Aftermath

Watching his allies mount their warhorses while supervising their men as they searched the corpses, Hudson was left speechless. He had thought himself shameless enough, but he had not expected to find so many kindred spirits.

They had agreed to collect their allies' bodies, yet every last one of them had gone off to make a fortune from the war. So all that heartfelt display earlier had been nothing but an act.

There was nothing to say—they had to speed up. Everyone had suffered heavy losses in this battle and had seized little in the way of supplies, so they could only look to the dead for compensation.

Even noble households had no surplus grain. This battle was destined to be a bloody loss; recovering even a fraction of it was better than nothing.

Hudson had no expectations for money or valuables. They were all poor wretches—how many coins could they possibly have in their pockets? The key was to seize more weapons and equipment. In wartime, those were the most precious things.

Unfortunately, everyone was poor, and only a few Rebel Army leaders possessed iron weapons. Armor was even scarcer.

On the contrary, the fallen elites of allied families had decent equipment, but most of those weapons and suits of armor bore markings. Unless their owners were dead as well, it would be difficult to pocket them privately.

To bring out everyone's initiative, Hudson declared that whoever found a weapon first could be the first to replace their equipment. If it did not fit, they could trade with one another. The unlucky bastards who found nothing would have to keep their bamboo spears.

As for gathering the remains of their allies?

There was no need to rush. Corpses lying on the ground were not going to run away. Once they had finished looting the battlefield, there would still be plenty of time.

As he looted his way across the battlefield, Hudson continued reflecting. Though he seemed to have successfully coasted through the daytime battle, his performance had not been flawless.

A lone knight wandering around the edge of the battlefield was simply too conspicuous. Even though he had realized it in time and taken remedial measures afterward, there was no guarantee no one had seen him.

Those who stood apart were rejected everywhere. A knight who did not conform to the mainstream would find it difficult to survive in noble circles.

Fortunately, the battlefield had been too chaotic for anyone to pay him much attention. Even if they had seen him, the distance had been so great that it would have been hard to identify him clearly.

Still, it was not foolproof. After all, there had not been many knights in the first wave of the charge, and it was a fact that Hudson had not charged with them.

Right now, everyone was immersed in the grief of their heavy casualties and had no mind to think that much about it. Once they came to their senses later, they would certainly grow suspicious.

Of course, Hudson being covered in blood had earned him quite a few points. Not charging with them did not mean he had not taken the field and killed enemies.

He had fallen behind the formation and missed the first charge. When the troops afterward became trapped by the enemy, it was understandable that he had been unable to break through alone.

Everyone moved within the same circles. Without evidence, no one would recklessly spread accusations.

But such things could happen once or twice, never again and again. If it happened too often, the truth would come out sooner or later.

There was no need to discuss the future for now. At any rate, he absolutely could not let anyone discover it during this war.

The one thing that comforted Hudson was that knights did not fight nonstop on the battlefield. Once they grew tired, they too looked for chances to rest.

Of course, that excluded the occasional brainless brute, but such people usually did not live long. Human stamina was not limitless. No one could withstand continuous high-intensity combat!

Stories about slaughtering people for days on end and sweeping across battlefields without equal were just stories. If anyone took them seriously, the corpses on the ground were their example.

Under the setting sun, Count Pierce looked upon the corpses covering the ground and felt like crying without tears. They appeared to have won, but the Dalton Family had suffered a bloody loss in this round.

Not only had they offended a host of small and medium-sized nobles in the province, they had also lost several hundred family elites, with the Crimson Knights alone losing more than a hundred men. Yet after paying such a tremendous price, their achievements were nothing worth boasting about.

Although the Rebel Army had suffered even greater casualties, cannon fodder was truly cheap. Once one batch died, another could be gathered.

With the Blood Moon Horn, even serfs who had just put down their hoes were a threat. Whether the exchange rate was ten for one or twenty for one, the Skull Society still made a huge profit.

Without question, the coming battles would be even more brutal. Yet trouble had arisen within the suppression army itself. The reactions of the nobles made it clear that they were deeply dissatisfied with him as commander-in-chief.

By convention, after a battle, everyone should have first come to pay their respects to him, the commander-in-chief. Instead, they had gone off to loot the battlefield.

There was no use getting angry. Landed nobles had always enjoyed considerable autonomy. If Pierce had not been the kingdom-appointed governor of Southeast Province, they would not have given a damn about him.

The Dalton Family might have been the largest noble house in the province, but the other nobles were no pushovers either. What family with even a little foundation did not have some hidden trump cards?

In ordinary times, everyone gave him, their leader, some face. But this time, they had been led into a trap—how could they possibly let it pass without a response?

Pierce knew very well that today's matter would not be easy to handle. If he could not give everyone a satisfactory answer, life would become difficult for the Dalton Family from now on.

"Pass down the order. Invite the representatives of every family into the fortress for discussion."

Count Pierce spoke in a low voice.

Knowing when to yield and when to stand firm was a noble virtue. Making a mistake was not frightening; what was frightening was making the same mistake again and again. Having held Southeast Province for so long, Count Pierce was clearly no ordinary man.

His first two miscalculations had stemmed from unequal information and an incorrect assessment of the various sides' strength. Pierce would not make the same mistake a third time, nor would reality allow him to.

Nobles valued appearances. Under normal circumstances, when accepting an invitation, they would carefully clean themselves up and dress properly. This time was purely an exception.

Still dressed in battle gear, without even wiping the blood from his face, Hudson stepped into the fortress.

Aside from a few nobles who had arrived late and missed the battle, everyone was dressed much the same.

Clearly, this was their way of expressing their dissatisfaction with Count Pierce through practical action. The members of the alliance who had fought first, in particular, were filled with anger.

Because of Count Pierce's hesitation, they had suffered grievous losses. If he did not provide an explanation, they would take this dispute all the way to the Royal Capital.

Naturally, Hudson was not among the angry ones. Reason told him that anger could not solve any problem. He stood with everyone else simply because he wanted to fit in.

Seeing the cavalry lined up to receive them, Hudson knew it was a show of force, a warning not to take things too far.

But such a petty trick had no effect on Hudson. He was staring eagerly at the cavalrymen, wishing he could claim them for himself.

During the daytime battle, this elite cavalry had slaughtered its way across the battlefield, leaving an extremely deep impression on him.

In Hudson's view, this was the standard a regular army should possess. Aside from a small number of guards, the private troops cobbled together by the small and medium-sized nobles were all nothing more than a rabble.

Deep down, Hudson had already made up his mind: if he ever got the chance, he too would have an elite cavalry force like this.