Volume One: Knight of the Forest - Chapter 107: Greenburg the Horse Trader (Part Six)-From Knight to King(A young scholar named Guo from Xiangyi)

The moment Baron Grinber heard this, his face darkened. He widened his eyes at Bellion and gave a cold laugh. “Do you take me for a fool? You are a knight not yet twenty years old. What could you possibly accomplish by leading troops to the front? How many soldiers do you have at your command? Nothing but a few dozen peasant levies who can barely hold their spears steady. What could such a force do on a battlefield?”

Loshir, too, regarded Bellion with a complicated expression. This was simply absurd! A knight whose territory had been inhabited for less than a year was actually thinking of taking part in a national war—of fighting a viscount who commanded a battle group of at least five hundred men. It was nothing short of a colossal joke.

Bellion looked at the two of them without expression. “You think I’m joking? That I’m merely amusing myself at your expense?

“Hmph! Before the campaign to reclaim Maple Manor, everyone thought the same. Before the extermination of the three great bandit gangs south of the Carl River, everyone thought the same as well.

“But what happened? What became of the Toba pirates, who were famed for their ferocity? Were they not destroyed by me?

“And what of the Blood Wolf Gang, the Hound Gang, and the Gray Bear Gang south of the Carl River? They had roamed that region for more than a decade. The county troops and the knights who commanded them had launched repeated campaigns against them without success. Yet were they not wiped out by me with ease?

“War is a contest of strength and wisdom. It is not merely a matter of comparing titles or numbers. If those were truly all that mattered, Grinber, could you break into that bastard Milkor’s family castle? I now command a hundred-man infantry company, not to mention at least five hundred well-trained militia. Why should I not fight a battle?”

Bellion’s words left both men silent, sinking into thought.

Loshir reflected that Bellion was indeed no braggart. At such a young age, he had led soldiers who had scarcely been trained for a year to victory after victory. These had been difficult battles that had given even the county troops and the knights renowned for their prowess no end of trouble.

From his days as a horse trader to his years as a mercenary, Loshir understood that a pack of five or six wolves possessed a completely different fighting strength from a flock of several hundred sheep. Such a pack could easily scatter a flock many times its own size.

That was the advantage of elite troops. So long as the disparity in numbers was not astronomical, a highly trained force had a chance of routing an opponent several times its size—and could often do so with ease.

Just as Loshir fell into thought, Grinber lifted his head and looked at Bellion. “What you say makes sense, but I still find it hard to believe that your soldiers are truly that elite. You have been training troops for less than a year. Even if you were the God of War reborn, what could you possibly have made of these ordinary men?”

Bellion nodded and smiled. “People must see such things with their own eyes before they can believe them. That is only natural, and I understand.

“How about this, Loshir, Grinber? Let us hold a contest. If you win, I will not ask you to follow me. I will also give you a bonus of five thousand dinars. But if I win, the two of you must bring your men and swear allegiance to me.

“The contest itself is simple. Your twenty-odd men will face my personal guard in a mock battle. My guard numbers twenty-five, so we will field equal numbers and see whether the soldiers I have trained for half a year are stronger—or whether you veterans of countless battles are.”

“Good! Then let’s put it to the test!” Grinber rose and accepted at once.

Loshir, standing nearby, shook his head helplessly. He had no choice but to agree as well. “Very well, Sir Bellion. Let us have this contest and convince the men to follow you wholeheartedly.”

“Excellent.” Bellion nodded. “I’ll arrange the venue. Wait for my word.”

With that, he left with Blan and Hark.

Two days later, Bellion’s personal guard and the mercenaries under Loshir entered the arena for an equal-numbered mock battle.

The rules were simple. The two sides would fight according to battlefield principles and see which could defeat the other. The contest would consist of three rounds, with victory going to the side that won two. The first round was individual combat, testing the strength of each warrior. The second was group combat, with teams of five from each side facing one another. The third was squad combat, with twenty-five men from each side taking the field to simulate a battlefield engagement.

Through Gamji, Bellion learned that the arena was closed to spectators that day. He therefore had Gamji rent the venue for their contest.

Once Loshir and the others had donned their armor, they took up the wooden swords, clubs, and other weapons supplied by the arena. These were used for combat training, to prevent anyone from being injured. Bellion had shown them kindness, after all; there was no need to use real weapons.

In addition to the wooden swords, wooden blades, and clubs provided by the arena, Bellion had Gamji find a carpenter to make five wooden halberds. The five archers in his personal guard, having no need for bows, were instead equipped as sword-and-shield fighters. They normally trained in this discipline as well, so they were reasonably skilled with such close-combat weapons. With Bellion, a master swordsman, instructing them, their martial abilities were quite respectable.

The contest between Bellion’s personal guard and Loshir’s mercenaries aroused the interest of the arena’s owner and his fighting men. It was supposed to be their day of rest, but after hearing about the match, none of them returned to their quarters. They all came to watch the spectacle.

Besides the arena’s own people, mercenaries and caravan guards who had rented the venue for training also climbed into the stands to watch the exciting contest.

Once both sides had entered the arena, Bellion ordered Blan to place a strongbox atop a large wooden chest beside the stands. He stepped forward, opened it, and smiled at the soldiers of his personal guard.

“Brothers, today we are going to test ourselves against the mercenaries opposite us. If you lose, these five thousand dinars will belong to them.

“If you win, not only will I keep my money, but they will also follow me, serve me, and fight for me!

“Brothers! Are you willing to disgrace the men of Nolandenburg and make me lose five thousand dinars? Or will you defeat them and make them swear allegiance to me?”

“Victory!”

The twenty-five soldiers of Bellion’s personal guard shouted “Victory!” three times in unison. They made their position clear, stunned Loshir and the others, and earned applause and cheers from the small number of spectators in the stands.

“Good! I believe in you. Every one of you is a true son of Nolandenburg and a brother of mine. There is no enemy you cannot defeat and no hardship you cannot overcome! Victory belongs to the men of Nolandenburg. May the God of Fire protect you!”

“Thud, thud, thud.”

With these wordless blows, Bellion’s guards expressed their conviction that they would win.

Those carrying weapons and shields struck their weapons against their shields. Those without shields beat their chests with one hand. Though there were only twenty-five of them, they displayed the bold and magnificent spirit of an army thousands strong.

Seeing the bearing of Bellion’s guards, Loshir, Grinber, Euromi, and the others felt their confidence waver. Whether or not a soldier was elite could still be seen at a glance.

Bellion’s twenty-five guards stood in perfect formation, motionless as statues. Their discipline was clearly severe.

A force like this, when facing an enemy on the battlefield, would stand firm like rock beside the sea. No matter how many enemies charged them, they would smash the enemy’s attacks just as cliffs shattered the waves.

But as their leader, Loshir could not lose heart before the battle had even begun. Although he was sincerely devoted to Bellion, this was still a contest. Any man with blood in his veins wanted to be the victor, never the defeated.

Loshir drew a deep breath and walked to the front of his formation. Looking at his brothers, he shouted, “What is wrong with all of you? The battle has not even begun, and you are already discouraged? Were we ever afraid when facing savage bandits? When we fought those brutal wandering knights, did we not all fight without fear of death?

“The men opposite us are nothing but recruits whom Sir Bellion has been training for about six months. Are you saying we lack the confidence to fight them?”

Loshir fired off a string of questions, and the men under him flushed with shame. They did not understand what had come over them. They had fought for so many years, yet they were afraid of these recruits merely because they looked imposing. They were behaving like cowards.

At that moment, Grinber roared, “Anyone without a pair of balls can get the hell out! The rest of you, stand up straight, fight like men, defeat them, and split the winnings!”

“Roar!”

The mercenaries shouted three times in unison. Their spirit surged at once, and they no longer looked as dejected as before. They now had the bearing of seasoned elite troops.

Bellion watched them with satisfaction, his heart filled with delight. He had worried that, apart from the few warriors represented by Loshir, Grinber, and Euromi, the rest might merely be deadweight. He had not expected this force to truly deserve the title of elite.

Although they had dismounted and were fighting on foot, Bellion had no doubt that if his personal guard encountered such a cavalry unit on the battlefield, they would be annihilated. Elite cavalry of equal numbers fighting infantry was no different from an adult beating a child.

At that moment, Loshir called out to Bellion and asked whether they could begin. Bellion nodded, and the arena’s referee, hired for the occasion, announced the official start of the contest.

The first match was individual combat. Loshir’s side sent out Euromi, a huge man of terrifying strength. Bellion had personally witnessed him knock down five mercenaries working for a tax collector without breaking a sweat, then overpower ten constables armed with clubs. By sending this monster into the first match, Loshir clearly intended to secure the opening victory.