Charging with a Knight's Lance in Arknights, but Without a Mount

Claude put on all his clothes and armor, then draped himself in the cloak he had brought specifically for this purpose. He equipped his weapons as well: the longsword went into the weapon belt at his waist, the spear onto his back, and the throwing spears were secured behind his waist. The leather-wrapped bundle was fastened there too, holding his remaining rations and a few small items. He hid everything beneath the thick cloak.

Just as he was about to leave, Claude suddenly hesitated. He then walked over to a large boulder as tall as a person. It was dark and hard; before this, Claude certainly would not have been able to lift it, but now he wanted to try.

He reached out, hooked his fingers around the stone's edges, hugged it, bent his legs slightly, and exerted force through his waist.

"Up!"

Claude growled, using all his strength. The roots of the massive boulder, unmoved for a thousand years, began to loosen, and cracks spread through the earth. With another heave, he finally lifted the boulder over his head. Only then did he see that half a meter of it had been buried underground, and he had pulled it out along with the rest. Claude was greatly surprised by this sight.

"Is this body's talent really that good?"

Generally speaking, while the second stage greatly increased a transcendent's strength, it should not have been this exaggerated. His current strength was already close to the third stage. Not only had he uprooted the boulder, but he had even crushed quite a few of its edges beneath his fingers.

He set the boulder down, and quite a few fragments of stone fell from his hands. He had not simply dropped it, either, but lowered it slowly. He even felt that he still had strength to spare.

After patting the dust from his hands, Claude looked toward the camp. He still had many things to do.

With everything in order, Claude prepared to set off. He had much to do, and he needed to fulfill his promise to Patriot as soon as possible. He needed to find a suitable place and suitable people, thoroughly investigate the empire's political landscape, economic conditions, and military strength. Only after making all the necessary preparations and gaining more support would he begin.

He had never believed that his shallow, unstudied knowledge could accomplish everything. Of course, before doing any of that, he still needed to find his subordinate and bring her along.

Black iron boots stepped into the snow. After confirming his direction, he walked forward without looking back.

PS: The author has been very busy these past few days. Updates may be a little late.

A New Beginning: The Squad

Skov was an ordinary Ursus Infected, though perhaps not entirely ordinary, considering that he had successfully escaped from an Ursus Empire mobile city.

Skov was a very clever man. The moment he was cut by Originium, he knew what he would face next. Without even a second of hesitation, having no other relatives in that city, he immediately packed his belongings, quit his job, and left. He knew how harsh life was outside the mobile city, but at least he could survive.

The facts proved that his decision had been incomparably correct. On the second day after he left, someone reported him. Military police dressed in black turned his residence upside down, but found nothing. By then, he was already far from the mobile city. Ursus police would not spend a great deal of time tracking down a worthless worker like him.

He had successfully avoided the worst fate—being sent to the mines to dig until he died. But his life now was not easy either. Food was extremely scarce on this snowfield. After a long journey, he had been fortunate enough to find a village that did not reject the Infected. The reason this place did not reject them was because most of its people were Infected themselves.

Although the Infected could use Originium Arts directly because of Originium, their bodies were corroded by it. They were often tormented by illness until their strength was exhausted. This made finding food even harder. The only crop that could be grown here was moss wheat. Because of the cold weather, it could only be harvested once a year, and the yield was nowhere near enough to feed one person for a full year.

So, to survive, he had eaten almost anything. Moss, tree bark, remains left behind by beasts, wild vegetables, and grass roots. Due to prolonged malnutrition, he now looked terrifyingly gaunt. His entire body was little more than skin and bones, while black crystals of all sizes covered his face.

His mind had gone numb. He searched for food not because he wanted to live, but merely because it was this body's instinct. Every day, mechanically and without thought, he looked for anything edible.

He reached out and pushed aside the snow, trying to find a few wild vegetables or grass roots beneath it that had not yet frozen to death. But there was nothing. Below lay only black frozen earth. The nails on both his hands had long since cracked, frostbite of all sizes covered his hands, and his fingers had become stiff as dead branches on an old tree.

The hunger in his belly constantly drove him onward, forcing him to keep searching. The Originium in his body constantly tortured him, urging him to stop. In this extreme pain, he moved like a walking corpse, until the day death finally came for him.

After a fruitless day, Skov returned to his little shack made of bark. Extreme hunger and pain left him able only to curl up on the ground, too afraid to move.

Excess stomach acid was burning his stomach lining, bringing him pain that had not eased for even a moment. Tormented past endurance, Skov sat up and poked his head out to look toward his neighbors.

His neighbors were two young Infected boys. For children so young to become Infected and still survive was an extremely rare thing in this empire.

But after watching for a while, Skov sighed helplessly and prepared to lie back down. Children certainly could not find anything to eat either.

Suddenly, a terrible thought crawled into his mind like a maggot crawling from a corpse.

"If I..."

The thought made his whole body tremble, cold sweat pouring down him. He could hardly believe that such a horrifying idea had emerged from his own heart. The last remnants of conscience and reason within him made him despise himself, rebuking him and telling him to lie back down, then try his luck again tomorrow.

But the terrible hunger in his belly, the hunger that seemed ready to devour him whole, was eroding his reason and clouding his thoughts. Involuntarily, his trembling hands reached for his only weapon—a small knife ground from a piece of scrap iron.

Skov possessed a rudimentary Originium Art. He could launch objects of little weight, such as the small knife in his hand. With this ability, he had caught quite a few small animals and endured for a long time. But now, he wanted to use it to kill someone.

After a fierce struggle, Skov still crawled out of his little shack. Trembling all over, he crawled across the ground to the dilapidated shelter next door.

His eyes were bloodshot, saliva streamed from his mouth, and he had completely lost his reason.

Just as he was about to act, sharp pain in his wrist brought him back to his senses. A heavy black gauntlet had seized his wrist tightly.

He turned his head. Beneath the moonlight, a powerful and imposing figure came into view. The tall black knight's shadow completely covered Skov.

"If you really do this, there will be no turning back."

Hearing the knight's words, Skov, whose reason had returned, suddenly became furious.

"What do you know?! Do you know our hunger? You look like the kind of person who's never had to worry about food! Do you know how hungry I am? I don't want this either! I don't want to do this either, but I'm starving to death! You didn't appear when I was about to starve to death, but when I wanted to do something like this, you just had to show up! Why didn't you come help me then? Why do I have to suffer like this when I haven't done anything at all?! Aaaah..."

As he went on, Skov gradually became incoherent and began to sob bitterly, tears and snot streaming down his face. He cried until he could barely breathe, this frail Infected seeming to pour out all the suffering of his life through those sobs.

Claude watched quietly from the side and did not interrupt his weeping. He waited until the Infected no longer had the strength to keep crying and lay on the ground, breathing weakly, before speaking.

"If you're done crying, eat this."

A hard biscuit baked dry on a stone was placed in front of Skov. At the scent of food, Skov snatched it up with astonishing speed. He shoved it into his mouth and desperately chewed and swallowed. Unsurprisingly, his frantic eating tore open his mouth, and blood soaked into the biscuit.

Claude frowned and gave him a neither light nor heavy slap on the head.

"Are you trying to choke yourself to death? Is the purpose of your entire life to die eating this thing?"

After that slap, Skov's eyes immediately cleared. He instinctively grabbed a handful of snow from the ground and stuffed it into his mouth. Under Claude's orders, he slowly melted it in his mouth, letting the snow water soak the hard biscuit until it softened before swallowing it.

"And you two, stop hiding. Come out too."

As soon as he spoke, two Infected boys crawled out from the ruined shack nearby. One had white hair, the other dark hair. They were about the same age. The white-haired boy was clearly very timid and hid behind the dark-haired one. The dark-haired boy held an extremely crude bow in his hands, aiming it at Claude with trembling arms.

"If you're not afraid that I've poisoned it, eat this."

Two hard biscuits were placed in front of them. Without the slightest hesitation, they grabbed them and began to eat. They knew they were Infected with nothing left, so they had nothing to lose and no reason to hesitate.

Only after they had finished eating and their hunger was no longer so intense did Claude crouch down and look into their eyes.

"What are your names?"

"Ino." "Sasha." "Skov."

"If you want to eat your fill, if you want to resist fate, if you want to live properly, then come with me."

Claude's tone was calm. It was neither impassioned nor fiery, yet it was unexpectedly convincing. Only Skov voiced a doubt.

"But we're already Infected. We won't live long anyway, so what can we do?"

"Aren't you still alive? Since you aren't dead yet, why not give your lives to me? At least it's better than starving to death here."

"If you believe me, then follow."

The moment he finished speaking, Claude turned without hesitation and walked toward a slender white figure in the distance.

After hesitating for a moment, the three followed him.

The tent before them consisted of a sheet of white canvas, a few ropes, and several wooden poles. It looked very simple, but in Claude's hands, it became a triangular tent in just five minutes.

The bindings were extremely secure, and a foot-deep drainage ditch had been dug around the front and back of the tent. Claude turned and looked at the dozen or so Infected before him.

After more than a month of training, this group that had once been a disorderly rabble had gained a little discipline. While he demonstrated, not one of them dared make a sound. But if they were truly going to be useful, they would still need much stricter training.

A qualified soldier needed at least half a year of training before mastering the basic skills needed to survive on the battlefield. Sending soldiers into battle without any training was no different from slaughtering them.

New recruits needed to learn not only how to fight, but also every necessary skill, such as setting up camp and marching. Of course, the most important thing was to give them discipline.

In the empire's military, discipline was absolute. Once war began, no soldier or officer could disobey the orders of their superiors. In a battlefield where circumstances changed in an instant, any hesitation that should not exist could bring catastrophic disaster upon their side. Conversely, once the war ended, any accusation against a superior officer would be treated seriously. If the Emperor's personal oversight corps found that an officer had neglected his duty during wartime, he would receive the appropriate punishment.

After more than a month of improved meals, they were no longer so frail that they could be blown over by the wind. They looked much sturdier now and could endure more intensive training.

Of course, the most important part was ideological education: making the soldiers understand why they fought. Every week, Claude personally set aside a day to explain it to them. The results now appeared significant. These Infected had previously lived in a muddle. They did not know why they had ended up in such a state, or why they had been treated with such cruelty. Some had even gone to greater extremes, beginning to hate all non-Infected and believing that if the world were filled only with Infected, such things would never happen.

If such thinking was not guided, it would undoubtedly lead them to destruction.

Everything Claude was doing now was, in the end, an experiment. He was not certain whether the things he knew would work here, so he needed to conduct small-scale social experiments. Once the soldiers before him truly met the standard, he could proceed to the next step: attempting to communicate with non-Infected villagers, spreading these ideas among them, and liberating their minds.

This process could never be accomplished overnight. It required careful thought and slow implementation.

Of course, there was no need to think so far ahead now. Doing what lay before him was enough.

During the time he had spent with these soldiers day and night, Claude had gained enormous prestige among them. After all, he had fought wars for decades, so handling such matters came naturally to him.

"Ino."

"Here!" The white-haired boy looked somewhat nervous, but he answered with spirit.

"Did you see clearly?"

"Yes."

"Come on, give it a try."

The boy named Ino did not hesitate after receiving the order. He stepped forward, took down the tent, then tried to restore it.

His movements were somewhat clumsy, but he still managed to set the tent back up despite some stumbles, and it looked quite sturdy. Once he finished, he stood to one side and looked at Claude nervously, waiting for his assessment.

"Not bad. Return to formation."

The white-haired boy beamed and returned to the ranks.

When it was time for dinner, Ino was still very excited. He pulled his best friend Sasha over and chattered away at him.

Their current life was like a dream to them. They had once lacked even grass roots and bark to eat, but now they ate bread every day and even had meat from time to time. All they had to do was some miscellaneous work. No one around them discriminated against them, harmed them, or drove them away. In the simple heart of a young boy, this was already a life that could satisfy him.

Compared to his companion, the boy named Sasha was much quieter. He listened silently to his friend's words and occasionally replied with one or two sentences, but not often. He ate very quickly, because Mr. Claude had told them that meals had to be efficient; on the battlefield, there would be no time for leisurely chewing.

After washing his bowl and utensils clean, he took out a small booklet and began flipping through it. It contained the principles Mr. Claude had taught them. He did not think himself especially clever, so he needed to work even harder.

Under the night sky, the firelight deep in the forest camp carried a trace of warmth.

A New Beginning: Taking Another Day Off

The author's grandfather is being buried today. The author will be busy all evening and cannot update today either. Please forgive me.

A New Beginning: Hammering and Tempering

Snow was very cold, and lying in it was extremely dangerous. Anyone who had survived for a month on the Ursus snowfields understood this.

Human survival depended heavily on heat. If a person could not maintain a stable body temperature, then once it dropped below or rose above a certain threshold, they could not survive. Snow would undoubtedly draw heat from the human body rapidly if there was nothing insulating it.

Sasha knew very well that he was doing something foolish. He had been lying prone in the snow for two hours. Even with a blanket beneath him, his entire body still felt numb, and his feet were gradually losing sensation.

He was covered in a white camouflage suit made by tearing white cloth into strips. It was crude, but effective. It allowed him to blend into the snow.

He held a crossbow in his hands, a precise compound crossbow that Lord Claude had somehow acquired. He had originally used a bow, but during their training, Miss Centaurea had decided that he was better suited to a crossbow.

He had no objections. Miss Centaurea was a highly skilled archer, far more experienced than he was. If she said he was suited to a crossbow, then that was certainly the case.

Crossbows differed from bows. Once a crossbow was cocked, it could remain ready for a long time, only firing when the target appeared. Thus, this weapon allowed for ambushes. To kill targets with such tactics required prolonged concealment and great patience.

Fortunately, patience was what he lacked least.

Snowflakes covered his dark bluish-black hair. His green eyes stared intently at the forest ahead, while his thumb rested on the crossbow's safety. His long pointed ears twitched from time to time, monitoring the sounds around him.

He patiently waited for the target to appear, paying no attention to the pain of enduring extreme cold. Every so often, he would put his index finger into his mouth to keep it flexible.

The surroundings were silent, with only the sound of wind stirring the treetops. Everything seemed normal.

The Feline boy's ears suddenly twitched. A soft sound—extremely faint, like someone gently exhaling. Others might have ignored it, but he would not.

He turned toward the sound and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bolt struck a snow-covered figure accurately, but did not pierce it, leaving only a blood-red mark.

Skov, who had been crawling forward, looked at the red mark on his shoulder and sighed helplessly. To get close to this kid, he had crawled through the snow for three hours straight, stopping for five minutes every three meters. Yet he had still been discovered.

A faint smile appeared on the Feline boy's lips as he waved at him.

Skov gave a helpless smile, brushed the snow from himself, and withdrew from the field.

Yes, this was not a real battlefield, merely an exercise. After half a year of training, they had reached their final test.

The thirty of them had been divided into two teams. The weapons in everyone's hands were nonlethal and would only leave red marks on their opponents. Sasha's squad now had only him remaining. The opposing commander was very clever; with one successful ambush, they had nearly wiped out Sasha's entire team, leaving only Sasha and two others to escape.

The reason they had been ambushed so easily was one person's special Originium Art. He could temporarily render several people invisible. This invisibility only worked while they remained still; the slightest movement would expose them, and it could not be maintained for long. To ensure a hundred percent success, they had hidden in the trees for four or five hours before Sasha's group finally arrived.

When the enemy approached, they relied on that Originium Art to let Sasha's team walk into their encirclement within minutes. Though he was now nearly at a dead end, Sasha did not want to admit defeat. He intended to gamble on his natural advantages.

Sasha had successfully defeated Skov, but he did not lower his guard. The other side still had eight people left, far more than his side. One careless mistake and he could still lose.

He left the area. Before Skov had been defeated, he must have already informed his teammates. This place was no longer safe to stay in.

Choosing a spot sheltered from the wind, he cleared away the traces he had left behind and hid himself once more. The heavy snow continued falling, completely covering the traces he had left only moments ago in the blink of an eye.

Holding his breath, he pulled the trigger. The firing mechanism released the bolt, which shot forth like a gust of wind and struck the gap in the enemy's armor with precision. The considerable force made the enemy stagger, and a bright red mark appeared on his body. The other person stared at the mark in bewilderment, then suddenly became annoyed, pulled off his helmet, and hurled it into the snow.

Now, Sasha was the only person still "alive" on the field.