Chapter 413: Chapter 17: Kill and Build Jingguan
Jora absolutely did not want to beco a slave, but resisting was a foolish act, a provocation to the lord’s authority; the best choice was to wait for judgnt.
But waiting for judgnt ant losing the initiative.
Jora disliked being passive. Seeking life in death by thinking and acting more was why he beca a legendary rcenary. However, individual force could not reverse the situation on the battlefield, which led him to this predicant.
And the bright young girl before him might be his only chance for escape.
She might not be a traditional noble, as nobles with black hair and brown eyes were rare, but her status must be high—those steel soldiers who wreaked havoc on the battlefield were respectful to her, almost as if they were seeing their mother.
She directly called the ruler by na, clearly soone beside the lord, wearing soft white linen undergarnts and a knitted long dress, leading a donkey, standing there gracefully. Her deanor and poise must have been nurtured by favor.
Jora did the right thing.
Gwivelle, due to Bo Ge’s influence, had conflicting feelings toward rcenaries, and was imdiately filled with compassion.
She said, “This profession is not good.”
The rcenary countered, “Miss, between soone with a sword and soone without, who do you think is in the wrong?”
Gwivelle thought for a mont and said, “A person without a sword isn’t considered evil because they can’t protect themselves nor harm others. As for those with a sword… it depends on the direction they swing it.”
Gwivelle’s answer was not within Jora’s expectations. He thought a naive aristocratic girl couldn’t have profound insights, but clearly, that was not the case.
Jora seized every opportunity, and he suddenly knelt on one knee like a knight and said, “I petition All Gods for a trial by combat, to let Them judge my guilt.”
The guard imdiately shouted, “Lady Gwivelle, trial by combat is a knight’s rule, where the victor is forgiven all sins. This old rcenary is crafty; I don’t think you need to agree to him!”
Gwivelle glanced at the guard and nodded slowly, “I will go and talk to Roman.”
Jora was overjoyed and said, “Miss, you are kind and good-hearted. I really want to beco your and Lord Roman’s Guardian Knight.”
“Shut up! You fool! You are not worthy to say that now!” The guard was particularly angry as he failed to prevent Gwivelle from being deceived.
Jora was pushed back, watching Gwivelle turn and leave with the donkey, his heart felt at ease.
As long as there is a trial by combat, with his strength, victory is certain—unless the Blasphers send a White Knight. But this possibility is extrely low.
Win the trial by combat and be free. Jora thought. But gaining freedom is just the beginning; the rise of the blaspher Roman is unstoppable, better to switch allegiance and seek survival early.
The Lord of the River Valley is powerful and has a strong army; this war has proven it to be a towering tree in chaotic tis, worthy of allegiance.
Even if it perishes in future storms, as a rcenary, he can adjust his stance according to the situation and stand with whatever side is favorable.
Jora knew, Conquest Knights are brutal, bloodthirsty, and ruthless war machines, but they highly value loyalty, often saying ‘Loyalty is priceless.’
Especially the Guardian Knights standing at the pinnacle, they regard loyalty as their life.
But Jora was not an honorable Guardian Knight, he was just a rcenary, with a pair of old wild cat’s green eyes, a white-eyed wolf that cannot be trusted.
Jora stayed quietly among the slaves, waiting for good news from Gwivelle, and as night fell, his ghostly green eyes slowly closed, awaiting the mont of escape.
By then, he would not hesitate to offer his cheap loyalty.
…
Roman was extrely busy.
Surveying the situation, the middle and lower lines were no longer a threat, only the top road caused so disturbance to Fertile City.
The forces he deployed on the top road suffered heavy losses, with only a few returning by luck, while the fate of the remaining soldiers was unknown, their casualties uncertain.
According to the logic of war, when elite forces are defeated, the remaining ragtag remnants tend to scatter until leaving the battlefield.
But rcenaries are not ordinary people; they spread across the vast wilderness and beca even more aggressive. So unaware of Makor’s defeat still believed they had a major advantage and continued to attack Fertile City following Ister’s orders.
Now, with thousands of rcenaries active under the night sky outside, they pose the last threat.
But at such tis, one must not be hasty.
His main force had just undergone a battle, exhausting their strength with all the maneuvers, and this was not a good ti to attack.
Wait until dawn, and rest for a night.
Jet organized the troops and reassembled the main force that had regained partial combat strength.
Most soldiers were suffering from muscle aches and stiff bones, having gathered three tis in three days for their third major battle; being able to wield weapons still at this point showed great resilience.
Roman was not faring well either, looking utterly exhausted.
He hadn’t slept all night as he handled aftermath matters, and today he must personally set out.
Mainly because Roman had a strong sense of territory; like a lion, he naturally hated dangerous creatures stepping onto his land. Anyone daring to intrude would have their paw severed.
In other words, ‘No one is allowed to peacefully sleep beside my bed.’
Roman never tired of this role, his body youthful and vigorous. A short nap could greatly restore his spirit, allowing him to endure.
The journey was monotonous.
The River Valley Army scoured the surroundings, searching for rcenaries, sparing no effort.
Green shaded his eyes from the golden sunrise, looking into the distance, and asked, “Is this the final battle?”
Roman glanced at him, “Saying it’s over is still premature.”
He only wanted to develop comfortably and push them aside, but soone always jumped out, forcing him to fight.
Unfortunately, he did not yet have the capability to kill everyone.
The Black Iron Alliance might have been heavily defeated, but gathering the remnants ans they can surely launch a second attack, perhaps not as powerful as the first wave, but still not to be underestimated and requiring serious attention.
Green confidently declared, “No matter how many tis they co, the result will be the sa.”
The main force of the River Valley army advanced steadily in a fan formation, reaching yesterday’s battlefield, where soone shouted from a distance, “Found it…”
What they found was the corpse of a Squad Leader from the Heavy Equipnt team.
Roman led the group on horseback over, seeing multiple knife wounds on the body, the head deford but the facial features vaguely visible. This person had obeyed orders to block the enemy army, outnumbered, and died here.
This was a side effect of war, where ti couldn’t be exchanged with space but with lives instead.
The silent Aaron suddenly spoke, “I personally appointed him.”
Roman nodded gently, “I know. His na was Wima.”
Jet’s face was indifferent, “A soldier’s fate is to die on the battlefield.”
“Oh!” Green discovered a prey, letting out a loud yell, and charged off on horseback.
A few minutes later, Green returned carrying a cavalry spear, with a small, possibly underage rcenary Spy hanging on its tip. Like hunting a rabbit, he exuberantly declared, “We’re here for revenge, and whatever those rcenaries did to our people, we must return it.”
Roman snorted softly, raised his right hand, “Pass my order, advance at full speed, finish the battle early and return quickly!”
“Long live Your Highness!” soone shouted.
The originally low morale swelled like a balloon being inflated.
They had the spirit and will of a victorious army, honed from rigorous training and repeated victories. Upon seeing their comrade’s remains, their first emotion wasn’t compassion—it was “to hell with it!”
The war process didn’t need further elaboration.
The stragglers were t by a formal army. If they fought a guerrilla war, there might still be a slight chance, but ho advantage was not with them.
Roman vowed to sever all external intruding claws, not allowing them to threaten Fertile City in the slightest!
Many rcenaries and islanders died in this sweeping process; those who laid down arms beca captives, while more enemies chose to flee.
The special and Vanguard chased across the wilderness, and the rcenaries who evaded the slaughter were shocked to see their camp flying the flag of the Thorny Iron Ring.
Damn! When we were out raiding, was our own ho raided instead?
The result of this war was without suspense.
Roman soon learned that a Squad Leader nad Ed had gathered the River Valley remnants, totaling dozens of n. They attacked the rcenary camps, blocking their retreat, causing great losses to the rcenaries.
Roman led the army, escorting the spoils of war back to Fertile City. His expression was weary, eyes sore, swaying slightly on horseback, his bones feeling disintegrated.
“Roman! Roman!” Gwivelle waved vigorously from the roadside.
There weren’t many greeters from Fertile City, just so patrolling militia. Even during warti, labor had tasks and jobs assigned, making Gwivelle quite conspicuous.
Roman rubbed his face, smiled, and said, “Why are you here?”
“Waiting for you, are you injured?”
“I’m fine, aren’t I?” Roman grasped Gwivelle’s wrist and pulled her onto the horse.
Gwivelle leaned against Roman’s chest, tilted her head to ask, “Roman, how are you going to deal with these rcenaries?”
“Kill them, build a mound of skulls,” Roman said.
“Ah?”
“Any other questions?”
“A rcenary asked for a trial by combat for the gods to judge his guilt, claiming he wants to beco your knight.”
“Kill him too, build a mound of skulls.”
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