Knight: Becoming King of the World

Henry’s command was like the beat of a war drum, rousing every man’s heart.

The Attendants and officers sprang into action, assembling the army and preparing all necessary supplies for the campaign.

There’s a strange quirk in human nature; these Attendants and officers had grown accustomed to the life of constant warfare under Henry.

A brief period of rest was bliss, but prolonged peace made them feel as uncomfortable as if their skin were crawling with lice.

How to describe it? Their hands were itching for a fight, their whole bodies restless.

This was the current state of Henry’s entire army, from top to bottom. If other nobles knew of the atmosphere among Henry’s troops, they would be consumed by envy, jealousy, and hate.

Henry’s army was like a slumbering lion; once awakened, it would display unparalleled fighting strength and fearsome might.

They craved battle, craved victory, and craved the chance to prove their worth on the battlefield.

They feared neither death nor pain—only the inability to display their valor on the battlefield.

This was the kind of mentality that all other nobles envied.

Because an army like this was more than just an army—it was an unstoppable force. They could sweep across the battlefield, planting seeds of fear in the hearts of their enemies.

They fought not merely for coin and status, but for honor and conviction.

They were willing to fight and to die for Henry—the object of their loyalty.

This was the kind of army that other nobles could never buy, not with all their money and power.

They required more than just material satisfaction; they needed a sense of purpose. They needed a creed, something for which they were willing to sacrifice everything.

Henry’s army was just such a force, one with unshakeable conviction.

In every corner of the military camp, soldiers began inspecting their gear, sharpening blades and readying their weapons.

To boost morale and allow the men to unwind, some officers organized small feasts. Soldiers gathered together, sharing food and strong spirits.

Claude, leading a group of officials, was busy allocating the livestock, wagons, and food supplies needed for the campaign.

They had to ensure the army would have sufficient provisions for the long march and the battles ahead.

The quartermasters meticulously calculated every sack of grain, every barrel of water, and every bundle of fodder and herbs, ensuring no shortage of supplies would compromise the army’s combat effectiveness.

Meanwhile, Tommy led another group of officials to levy serfs from the various farmsteads. These serfs were not professional soldiers, but their role on the battlefield was not to be underestimated.

They would be responsible for transporting supplies on the march, digging trenches before an engagement, and setting up camp each night—crucial support for the army’s logistical train.

Approximately eight hundred serfs were assembled. They were not the main combat force, but their inclusion bolstered the army’s overall strength.

Inside the castle’s great hall, Henry, Claude, Tommy, and the others were discussing the final details of the campaign.

The map before them was dotted with small flags, marking the positions of friend and foe, as well as potential routes of march.

Henry’s finger traced a path across the map, a glint of wisdom in his eyes.

"Our enemy may be numerous, but they lack unified command and coordination. That is our advantage, and we must exploit it to the fullest."

Claude nodded. "We can dispatch some Grassland Warriors as a vanguard reconnaissance force. They will provide you with the latest intelligence."

Tommy added, "The serfs are also ready. They will march with the main army."

Henry nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. We move out at dawn. We will show our enemies that the army of the Bro Clan is invincible!"

As night descended, the campfires in the military camp flickered and died, and the soldiers drifted off to sleep.

But their slumber was not peaceful; their dreams were filled with the cries of battle and the clang of steel. When the sun rose, they would march to war, to fight for the glory of Westwood Laine.

Over the past few days, the residents of the city had also sensed the impending war, but it did not make them nervous or afraid.

Among them, Henry had earned a reputation for being ’ever-victorious’.

The next day, before the sky had even begun to pale, the reveille horn echoed through the military camp at Westwood Laine.

Soldiers roused themselves from sleep instantly. Their movements were swift and orderly, without a hint of hesitation.

With grim ranks and glittering banners, the army finished its assembly. Clad in armor and holding their weapons, the soldiers stood in neat formations on the camp’s parade ground, their faces etched with resolve.

All the residents of Westwood Laine had woken up early of their own accord. Braving the morning chill, rubbing their hands together as their breath plumed in the cold air, they gathered outside the parade ground to see their lord’s army off to war.

These soldiers were their protectors, the guarantors of their safety.

Henry, mounted on his warhorse and clad in full armor, rode slowly out from the castle. At his side were Bain, Selas, Roland, Vasco, and a retinue of his Attendants and officers.

From atop his horse, Henry raised his Knight’s sword and roared, "Warriors! Today, we march to war! For the glory of Westwood Laine, we will fight to the last man!"

The soldiers raised their weapons and thundered in response, "For Westwood Laine! For the glory of Henry Bro!"