Chapter 109: Leaving Home
The knights had just emerged from the white funeral of their brothers and friends, their iron hands having just brushed the coffin lid before they picked up their lances, answering the king’s summons, mounting their steeds, and gathering under the banner of chivalry.
A count from the Duchy of Cason.
In front of his estate, he grasped the polished bucket helm with both hands, fastening it on his head to cover his half-white golden hair, while the surrounding servants tightened his belt for him.
From the house behind him came a woman’s voice: “You group of servants! Stop it at once!”
Hearing his wife’s cry, the count irritably turned his head: “Who leaked the news? Keep your hands steady and pull my belt tight.”
The servant beside him complied, tightening the belt.
“Don’t! Don’t leave me, don’t leave the castle.”
Deep within the house, the countess hurriedly lifted her peacock green dress and rushed forward in a flurry. Behind her, two maids struggled to keep up, holding the long train of her dress.
But she was too anxious, too rushed. Her foot caught the hem of the dress, and she stumbled, falling to the ground.
The maids exclaimed, “My lady, my lady!”
“Are you all right?”
“What are you looking at?! Help me up!”
As she spoke, she loosened the embroidered belt around her waist, which had been so tight that it had caused her waist flesh to bulge. Once unfastened, the pressure relieved, and her waist relaxed.
The count paid no heed to his wife’s cries, patting his family heirloom sword as he moved toward his pegasus. For Knight Barto, a pegasus symbolized the bravery of a knight or his wealth.
He owned neither.
One day, a man from the temple brought the pegasus, saying it was property gifted to the succubus lady Jima by his son, George. But both had gone missing, and with the temple city under attack, the stable had been burned down. Therefore, by law, they were to hand over the pegasus to George’s father.
As the count mounted the silver pegasus, his wife’s hand gripped the reins tightly, her neck glistening with fine sweat:
“Why are you going to die?”
“I am a knight.”
“How many years has it been since you fought?” Even though the count sat high on his horse, the countess tilted her head back, her spirit unyielding. Tears streamed down her face as she said, “My dear son said the same before he died, his body crushed like a beetle. Please, don’t go. Whether one less or one more chivalrous warrior makes no difference.”
“What’s the difference?” the count said. “Only those cowardly enough not to be considered knights would not dare to take part in this chivalrous war. I must defend my family’s honor.”
“Your illegitimate son George, he must still be alive,” the countess said. “He is surely fighting for the empire, fighting for the family, so you don’t have to go.”
Upon hearing this, the count became enraged. He raised his riding whip and shouted, “What are you doing? Let go! If you don’t let go, I will strike your hand! As a lady, you shouldn’t be so rude!”
After hearing this, the countess, who had one hand gripping the reins, now grabbed with both hands, holding fast.
The count, also George’s father, swung the whip, striking her hand hard, tearing the glove and leaving a welt across her palm.
Tears streaming down her face, she refused to let go.
The servants nearby dared not step forward.
The count whipped her hand again, and finally, the countess released her grip. The count squeezed his legs against the silver pegasus, which galloped forward.
He ordered, “Hold her!”
The countess tried to rise and grasp the pegasus again, but the two maids held her back.
Amidst his wife’s cries, the count rode away, the silver pegasus moving swiftly. Even without soaring through the sky, once at the gate, the count hesitated and pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a stop.
Turning back, he saw his wife kneeling on the stone floor, laughing and crying with no semblance of a lady. Behind her stood three sons and a daughter, fearfully clutching their mother’s dress.
The count’s gaze softened behind the helm. He removed it and shouted:
“My lady, if I sacrifice myself, please raise them well. When they hear tales of my bravery, they will surely be proud of me.”
Before the countess could respond, he fastened his helm again and exited the courtyard.
After only a few steps, he heard a loud reply from behind:
“No!”
The count did not look back as he went to lead the responding knights. In urgent response to the empire’s need, the knights answered the call without bringing any drafted peasants, only mounted servants and horse archers, responsible for logistics.
Leading a multitude of knights, the count rode ahead, his hired bard accompanying him with song and drum, singing a battle song.
He was praised as the most courageous knight, with singers depicting fair maidens tossing flowers at the departing knights. They sang of the evil enemies being trampled under iron hooves and fleeing in terror.
After receiving blessings from the lake goddess priestess, the group of knights exited the city.
The count noticed that either their lances bore ribbons or they had tied them around their arms.
It then struck him that he had not received his wife’s blessing for this campaign.
According to the customs of Knight Barto’s realm, this was truly inauspicious.
The count muttered:
“Long hair, short sight.”
A male servant riding a swift horse galloped down the dirt road outside the city, calling out:
“My lord! My lord!”
Many knights turned to look.
The anxious servant switched his address: “Count! Count!”
He rode up beside the count, a gust of wind trailing behind him, holding out a wooden box, saying: “My lord, my lady sent me to deliver this to you quickly.”
The count removed his helm, accepting the box. Upon opening it, he found it contained his wife’s frequently used makeup box, carrying a fragrant scent. Inside the velvet lining lay a hair ribbon with a half-inch strand of hair, which he recognized as belonging to his wife.
Some time later.
At the Wolf Den Pass, the chivalric army led by King Richard the Lionheart had knights raising their lances as thick as a forest. The autumn wind surged through Axe Mark Pass, rustling the banners on their lances.
Passing through Axe Mark Pass led them to the imperial territory of Reik.
The count lifted his lance high, allowing his family banner to flutter, merging into the forest of flags, riding behind the mounted King Richard the Lionheart, prepared to support Adolph under the banner of chivalry.
……
At dawn.
Flags waved like clouds, bearing a large character for heaven.
Only the emperor can set out with the heavenly banner.
In the sky floated Kongming lanterns powered by Vermilion Bird fire. A massive clay warrior walked along the roadside.
Now, the emperor, taking up the edict from his predecessor written on his sash, had finally ended the internal strife, leading his two blood brothers along with eighteen lords north to quell the annihilation army, pledging to slay the traitors and drive out the various barbarians and monsters from the lands of the Morning Dawn Celestial Empire.
Many responded.
“Heroes arise in Jiangdong.”
……
Skarie the Sword Saint Henry yearned for a horse.
Then he wouldn’t have to carry the heavy plate armor and wield the giant sword every day, facing a myriad of strange demons—be they demonic or northern folk.
There were more of them than mushrooms after a rain in the forest. Running away was impossible, and each time he could only grit his teeth and fight, all while listening to the short-legged dwarf engineer butcher babble on and on, grumbling about the heat of autumn weather, stating he wore no clothes and kept sweating.
Complaining about running out of gunpowder, having to use the dwarven bludgeon as a hammer, lamenting that Henry’s home was too far from Adolph, after walking so long on the imperial highway, they still hadn’t arrived.
Kaelin was quite the chatterbox, even over such a short distance, he couldn’t stop his nagging.
The two got into an argument again, and even while sleeping, the dwarf butcher engineer murmured in his sleep:
“The road is really too far, the weather is so hot I want to shave off all my family’s beards.”
Skarie the Sword Saint Henry thought that dying in battle would indeed be a relief, at least he wouldn’t have to endure living tormented.
Fortuitously, the imperial town near Axe Mark Pass had not fallen.
Skarie the Sword Saint Henry remembered that the town had a great tavern called the Red Moon Tavern.
Upon seeing the solid walls of the imperial town, his parched mouth watered: “Great! It hasn’t fallen. I assure you, they have an exquisite tavern called Red Moon, serving beer and honey ale that are simply unmatched, and wine imported from the Duchy of Barto! I can’t wait to drink the cold beer brewed with well water.”
Two hours later, in the evening.
“Boom! Is this it?” The dwarf butcher slammed his mug on the bar, dissatisfied: “Even my urine tastes better. We crossed the entire empire only to be treated like cattle at the city gates, and they wouldn’t even spare my beard, just for this?”
“Shut your filthy mouth.” Skarie the Sword Saint Henry gulped down his large mug of cold beer, “Once the Eternal Chosen splits you in half, you won’t have anything left to complain about… Mmm~ refreshing. Boss, another round.”
The owner behind the bar shared a surname with the current emperor, pouring a full mug of beer: “Here you go, just taken from the well, cold beer.”
“Boss, I was clearly first.”
The tavern owner called out loudly: “Heroes get priority. They are the heroes heading to support Adolph.”
Saying this, he slid a mug of beer along the smooth bar surface toward Skarie the Sword Saint Henry.
He was just about to reach out when a hand wrapped in a leather glove intercepted the mug, unceremoniously snatching it and guzzling it down.
“Hey!”
Skarie the Sword Saint Henry had intended to teach him a lesson, but upon seeing the man’s leather coat and the high hat that had fallen from above, he realized it was a witch hunter!
He immediately decided to buy another mug of beer.
The witch hunter casually slammed his mug on the bar, letting out a long sigh: “Hah~ Preemptively seizing the priority.”
With a nimble flick of his foot, he sent the leather hat on the ground flying back onto his head, covering it.
Skarie the Sword Saint Henry exclaimed: “Van Helsing?”
“It’s you guys?” The witch hunter Van Helsing, also known as Akarnis, looked at them and smiled: “Great! That way I won’t have to pay.”
