Knight: Becoming King of the World

The turmoil at Westwood Laine Fortress seemed to have nothing to do with Henry.

He was completely unaware of the schemes and plots unfolding behind the scenes, and Tommy made no attempt to inform him.

In Tommy’s view, these petty tricks posed no real threat. Henry’s focus was always on the broader battlefield, on the major events that could truly influence the course of the war.

As a result, Tommy paid them no mind either.

The First Prince was still gloating over his own cleverness, convinced his plan was on the verge of success and that he would soon have a grasp on Henry’s every move.

He believed he would know all of Henry’s future actions like the back of his hand.

When that time came, whether through slander, blockades, isolation, or economic warfare, the First Prince had plenty of ways to run Henry into the ground.

He was lost in his own fantasy, completely oblivious to the fact that his actions had long since been seen through.

At that moment, Henry’s army, laden with spoils and honor, was slowly returning to the border encampment.

Their train of wagons was vast and bloated, for it was filled with spoils brought back from the battlefield—an unimaginable number of enemy heads.

These heads were proof of their victory, a symbol of their strength.

Among the nobility, strength was king. No amount of money, no title, no expanse of land, no ancient lineage could compare to military glory; all else paled before it.

The soldiers of the border encampment watched in silence as Henry’s noble banner approached.

Their eyes were filled with respect and a silent celebration. Behind those heads lay the countless life-and-death struggles of Henry and his army, a victory bought with their own blood and sweat.

This was the glory of a soldier’s life, the honor every warrior craved.

Were ranks important? Was pay important? Yes, they were both important. But honor was more important.

Henry’s army was exhausted. The long treks through the snow, the numerous battles, and the decline in food quality had taken their toll, leaving the men feeling the strain.

But their morale remained high. Their spirit and vigor were far beyond what other noble armies could match; perhaps only the Emperor’s Imperial Legion could give them a run for their money.

Their loyalty to Henry was something no amount of money or power could shake.

This loyalty also made others wonder, how did Henry do it?

In a corner of the border encampment, Ratifa stood quietly, gazing at the spoils of war being unloaded.

’Just as I thought. Henry isn’t at the head of the army looking triumphant. Could he really be injured? No, that can’t be right.’

Just as Ratifa was lost in deep thought, a sudden roar of cheers shattered the tranquility of the border encampment.

The clamor brought a wave of heat that spread rapidly through the camp, turning the once solemn atmosphere boisterous and fervent.

Ratifa’s gaze was involuntarily drawn toward the source of the sound.

She saw the crowd gradually part as a familiar figure slowly emerged.

It was Henry. He was dressed in an imperial winter robe, the deep blue fabric embroidered with golden patterns, giving him a noble and inviolable air.

It was a stark contrast to his usual appearance, clad in armor and covered in the dust of battle. He looked like a different person.

If he were to wear a floral coronet and walk down a city street, he would likely leave countless people swooning.

Henry’s appearance immediately triggered a fervent reaction from the soldiers. They cheered loudly, waving their weapons in the air to express their respect and adoration for their hero.

Caladia was a nation founded on martial prowess, a place overflowing with warrior spirit. A person of martial might was far more attractive than a person of letters.

Henry simply smiled and waved to them. He was used to grand scenes and appeared perfectly composed; even a simple wave elicited even more enthusiastic cheers.

Ratifa stood in the distance, watching this scene, and the doubt and worry in her heart gradually dissipated.

Seeing Henry’s healthy figure and confident smile, the weight on her heart was finally lifted.

She didn’t know why she was so concerned for Henry’s safety, but seeing him unharmed, an inexplicable sense of relief and joy welled up inside her.

’It must be because we’ve fought side by side before,’ she reasoned.

She stood there quietly, watching Henry interact with his soldiers, feeling the glory that belonged to a victor and the charisma that belonged to a leader.

’On the battlefield, this man is unstoppable.’

She felt proud to be able to witness such a moment and was thankful for Henry’s safe return.

Meanwhile, in a corner, a figure flashed past, attracting no one’s attention.

Amid the clamor of the border encampment, a figure silently slipped through the crowd. This mysterious person was one of the spies the First Prince had planted in the camp to monitor the high-ranking officers and great nobles.

He had just witnessed the scene of Henry’s warm welcome from the soldiers, as well as the reaction of a certain lady, and was now hurrying to report back to the First Prince.

He threaded his way through the paths between the tents, dodging patrolling soldiers, and finally arrived at the First Prince’s private tent.

Without being announced, he directly lifted the tent flap from the side and strode in.

The First Prince was sitting at his desk, toying with an exquisite seal, his brow furrowed. He was clearly still pondering how to make use of Henry.

Hearing the commotion, he looked up and saw the spy who had rushed in.

"Your Highness, Henry’s army has returned. The situation is not good," the mysterious man said in a low voice.

The First Prince’s expression instantly soured. He set down the seal in his hand and gestured for the spy to continue.