Knight: Becoming King of the World

Chapter 138: Chapter 117: Why So Weak? Might as Well Sally Out

Henry could feel the tension surging within the enemy camp. He had to kill as many of these small fries as possible before Count John’s main force arrived.

"Relay my orders. All soldiers, prepare yourselves. The enemy will likely attack after lunch."

His adjutant quickly departed, while Henry continued to observe the enemy’s movements.

Huno’s family banner hung insultingly outside the castle walls, and the enemy’s morale had already taken a hit.

The undamaged Shield Carriers were the very reason the enemy was determined to attack again.

His Overlord Training points had now increased from the remaining four to twenty-one. The Mercenaries, the Baron of Ximira Castle, and the enemies outside the walls were all fuel for his growth.

Henry ordered the archers to be on standby on the walls, ready to deliver a heavy blow the moment the enemy began to assemble. At the same time, he had his men prepare hot oil for any contingencies.

At Henry’s command, the entire castle quickly entered a state of battle readiness.

The soldiers quickly finished their lunch, hurriedly mounted the walls to check their weapons and equipment, and the villagers from the two subsidiary villages also joined in the preparations for battle.

They might not be professional Warriors, but they could still help carry hot oil and arrows, acting as porters to provide necessary support for the soldiers on the walls.

As for the serfs brought from Westwood Laine Castle, their fates were also being transformed by this war.

On Henry’s order, they had donned armor and taken up arms. This was a chance Henry was giving them—a chance to change their destiny.

If they could survive this battle, they would be rewarded with money. Upon returning to their villages, they would no longer be serfs but tenant farmers with their own land, freed from the shackles of servitude.

If they truly distinguished themselves by killing enemies, it wasn’t impossible that they could be rewarded with a plot of land as self-employed farmers, or even a prized mule.

Several hundred serfs stood on the walls, their feelings complex as they gazed at the enemy camp outside. They had never imagined that they would one day don armor and wield weapons.

Though the armor was heavy and the weapons unfamiliar, they brought an unprecedented feeling: the power to control their own destiny.

The villagers also gathered at the base of the walls, their eyes filled with anticipation.

They knew that the life of low taxes Henry had promised could only be realized if he won this war.

They yearned for Henry to lead them toward a future filled with hope.

The prisoners of war, men of the Baron of Ximira Castle who had atoned on the battlefield yesterday, had already won the recognition of Henry and his army with their performance.

They had proven their courage through their actions. They were no longer ostracized prisoners of war, but had become members of Henry’s army.

Henry’s gaze passed over the battlefield outside the walls, but his thoughts drifted back to the previous night.

Yesterday, after washing up and taking a bath, he had carefully examined the casualty report in his study.

The New Recruit Team had lost over forty men in yesterday’s battle. The Skilled Infantry Team also suffered heavy casualties, with a large number wounded—about seventy in total. Some of them might never be able to return to the battlefield.

The archers’ casualties were relatively light, with only a dozen or so losses. This was thanks to their long-range and high-ground advantages in battle, as well as their precise archery.

They could deliver fatal blows to the enemy from a safe distance while remaining relatively secure themselves.

Overall, his army’s losses were within acceptable limits. The enemy’s casualties were at least three times his own.

"Soldiers! In yesterday’s battle, we lost some brave comrades. Their names will be remembered, and their courage will inspire us to keep fighting. Today, we face the enemy again, and this time, we will be even stronger!"

Flames flickered in the soldiers’ eyes, and their voices merged into a deafening roar. For Henry, they would fight to the last!

The newly integrated Ximira Castle prisoners and the serfs didn’t understand why these soldiers were so fanatical, but they could only follow along, shouting Henry’s name and crying out for victory.

WOOO—WOOOO—

The enemy’s horns sounded. The soldiers in their camp moved swiftly, beginning to assemble into orderly square formations in preparation for an attack.

Henry stood at the top of an archery tower, observing the enemy’s movements. He could see that the enemy army consisted of at least eight hundred men. Their numbers were vast, and a higher percentage of them wore armor than yesterday.

The enemy soldiers carried five long ladders, which they had prepared for scaling the walls.

Perhaps they intended to use these ladders to create more climbing routes, thereby dispersing Henry’s forces.

Henry curled his lip in boredom. ’The plan is cunning, but my army is already prepared.’

He ordered Philip to have the archers and the operators of the Crossbow Mechanisms remain vigilant and to fire immediately once the enemy was in range.

At the same time, he had the Skilled Infantry and the Imperial Infantry Team prepare their spears and shields for close-quarters combat on the walls.

The new recruits had already been through several battles and were now qualified to be promoted to Imperial Infantry, enjoying better rations and higher pay.

’Besides, with their equipment, people would believe you if you called them Skilled Infantry.’

As the enemy army drew closer to the walls, Henry’s forces also readied themselves for battle.

The archers drew their bowstrings taut, the infantrymen gripped their weapons tightly, and the hot oil was prepared.

As the enemy army entered firing range, Philip raised his hand and then swung it down sharply. The archers on the wall immediately loosed their arrows, which fell like rain into the enemy ranks, causing considerable chaos.

Some of the enemy soldiers began to fall, but their formation did not break. The shields of the majority protected their lives.

The enemy continued to advance, preparing to scale the walls.

Arrows poured down like a torrential downpour, piercing the enemy’s shields and striking their bodies.

Massive Crossbow Arrows roared forth, often pinning one or two armored soldiers to the ground.

The enemy ran too quickly. One after another, ladders were propped up, and a large number of soldiers began to climb.

SWOOSH!

A Deputy Captain of the skilled archers drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and precisely shot the first enemy climbing up in the neck.

The enemy couldn’t even make a sound as he fell backward powerlessly, crashing heavily to the ground and blocking the advance of those behind him.

A satisfied smile appeared on the Deputy Captain’s face. He quickly drew another arrow from his quiver, preparing to shoot again.

On another section of the wall, an operator of a Crossbow Mechanism, part of a squad formed from veteran shield-bearing Crossbowmen, took aim at a figure in heavy armor who looked like an enemy officer.

As the trigger of the Crossbow Mechanism was pulled, the Crossbow Arrow flew out with lethal force, piercing the chest of the Heavy Armor Soldier.

"Nice! That’s one!"

As the enemy’s assault intensified, the battle on the walls grew fiercer.

The enemy soldiers, like ants, clung to the ladders and the remaining Shield Carriers, scrambling desperately toward the top of the wall.

Their eyes were filled with a lust for victory and a hunger for Dinars.

Just as the first wave of enemies was about to climb over the edge of the wall, the orders from the various officers and Attendant squad leaders were swiftly carried out.

Soldiers carried pots of boiling hot oil to the edge of the wall and, without hesitation, poured them down.

The hot oil streamed down the long ladders of the Shield Carriers propped against the wall, making a SIZZLING sound, as if the very air was being distorted by the heat.

The enemies climbing the ladders were suddenly covered by the unexpected deluge of hot oil.

Their armor and clothing were instantly soaked, and their skin blistered rapidly under the intense heat, emitting a pungent, burning smell.

Agonized screams rose and fell. The soldiers hit by the oil could no longer grip the ladders and plummeted from on high, hitting the ground with dull thuds.

The enemies below witnessed the horrific fate of their comrades, and their morale took a massive blow.

Some soldiers began to hesitate, their steps faltering. Some even started to retreat.

The hot oil attack not only caused casualties but also dealt a heavy psychological blow to the enemy.

On the walls, Henry’s soldiers did not let their guard down. They knew this was only a temporary setback for the enemy and that the attack was far from over.

They quickly prepared for the next round of defense. The archers continued to fire, while the infantry gripped their spears and shields, ready for the close-quarters combat to come.

Watching the enemy’s performance from the archery tower, a sliver of doubt rose in Henry’s mind.

’Their assault is fierce, but their will to fight is exceptionally weak,’ he thought. ’This is completely different from the enemy strength I was expecting.’

He had prepared himself for a grueling battle, but now, it seemed the enemy wasn’t nearly as strong as he had imagined.

"This isn’t right, is it? They’re supposed to be the combined Private Army of several nobles. Where are the elites?"

Henry muttered to himself. His intuition told him that the enemy’s performance was far too abnormal.

Although they had numbers, their organization and morale were severely lacking. An army like this, no matter how large, could hardly form an effective fighting force.

A thought flashed through Henry’s mind. He quickly issued a command, having his adjutant relay it to the commanders of each unit.

"Tell them to prepare for a counter-attack outside the walls. Have the reserve troops gather at the gate. Get those villagers to move all the piled-up dirt and stones away, and fast."

’It’s all training for my troops anyway,’ he reasoned. ’Since the enemy is this weak, I might as well sally out and finish them.’

Following Henry’s order, the soldiers on the walls began to adjust their tactics. The archers continued to suppress the enemy, while a portion of the infantry withdrew to join the reserves at the base of the wall.

The walls were too small; Henry could only have his soldiers take turns on the battlefield.

The villagers were mobilized. At the city gate, the mountain of earth and stones that had been piled up for defense now became an obstacle to their sally.

Their task was to clear these obstructions quickly, opening a path for Henry’s army to the battlefield outside.

The villagers brandished hoes and shovels, their arm muscles taut. Dirt and stones were rapidly dug up and passed aside.

Some villagers who couldn’t get tools even started digging with their bare hands, their fingers moving quickly through the earth, their nails filling with dirt.

"Faster, faster!" a villager shouted.

In their eyes, the fact that Henry’s army dared to sally out to fight meant the enemy had likely already lost.

The sooner they could attack, the sooner victory would arrive!

Through their efforts, the obstruction at the gate was cleared at a visible pace. The dirt and stones were piled to the side, clearing a space for the army to charge out.

Their faces were covered in sweat and dust, but they didn’t dare to stop for a single moment.