The Slacking Knight

Watching messenger after messenger race out of the camp, Hudson felt awkward. Others could call for reinforcements, but he had no way to follow suit.

If Baron Redman learned of this, he would probably bring his guards over personally at once. Then control of the situation would change hands.

Having a father who was a traditional knight was good in ordinary times, but dangerous on the battlefield.

The moment Hudson imagined himself joining Baron Redman in a knightly charge, he decisively backed down. Compared with military merit, he felt his life was more important.

Only what he lived to keep was truly his. If he died, no matter how great his achievements, someone else would claim them.

In a world of supernatural powers, small elite forces could naturally cover a hundred miles a day. In emergencies, even two or three hundred miles was no problem. But an untrained rabble could not manage that.

They had never trained and were ordinary people to begin with. Combined with long-term malnutrition, most of them were in suboptimal health. Marching over a hundred miles in three days was not difficult, but it was hardly easy either.

Once the pace increased, problems began cropping up everywhere. While marching, no one noticed much, but when it came time to make camp, an awkward situation arose where soldiers did not know their officers, and officers did not know their soldiers.

The Coslo Family was doing relatively well. Thanks to Hudson's earlier training, though they could not be called orderly, at least their soldiers had not gotten lost.

Still, when they counted heads at the end, something went wrong. More than thirty extra people had appeared from who knew where.

The officer responsible for counting went over to ask about their situation, only to find that these muddleheaded fools could not even state the full name of their own lord.

If undercover agents were common in this era, Hudson would have treated them as spies. Of course, the main reason was that no one would send such fools to serve as spies.

By the time they set off the next morning, twelve soldiers still had no one to claim them, leaving Hudson speechless.

Every lord in the alliance had already shown his face. So how were there still extras?

Whether those people had been too muddled to recognize their own lords or whether other nobles had overlooked them was difficult to determine for now. Hudson simply accepted the fact that his troop strength had increased by twelve.

The party continued onward, though no one was in particularly high spirits. It was clear that last night's incident had taught everyone a thorough lesson.

The most obvious change was that everyone sent trusted subordinates to watch over their troops, terrified of making fools of themselves again.

Sure enough, when they made camp that evening, problems still arose. For some reason, the various forces in the alliance had become mixed together again, waiting for the lords to come claim their men.

As the farce played out once more, the most immediate result was Hudson's status in the alliance soaring. Everyone praised his troops as an "elite force."

It was a typical exchange of commercial flattery, and Hudson naturally could not refuse. This "elite force" designation existed only by comparison. If he denied it, would that not make everyone else seem incompetent?

With adequate emotional intelligence, Hudson decisively accepted the title. Even his soldiers' morale soared along with it, as though they truly were an "elite force."

Reputation was hollow. In practical terms, Hudson tearfully accepted the fact that his troop strength had increased by another fifteen.

He could now be certain that there were other noble forces nearby besides the alliance, and they were not far away. Otherwise, there was no explanation for the fact that he kept gaining soldiers.

Knowing was one thing, but Hudson still did not meddle. He had picked up someone else's soldiers, so the right thing was to keep quiet and profit from it. Returning them voluntarily would make him look like an idiot.

Although this did not fit either a noble's status or the spirit of chivalry, it was very Hudson.

Soldiers who required no wages and were simple, honest, and obedient were, in Hudson's view, the more the better.

Fortunately, the period of "high-intensity" marching was short. They reached the front line on the third day. Otherwise, if he kept picking people up along the way, Hudson truly worried that their owners would come looking for them someday.

As he looked at Ethel Fortress in the distance, before he even had time to catch his breath, the Rebel Army came surging toward them.

"No martial virtue at all. Not even a shred of knightly spirit."

Hudson grumbled to himself.

There was nothing to say. The enemy had already charged at them, so they could only fight.

A knight's dictionary contained retreat, but not fleeing without a fight.

As the alliance's nominal leader, Chers unhesitatingly gave the order. "Everyone, charge with me!"

The instant the words left his mouth, their leader took the lead and charged out. The noble lords swiftly followed, demonstrating a knight's "courage" through action.

"Leaving the army behind to launch a charge?"

The sight before him directly shattered Hudson's worldview. There was no helping it—under everyone's watchful eyes, he did not dare slip away in defiance of public opinion.

Fortunately, he had been cautious enough to keep his troops at the very rear of the formation from the start. Now, the chaotic crowd ahead happened to block his way.

If it had been another noble, he would probably have spurred his horse forward immediately. But Hudson, who possessed a compassionate spirit, would not.

To avoid standing out, he had to launch a charge. Sweeping his gaze across the battlefield, Hudson ordered his men, "Tyre, lead the troops and follow me in an attack from the left flank."

With that, Hudson urged his horse forward as well. By then, Chers had already led the noble knights into the Rebel Army's ranks. In a single clash, the seven or eight rebel soldiers blocking the way ahead were severed from their bodies.

Before Chers, the rebels seemed to be made of paper. The noble knights following close behind were no less formidable. Though they were not as clean and efficient as Chers, they killed with equal ruthlessness.

Seeing his side cutting down enemies in all directions, Hudson's morale rose sharply as well. He could not help sighing, "As expected of a Great Knight. His individual combat ability is truly formidable."

Whether influenced by the atmosphere of the battlefield or because the road ahead was bad, Hudson's mount suddenly started acting up.

Though he tried hard to correct it, the circles it ran only grew wider. The distance between him and the rebels kept shrinking, but there was always still a considerable gap.

"You wretched beast, how can you be so cowardly? Where is the fearless spirit of a mount? Once this war is over, I'll replace you at the first opportunity!"

Hudson could not help berating it.

His words were fierce, but his body was very honest. After all, it was his own mount, and he could not bear to give the horse a lash.

Watching his comrades fight on the front line, Hudson gave them a look of helpless sympathy. When he saw a lone enemy soldier approaching, he immediately raised his knight's lance and charged over, killing him in a single strike.

Perhaps he had misjudged the angle. The moment he pulled out his lance, blood sprayed all over Hudson, and his once-bright armor instantly changed color.

Having seen blood, Hudson was not annoyed. Instead, he was delighted. He had finally broken through his record of zero kills. He would not have to worry about being too ashamed to face anyone afterward.

As though he had unlocked some mysterious talent, Hudson kept circling the edge of the battlefield, ambushing Rebel Army soldiers who were slacking off just like him.