Expedition

Opening the armory and taking out the weapons that had gathered dust for years instantly wiped the good mood from Hudson's face.

He had originally planned to coast along, but looking at this pile of scrap metal, even if he did not coast along, he would not be able to make any waves on the battlefield.

Seeing this, Baron Redman beside him felt somewhat embarrassed as well. He had known there was nothing much of value in the family armory, but he had not expected it to be this bad.

"The family is not wealthy, and we lack the means to purchase too many weapons and suits of armor. There are seventy-two suits of armor in the armory, thirty-six battle axes, forty-eight fighting axes, ninety-seven scimitars, one hundred and eighty-seven spears...

These are all the family's accumulated assets. They may be old, but they can still kill people. Make do with them for now. If you gain anything on the battlefield, it won't be too late to replace your equipment then."

Baron Redman said awkwardly.

He had originally wanted to leave behind some weapons and armor, lest they all be lost in battle. Now, it seemed he had worried for nothing. Though this pile of scrap metal had been well preserved, it could not hide the marks left by time.

The armor in particular was in terrible shape. Much of it had come unstitched and fallen apart on the ground. Even if it could be sewn back together, the heavy rust could not be concealed.

Hudson casually picked up a piece and gave it a slight squeeze. It did not disappoint him. The armor plate crumbled straight into powder.

Seeing this, Baron Redman decisively made his escape. It was simply too embarrassing; he had no face to stay.

Of course, it was not entirely his fault. There had been no major wars in recent decades, and the guards were enough to handle small-scale conflicts.

One only had to look at the guards' equipment to see that it was all fine weapons and armor, enough to prove that he was a martial-minded family head.

As for the armory, there was nothing to be done. Weapons had a service life as well, and if they were not used for a long time, the best option was to seal them away.

Sealing weapons and armor was no easy task either. It required the work of a mage, and they would not be unsealed until they were needed.

Yet no matter how well they were sealed, they could not withstand the erosion of time. On paper, the supplies were barely enough to equip five hundred soldiers, but in reality, less than a third of them were usable.

And that was only counting what could still be used. If quality were taken into account, saying that fewer than one in ten remained would probably still be generous. No matter where he looked, there were hardly any intact pieces.

With things having come to this, Hudson had nothing more to say. He hurriedly sent the damaged weapons to the smithy for repairs, salvaging as many as he could.

In truth, even that was merely a pleasant hope. In such a short time, even if the few blacksmiths in the territory worked day and night, they would not be able to repair many pieces.

Better than nothing, Hudson could only settle for the next best thing and equip the soldiers with the most primitive weapon—spears. Not proper military spears, but spears made from sharpened bamboo.

To gain stronger defenses, Hudson also mobilized the commoners to make "shields." Needless to say, these were not proper shields either, but cheap imitations woven from bamboo.

There was probably little hope of using such things to stop blades. But their opponents were the Rebel Army! Judging others by himself, if his own troops were equipped like this, how could the Rebel Army possibly have complete weapons and armor?

Even if they proved useless on the battlefield, the preparations would not be wasted. With a few modifications—adding a movable bamboo board and threading ropes through it—they became turtle-shell-shaped backpacks.

They could carry dry rations in peacetime and boost the soldiers' confidence on the battlefield. If they happened to encounter enemies armed with wooden clubs, they could even offer some protection.

The main problem was that there was too little time, so he could only make some simple tools. Otherwise, Hudson would not have been in such a passive position.

Of course, the pitiful equipment of the common soldiers did not mean that he, a knight, had to suffer the same fate.

Knight's sword, warhorse, armor—he had every piece of equipment a knight should possess. Even the ten Knight Squires received the corresponding armor and weapons.

Baron Redman had not been stingy in this regard. As for the miserable equipment of the ordinary soldiers, Hudson preferred to believe that it was due to helplessness.

The war had come too suddenly. If they had received intelligence from the start, the territory's productive capacity could have turned out at least a hundred or so weapons.

Time flew by, and the three-day deadline passed in the blink of an eye. Mounted on a tall horse, clad in shining armor, and carrying a knight's greatsword, Hudson set out amid everyone's farewell, leading five hundred "well-trained" soldiers.

Their high-spirited momentum did not last long. Not long after leaving their territory, the previously orderly formation began to fall apart, infuriating Hudson.

So the past two days of intensive training had been for nothing. Their so-called discipline had only been put on for the folks back home; once they left, their true colors were exposed.

Left with no choice, Hudson could only slow their marching pace. The originally planned sixty li per day was forcibly reduced to forty.

This was a small force on the march, after all. They carried only around a dozen jin of dry rations each and were not burdened by heavy logistical supplies.

At this pace, they were practically crawling. Forget it—he should not insult turtles. Even turtles that had become magical beasts moved much faster than this.

Once their speed dropped, the situation immediately improved considerably. Uniformity was still out of the question, but they at least maintained a basic formation and no longer scattered in every direction.

Hudson did not need to think to know that the officers he had hastily appointed were incompetent and had failed to manage the soldiers under them.

But there was nothing he could do. In this day and age, any officer with even a little ability was basically a noble. How could he possibly command them?

As for recruiting wandering knights as officers, he might as well wash up and go to sleep—anything was possible in dreams. The resources of a barony were not even enough for his own brothers to divide among themselves, so how could he afford to support knights?

In a sense, one could judge a noble's strength simply by looking at how many knights served under him.

Generally speaking, being able to support around ten knights already qualified one as a mid-ranking noble. To step over the threshold into the ranks of great nobles, one needed at least several hundred knights under one's command.

Of course, this was merely Hudson's personal and subjective judgment, and it was not representative. Supporting so many knights was certainly not enough to become a great noble, or great nobles would be far too cheap.

Take the Coslo Family, for example. Relying on their formidable fertility, they had spread their branches far and wide. The knights scattered across various places probably numbered more than a hundred in total.

Yet because their lands were too scattered and their strength could not be concentrated, the Coslo Family could still only be considered minor nobles.

They merely relied on their flourishing population to speak with a tiny bit more confidence than ordinary minor nobles in noble circles.

One only had to look at their armory, sealed away until it had gathered dust, to understand that. Over the past few decades, the neighboring lords had all behaved themselves.