—the young lord who had led them to create miracles.

Robin gently raised his hand, and the city's clamor instantly fell silent.

(End of this chapter)