Knight: Becoming King of the World

The new recruits marched out of the barracks in formation and were immediately met with the sight of bandits burning, killing, and plundering.

Mounted on his tall warhorse, Henry quickly scanned the area, getting a basic grasp of the enemy’s numbers.

Dozens of mounted Bandits and over a hundred on foot. This wasn’t just some ordinary gang; six or seven different crews had banded together!

’Damned desperados.’

"My Lord! Why have you come out here?"

Henry turned to see Claude approaching with ten Skilled Scouts, a One-Handed Sword in his hand. Upon seeing the Javelins the Scouts carried and the armor they wore, the other raiders quickly made way.

"Claude, take your men inside. Protect Tommy, my cook, and the two maids. I’m going to use this to train my soldiers."

Seeing the fully armed Henry, Claude didn’t waste time trying to dissuade him and quickly led his men into the barracks. In that suit of armor, Henry would be a meat grinder on any battlefield, let alone against mere bandits.

All of Henry’s armaments, horses, and grain were inside the barracks. In truth, no matter how much the bandits plundered outside, he wouldn’t suffer any significant losses. At worst, it would only delay his castle’s construction.

But in Henry’s eyes, this was a rare training opportunity.

The mounted Bandits could see the situation clearly. None of them wanted to fight Henry, so they kept their distance, instead slaughtering the construction workers and the thirty-man caravan guard.

The poor caravan guards. The bandits had been watching this place for a long time, choosing to strike today specifically because a guard rotation had left them shorthanded.

Growing annoyed, Henry drew an Armor-Piercing Arrow, took aim at a mounted Bandit swaggering around sixty-odd paces away, and shot him straight through the head.

He had been trying to get a quick count of the combatants, but that fool kept prancing about on his sorry excuse for a horse, screaming his head off and getting on his nerves.

"Hmph, a moving target... New Recruit Team, advance in a Shield Array! Crush the bandits on foot! Bain, with me! We’re hunting the mounted ones!"

Maintaining their Shield Array, the New Recruit Team slowly advanced on the bandits who were swaggering through the workers’ camp.

The bandits were all desperados who preyed on the weak and feared the strong. Faced with a solid block of over a hundred men in military formation, they could only fall back behind their comrades, shoving them forward to face the threat.

The members of the New Recruit Team all wore Cotton Armor, and nearly every shield bore Henry’s family crest. They looked, at the very least, like a proper, disciplined army. Any bandit who intentionally or accidentally got too close was swarmed and hacked to death.

Henry watched as a few bandits collapsed, four or five ghastly wounds appearing on their bodies in an instant. As their blood gurgled and soaked into the earth, the knot of tension in his chest finally loosened.

Henry didn’t know what was happening to him. Seeing the blood and hearing the battle cries all around, he found himself growing excited.

Henry brandished the heavy Riding Spear in his hand and roared, "Henry Bro! For the honor of the nobility!"

Bain also leveled his Riding Spear and charged at Henry’s side!

Henry led the charge into the enemy’s midst. At the sight of him, the bandits scattered in all directions. He cut through them as if they weren’t even there.

’Hmph. A bunch of gutless rats!’

Henry casually speared two bandits who failed to dodge in time. Aided by the speed of his warhorse, the sharp tip of his spear effortlessly sliced open their throats. A fountain of viscous, rust-smelling blood erupted.

With a roar, Bain impaled a bandit and lifted him into the air on his spear. It was a pointless display that wasted a great deal of stamina.

However, its intimidating effect on the enemy was considerable.

Henry stopped toying with these bandits who couldn’t even form a proper battle line and turned his attention to hunting the mounted ones. In his eyes, this faster-moving prey was far more interesting.

"Bullseye!"

"Bullseye!"

"Bullseye!"

The arrows Henry loosed flew as if equipped with auto-tracking, every single one finding its mark. Even if an arrow missed a rider, it would strike his horse, and Henry would then close in to finish the job with his knight’s sword.

[Killed Bandit, Experience +8]

[Killed Bandit, Experience +11]

[Killed Mounted Bandit, Experience +27]

[Killed Mounted Bandit, Experience +30]

[Killed Bandit Leader, Experience +22]

[Killed Mounted Bandit, Experience +...]

Every now and then, an arrow from a mounted Bandit would strike Henry harmlessly. They either ricocheted off his armor or got stuck, serving as little more than decorations.

An armored man fighting an unarmored one—it was nothing short of a massacre.

Battle cries echoed across the field amidst splattering blood. The New Recruit Team was like a meat grinder, chewing through the bandits one by one.

The dozen or so surviving caravan guards, who had been struggling desperately, gathered around the New Recruit Team, feeling an immense sense of security.

Although they were equipped with leather and Cotton Armor, and their weapons were of better quality than the recruits’, they were simply outnumbered!

’How did this Knight manage to raise such a Private Army? Why aren’t these foot soldiers afraid of death?’

That’s right. In their eyes, these weren’t new recruits. New recruits were cowards in Linen Clothing, armed with farm tools! Men who wore Cotton Armor, carried shields and swords, and calmly formed up to kill the enemy—these were clearly proper infantry!

The bandits were reaching their breaking point. Too many of their comrades had fallen; they couldn’t keep fighting.

The bandits instantly broke and fled in all directions. They had only teamed up to pull a big score because they’d been failing to get money and food on their own. Now, so many of them were dead without any profit to show for it. Only a fool would stay!

The ones who fight to the death without retreating are the King’s elite Legions!

Henry seized the opportunity and roared, "Charge! Slaughter every last one of these filthy raiders!"

He didn’t need prisoners. His domain had no mines that needed working, and he couldn’t sell them for much anyway. Besides, he lacked the manpower to guard a pack of desperados.

Once a man picks up a sword, he can’t simply put it down. They could never go back to being serfs.