Knight: Becoming King of the World

The Baron fled in a panic, not daring to stop. He spurred his horse on, galloping straight for Odoche. Only there could he, having lost his army, feel even the slightest shred of security.

A noble’s sense of security comes from only two things: a castle and an army.

By the time the Baron made it back to Odoche, news of the battle had arrived as well. Meanwhile, a battle report was delivered into Henry’s hands.

The news spread like wildfire through the lands of the other nobles watching the conflict, causing a massive uproar.

Inside Henry’s carriage, he was lounging lazily against the back of his seat, toying with the battle report in his hand. Sunlight streamed through a gap in the canvas flap, spilling across his confident face and bathing him in a golden halo.

He casually tossed the report onto the table. The paper tumbled through the air before landing squarely in a pile of leftover food, as if the report itself couldn’t be bothered with the outcome of the battle.

"It was just a small skirmish. A total victory was a given. What’s all the fuss about?"

Henry’s tone implied, ’Were you expecting anything less?’

"Roland, that kid... he didn’t let me down. He completely crushed that rabble."

Henry picked up his goblet and swirled it gently, the wine catching the light. "Hmph. The Private Armies of some second-rate nobles dare to challenge my authority? They really don’t know their place. Once they’ve learned their lesson the hard way, they’ll realize that submission is their only choice."

Bain silently gnawed on a chicken leg, saying nothing. What could he say? ’Sour grapes!’

’He could have achieved the same result. Too bad the credit wasn’t his.’

"Alright, alright, never mind that. We press on. Our main battlefield is Odoche."

The atmosphere on Henry’s side was relaxed. Incredibly, the mood in Odoche was just as festive, filled with cheers and laughter.

John sat in the seat of honor, the battle report clutched so tightly in his hand it seemed he was trying to wring water from it.

He slammed his hand on the table, making the candlesticks tremble. The flickering candlelight illuminated his strangely excited face.

"This was a pyrrhic victory! Baron, though you didn’t completely defeat the enemy force and even lost your own army, you slowed their advance! And what’s more, one of your Grassland Warriors captured a banner from Henry’s army!"

The surrounding nobles laughed, clinking their glasses together, their faces beaming with shared pride and relief.

Why was this happening?

Because this Baron had his pride to think of! He wasn’t about to admit that he had been beaten senseless and sent fleeing with his tail between his legs.

And on the road, a quiet, reserved Grassland Warrior had pulled a banner from within his tunic, and the sight of it sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through the Baron’s brain.

’Heavens! What am I seeing? Henry’s banner!’

And so, a bold idea took root in the Baron’s mind.

’Henry’s side might have crushed us, but that just shows how decadent they are! And my side? Even though we were disgraced, lost our gear, and fled for our lives... that just proves how heroically tenacious and unyielding we are!’

And so, this utterly absurd scene unfolded. The losers were actually celebrating a victory?

The Baron’s move was incredibly audacious, taking full advantage of the perfect alignment of timing, location, and people.

The timing: Count John and the others were gripped by fear and desperately needed a victory—any victory—to boost morale.

It sent a clear message: ’See? Henry is not invincible!’

The location: All the nobles in Count John’s Earl’s Domain had already gathered at Odoche, completely pulling back into a defensive posture.

Absolutely no one would dispatch Scouts to verify the story’s authenticity!

As for the people, the men he brought back were his own Personal Guard. They stood to share in the glory and rewards, so why wouldn’t they play along? Of course they would back up his lie.

Tell a lie enough times, and you start to believe it yourself.

Seeing the mood in the room had reached a fever pitch, the Baron shot to his feet and pointed out the window. "My friends! Let us prepare our mighty army! We must show Henry and his men what we’re made of! Then, they will regret their foolish decision to wage this war!"

Count John, seeing the Baron’s passion and how it had roused the other nobles, immediately declared, "In recognition of your valor and the sacrifice you have made, I hereby award you three thousand Dinars!"

He waved his hand, and an Attendant brought forward two large chests filled with Gold Coins that had already been prepared, placing them before the Baron.

A look of delight flashed in the Baron’s eyes, and he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

’Yes! Mission accomplished!’

He quickly rose and bowed deeply, his voice brimming with gratitude. "Thank you, my Lord Count. I shall never forget your generosity and wisdom. I pledge my loyalty to you and swear to defend our honor and our lands to the death."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the other nobles chimed in with support, a golden glint in their eyes, as if those chests held not only the Baron’s reward, but their own future hopes as well.

Count John roared with laughter. ’Afraid of spending money? He, Count John, wasn’t afraid of spending money. He had plenty of it. He was only afraid of spending it and getting nothing done.’

’As long as they could win this war, what did a little money matter? If they lost, all the money in the world would just end up in someone else’s coffers!’

Amidst the cheers and laughter, the Baron repeatedly gave thanks, expressing his loyalty and gratitude. After a few drinks, his face flushed, and his eyes grew hazy. "My Lord Count, I must take my leave. I’ve had too much to drink today and need to get some proper rest."