Knight: Becoming King of the World

Whitlow Jis watched as Henry casually tore up the land deed. The young man’s face flushed with anger.

’What kind of noble is this? How can he have no manners at all? Even if the deed is fake, you can’t just tear it up like that?!’

Henry tilted his head back slightly, looking down on the horseless young man. "State your name, Exile," he said.

The young man was extremely displeased looking up at the lofty Henry. The word "Exile" was like a thorn in his heart.

But seeing the dark mass of armored soldiers and the restless Grassland Warriors opposite him, he could only force himself to calm down.

Whitlow forced a smile and said, "Whitlow Jis, a noble from the west."

"Oh, from the west? Shouldn’t you be fishing on the coast? What are you doing here on our eastern grasslands?"

Whitlow raised his head, took off his helmet, and spoke in an almost pleading tone, "As a fellow noble, now that I have introduced myself, you should reciprocate with your own identity."

Henry scoffed, leaning forward slightly. "Do you take me for a fool? That deed is a complete fake. The format is wrong, and there are problems with the seal and signature. Who do you think you’re kidding?

"You are charged with three crimes: illegal occupation of territory, forgery of noble status, and the private formation of an army. Drop your weapons!"

As soon as Henry finished speaking, a problem erupted within Whitlow’s own ranks.

"Didn’t you say you already had the empire’s certification? You lied to us!"

"We built houses, followed you all the way from the west to the east, and helped you kill Half-Beastmen! And in the end, you deceived us with lies!"

A dozen or so old soldiers glared at Whitlow, looking like they wanted to draw their swords and kill him on the spot.

"Your brother died in a duel to the death, and your father lost your territory to another Baron to cover his debts... We were willing to follow you out of trust, but what about you? Huh?!"

The serfs, on the other hand, silently backed away. ’Let them do what they want,’ they thought. ’We should just surrender.’

Surrounded by the old soldiers, Whitlow’s face was now deathly pale. He had never imagined things would develop this way.

According to the noble etiquette he had studied, this arrogant, unfamiliar noble before him should have at least left him some dignity.

Whitlow glared at the angry old soldiers and spat through gritted teeth, "You fools! If I hadn’t done this, we would have all died without a place to be buried!"

However, the old soldiers no longer believed him, which terrified Whitlow even more.

’Without supporters, you have no voice.’

At that moment, Henry addressed the crowd, "You don’t need to worry. As long as you lay down your arms, I can guarantee your safety. As for Whitlow, he will face the judgment of the law."

Henry had no intention of slaughtering this "Beggar Gang." There was no point; they weren’t bandits.

Losing a few new recruits while fighting bandits a few days ago was perfectly acceptable. But in today’s situation, a battle would offer no benefits for his new soldiers and would only add one or two unlucky deaths to the count.

[Social Charm Passive Skill Triggered: ① Approachable, ③ Same-Sex Favorability]

[Cunning Rogue’s Demeanor Passive Skill Triggered: ① Enemy Fear (Majesty +1), ② Wanderer Affinity]

The old soldiers in Whitlow’s group looked at each other, and finally, one by one, they lowered their weapons.

Bain waved his hand, and Henry’s men quickly moved forward to bind the old soldiers, the serfs, and Whitlow.

And just like that, the conflict was resolved. Do you understand the value of a human-shaped Succubus? Of course, the smiles of over three hundred archers and more than forty Grassland Warriors might have had something to do with it, too.

They couldn’t shake the feeling that the soldiers opposite them had excited eyes, as if they were itching to charge forward and cut them down.

Henry looked at the bound Whitlow and remarked, "Exile, when you were stopped outside, you should have just left with your pitifully few Half-Beastman heads. You might have gotten some money for them."

"Now, you will face my judgment." Henry turned and left, leaving his soldiers to clean up the mess.

Whitlow was taken back to the castle by Henry and thrown into a sunless dungeon.

The land for which Whitlow had forged the deed was a territory Henry had named Tixilei Village. Three hundred ninety-seven serfs were already working on it, and soldiers were even conducting field encampment and training exercises there.

According to imperial law, since Whitlow, an exiled noble, had committed his crime on Henry’s land, both his charges and sentence were entirely for Henry to decide.

Claude, who had stayed behind, looked at the returning old soldiers and serfs being escorted back and asked, "My lord, what are your plans for these captives?"

The old soldiers and serfs held their breath nervously, anxious to learn their fate.

Henry thought for a moment and said, "Alright, for those of you dozen or so old soldiers who are willing to stay, hand over your armor and weapons. That scrap metal is worth a bit, and I can give you four or five acres of land to become self-employed farmers."

"Those who don’t want to stay can get lost. Go be Mercenaries. It’s better than begging for scraps while following a useless noble."

The target of this jab, Whitlow, instantly saw red, but he only dared to curse Henry’s vulgarity in his heart. ’These grassland nobles have none of the elegance of us nobles from the west and south!’

"Thank you, my Lord! Your benevolence is so great that even the giant waves of the sea would not dare to rise!"

"My lord! Thank you!"

The old soldiers immediately took off their armor and threw it to the ground, their eyes welling with tears of gratitude for Henry’s mercy.

They had originally been self-employed farmers, but the sudden, calamitous fall of the Jis family had left them displaced as well.

Now they could have their own land to farm again. They could be proper men again.

"As for you serfs... you’ll continue as serfs. But here, no one will curse or whip you without reason. After working for two years, you can become tenant farmers."

The serfs were dumbfounded. ’Are the terms really this good?’ they wondered. ’What kind of miserable lives were we living back on the west coast?’

The remaining arrangements were left to Claude. Soon, Henry, along with Bain and two Senior Infantry, escorted Whitlow into the dungeon.

In the interrogation room of the gloomy dungeon, a few torches provided some light, but the chamber remained dim, the atmosphere oppressive.

Whitlow was tied to a chair, his face pale, his eyes filled with fear and despair.

There was no negotiation, no communication, nothing at all like what Whitlow had imagined. It wasn’t until he was tied to the chair that he understood what was about to happen to him.

"You can’t do this! I’m a noble!"

CRACK!

Henry brought his riding crop down, making Whitlow cry out in pain as he sternly demanded to know why he had forged the land deed.

Whitlow tried repeatedly to defend himself, but the evidence was irrefutable, and there was no escaping punishment for his crimes.

Henry didn’t waste any more words. After a harsh "reward," Whitlow couldn’t take it anymore. In a trembling voice, he explained that it was because there was no noble here at the time, and he didn’t have enough men to occupy the land.

Since he couldn’t get recognition from the empire, his only option was to try and win over his few remaining soldiers with a forged deed.

CRACK!

"Why did you hit me again?!"

"My hand slipped. You got a problem with that?!"