Knight: Becoming King of the World

Count John leaned against the wall, his head spinning. He felt as if he were about to faint.

Grief and indignation burned within Count John like a raging fire. He had dominated the southeastern grasslands for over twenty years. The reputation of the Hoyland Clan was legendary, and everyone showed its members a measure of respect.

But now, he had been pushed to this point by a young man ennobled just two years ago. It was a complete and utter humiliation!

He was the undisputed lord of this land; his word was law.

But now, he could only watch helplessly as his enemy’s army brazenly marched through his domain, and there was nothing he could do.

’Did I not attack Henry because I feared the Emperor’s mediation? No, it’s because I can’t beat him! I’m afraid he’ll put on that impenetrable armor and cut me in half!’

Count John’s eyes were bloodshot. He gripped the stone bricks of the city wall tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"Henry! You bastard! I will make you pay for this!"

Count John growled, his voice thick with rage and helplessness.

’My own nobles are so damn useless. They put on such airs, talking a big game when it doesn’t matter, acting like they’re the masters of war and statecraft in the comfort of their own beds! But they’re all just for show, useless tin soldiers. The moment a real fight breaks out, they all just cower in their shells like turtles.’

’I once thought my vassals would be my right-hand men, my trusted aides. But now, it’s clear they’re nothing more than a pack of begging dogs, wagging their tails for scraps. A swarm of parasites clinging to my body, sucking my blood just to survive!’

"My Lord Count, what should we do?" a noble asked cautiously.

Count John turned and gave him a cold look. "What should we do? We strengthen our defenses, train our soldiers, and wait for an opportunity, of course!"

Although he was at a disadvantage, he hadn’t given up. Henry might be powerful now, but the political landscape of the Empire was complex and ever-changing. If he remained patient, an opportunity was bound to present itself.

"Mark my words, all of you. Sooner or later, I will kill Henry with my own hands! For now, we must gather our strength and bide our time."

The nobles nodded one after another, but inside their imperial robes, their hands were idly twiddling their fingers. They paid little mind to John’s words.

’Henry could never make it to Odoche,’ they thought, ’let alone occupy our fiefs.’

In their eyes, as powerful as Henry was, he wasn’t strong enough to conquer the entire Earldom of Hoyland with Odoche at its heart.

Their lives went on as before, a whirlwind of song, dance, and debauchery. Every day was a blur of wine, roasted meat, salads, fruit, and women.

They enjoyed the privileges of the nobility, immersed in a luxurious life. As for the cruelty of war and politics?

Apologies, but the castle walls were too thick. They chose to turn a blind eye.

’Go to war? What war? Dealing with a few bandits and some unruly commoners is one thing. But a real war? Isn’t that what the Emperor’s Legions are for?’

Admittedly, it was normal for all counts to resent the Crown’s system of Standing Legions.

At first, this transfer of responsibility felt like a great weight being lifted.

In the long run, however, it rendered the second-tier nobility—the vassals of the Emperor’s own vassals—ignorant of military and political matters. It turned the third-tier nobles—the honorary nobility under the Emperor’s vassals—into little more than "useless" merchants.

These nobles had grown accustomed to a life of comfort, forgetting the responsibilities and duties inherent to their station.

And forgetting those duties was the first step on their path to decadence and decline.

Count John watched Henry’s army disappear over the horizon. John let out a cold snort. ’This fight has only just begun!’

Count John returned to his study and began to formulate a plan. He would retrain and rebuild his army, restore his reputation, and make Henry pay!

He began writing letters to the nobles he had once aided and the merchants with whom he had done business. He would build a new alliance—one capable of standing against Henry.

The intervention of the Emperor and the First Prince had left him somewhat isolated in the world of aristocratic politics, but anyone who thought they could turn him into a complete pariah was sorely underestimating him.

Henry’s army marched without rest, day after day, finally arriving at the border of his domain: Ximira Castle.

Upon spotting Henry’s banner, the garrison of Ximira Castle immediately opened the gates and awaited his arrival.

They saw the dust cloud rising in the distance and heard the heavy, rhythmic beat of hooves. It was their lord, Baron Henry!

The garrison threw open the gates and formed ranks to welcome him.

Riding at the head of his men, Henry waved to the garrison. His soldiers were exhausted from the constant travel. Day after day of marching through the wilderness was more torturous than two consecutive days of battle.

Henry planned to let the army rest there for the night. The long march had left the soldiers exhausted, and they desperately needed a break.

The garrison at Ximira Castle included three well-equipped Imperial New Recruit Teams totaling one hundred and twenty men. Though these recruits lacked experience, their superior equipment meant they could function as Skilled Infantry.

In addition, Tommy had recently organized a hundred-man Militia for Ximira Castle, an irregular force composed of farmers from affiliated villages and residents from the surrounding area.

Although their equipment and training were inferior to that of regular soldiers, they knew the local terrain and were passionate about defending their homes.

Most importantly, it was about looking cool.

Yes, looking cool was the main reason these villagers were so eager to join the Ximira Castle Militia Team.

When your neighbors saw you weren’t helping your family with farm work, but were instead running off to the castle every day in a padded gambeson, a leather cap, and carrying a spear, shortsword, and shield, they were bound to get curious and ask what you were up to.

And that’s when you could proudly tell them you were off to combat training!

The ridiculous part was that the Ximira Castle Militia looked down on the village militias. Turns out there’s a pecking order even among militiamen.

Besides the psychological satisfaction, there were material benefits, too. Militiamen didn’t get a salary, but they did get tax reductions!

As a result, they could be mobilized quickly to provide additional defensive power for Ximira Castle.

Henry held a small meeting in the castle to hear reports from the garrison commanders.

"My Lord, we’ve trained every three days without fail. The men are well-drilled and ready for more difficult combat."

The three New Recruit Team captains reported one by one, each insisting their men were ready for real combat, not just guarding a castle.

Henry tactfully rejected their requests, stating that defending the castle was just as crucial a task as fighting on the front lines.

Henry then turned to the militia captain. "Your two villages provide a hundred militiamen for Ximira Castle, and on top of that, each village needs to form its own thirty-man team. Will this put a strain on you?"

The militia captain replied, "My Lord, Alesie Village is known for its high-quality wool and hand-woven carpets. The annual wool yield is used to make clothing and carpets for sale, and shepherds are exempt from the militia levy."

"Thornxi Village’s main income is from timber and handicrafts. The wood is used for construction and furniture, while the crafts—including wood carvings, baskets, and more furniture—are made by artisans who are also exempt from militia selection. The honey is collected by beekeepers, so that doesn’t affect militia training either."

The militia captain’s understanding of the two villages affiliated with Ximira Castle was remarkably thorough—far more organized and methodical than that of the two village chiefs themselves. Henry was impressed.

Upon further questioning from Henry, it turned out that the militia captain had actually attended the secondary school Count John had established in Odoche.

The Caladia Empire currently operated on a three-tiered system of education. First-tier universities could only be established in the imperial capital, Lukaron, and nowhere else.

Second-tier schools, or secondary schools, could be established by Dukes, Directly Affiliated Marquises, and local Counts.

After graduating, the militia captain had worked as a tavern manager and an open-air market accountant in Odoche.

Eventually, he took his savings, returned to his home village, bought a plot of land, and became a small landowner, living the life of a self-employed farmer.

"You’re well-educated and have plenty of experience. Why choose to come back here and be a farmer?" Henry asked, curious.

The militia captain smiled. "My Lord, I may have worked in Odoche, but I prefer a freer, more peaceful life.

"Odoche is prosperous, but the pressure is immense. It often kept me from sleeping at night.

"I believe that under your leadership, this place will become even more prosperous."

Henry nodded, satisfied with the militia captain’s answer.

He liked ambitious people with their own ideas; such men often made for capable aides.

"Militia Captain, you’ve done an excellent job. I hope you’ll continue to put your talents to good use and guard Ximira Castle well."

"Thank you, My Lord! I won’t let you down," the militia captain replied, his voice tinged with excitement.

Henry’s praise for the militia captain put pressure on the other garrison commanders. A mere militia captain—the army’s proverbial stepchild—had actually earned the lord’s approval.

After hearing the reports from all the garrison captains and expressing his approval of their work, Henry held a banquet in the castle’s great hall to feast his army and the local defenders.

At the banquet, Henry sat at the head of the long table, flanked by Claude, Bain, and his other Attendants, along with his officers and the garrison captains.

They discussed the recent events and enjoyed the pleasant evening.

The campaigning soldiers envied the garrison, thinking their post safe and comfortable.

The garrison, in turn, envied the soldiers on campaign, who had the chance to win glory, promotions, and higher pay.

"Haha, you can only win glory if you survive! How are you supposed to win glory or get a promotion if you’re dead on the battlefield?"

Hearing this, the militia captain’s eagerness to join Henry’s main army cooled somewhat, his initial fervor dimming.

He began to think carefully about what he truly wanted. He realized he had simply gotten his head "turned" by Henry’s praise.