Volume One: Knight of the Forest Chapter 108: Greenber the Horse Trader (Part 7)

The first match was crucial for morale; they had to win, or the team battles that followed would suffer from low spirits, hampering their combat effectiveness.

Berrion glanced at his personal guard—none of them, from Vice Captain Broda down to the foot soldiers, could stand against the monstrous Olomi. After much deliberation, he decided to enter the fray himself and face Broda in a duel.

When Rochil saw Berrion step into the arena personally, his expression darkened immediately. Olomi looked surprised and muttered, “Sir Berrion, this isn’t fair. You are a disciple of the Dawn Divine Sword; I have no chance against you. Besides, how can you, as the lord, fight yourself? Wasn’t it agreed that only the soldiers would compete?”

Berrion was about to respond when Broda stepped forward from the ranks, smiling at Berrion. “My lord, you need not fight. Regardless of the outcome of this first individual duel, we will win the next two team battles. Rest assured.”

Seeing the determination in Broda’s eyes, Berrion smiled sheepishly. He realized he had been too eager to win. It was unnecessary. His men excelled at team combat, while Rochil’s group specialized in close-quarters individual fighting. With an advantage in two matches, there was no need to contest this one.

With that in mind, Berrion placed a hand on Broda’s shoulder. “Good brother, since I’ve entrusted you to compete, I trust you. Everything inside the arena from now on is in your hands. I believe you and your comrades will prevail!”

Turning to the stands, Berrion left, and Broda selected a relatively sturdy mercenary from the ranks—a former caravan guard with some combat experience and decent physique—hoping he could last against Olomi.

But individual combat was about personal prowess. Although Broda didn’t expect a victory, this was his strongest fighter. Yet, after a brief encounter, Olomi kicked the soldier to the ground. The blow was not full force; the soldier suffered minor injuries and could still participate in the third team battle.

The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers as Olomi dispatched Berrion’s guard with ease, while Broda and his men remained calm—neither disappointed nor elated. They understood Olomi’s overwhelming strength; no ordinary man could best him alone, let alone two or three.

Moreover, solo combat was not the strength of the Nolandburg soldiers. The next two team battles were where they could regain their footing. After all, victory was decided by best two out of three.

By prior agreement, soldiers who fought in the previous match could not compete again in the second. Thus, Olomi, the monstrous giant, sat on the ground awaiting the third round.

Broda’s team sent out a standard combat squad: two spearmen, a swordsman-shield bearer, a halberdier, and a swordsman-shield wielder who had switched from crossbowman.

Rochil’s side also fielded five men. As light cavalry specializing in horse combat with short weapons, their arms were mostly wooden hammers, swords, and clubs.

As the two groups faced off, their eyes held complexity—not quite enemies, since they might be comrades in the future; nor friends, for they were still fighting for victory.

This hesitation meant neither side fought with full brutality. Though their wooden weapons were blunt, a powerful blow to a vital area could still be deadly.

Rochil’s five men lined up in a straight formation with a simple plan: charge directly and fight one-on-one. Watching Olomi’s duel earlier, they noticed Berrion’s men were weak in individual combat due to limited training and battle experience.

Berrion’s five formed a battle formation: the two spearmen in front, the swordsman-shield bearer and halberdier flanking them, and the sword-shield wielder at the rear.

At the referee’s signal, Rochil’s men roared and charged, while Broda’s group held their formation, waiting.

The arena was small. Within moments—barely three to five breaths—the five burly men reached the Nolandburg guards. Their faces gleamed with excitement, imagining their victory celebrations.

But Nolandburg’s soldiers remained solemn, gripping weapons firmly, stepping forward in a bow stance, ready to strike.

When Rochil’s men came within two steps, their leader shouted, “Retreat!”

The five soldiers stepped back in unison, bewildering the mercenaries, who could not understand this maneuver.

As they hesitated, the leader yelled, “Charge!” The soldiers surged forward, catching two mercenaries off guard and knocking them to the ground. Their spear-point formation sliced the remaining three into two and one, splitting the enemy.

Fallen mercenaries were considered out of the fight, so those two had to withdraw. Nearly half of Rochil’s men were down from this encounter.

Rochil, Grimber, and their mercenaries were stunned by this sudden turn.

The five soldiers then divided: on the left, a spearman, a swordsman-shield bearer, and the sword-shield wielder took on two mercenaries; on the right, a spearman and halberdier faced one mercenary.

The left side was pressured, outnumbered two to three, but with the mix of long and short weapons, they held their ground.

The right side, however, quickly overwhelmed the lone mercenary, who fell under the combined assault of the elite spearman and halberdier.

After defeating the one on the right, these two quickly reinforced the left, reversing the battle. Surrounded, the two mercenaries were swiftly dispatched.

From the referee’s call to battle’s end, the entire skirmish was brief, but the five proud mercenaries were crushed by five Nolandburg soldiers trained less than half a year. The shock to Rochil’s side was immense.

The crowd erupted in cheers, louder than when Olomi had defeated Nolandburg’s soldier earlier.

Olomi’s victory was expected due to his imposing physique and the nature of one-on-one combat, where physical superiority often decided the outcome.

But to see five seemingly unimpressive soldiers easily defeat five burly mercenaries was astonishing.

The spectators had not anticipated Nolandburg’s victory here, having assumed, based on the first match, that the mercenaries would win as easily as Olomi had.

But the reality was different: these five modest-looking soldiers quickly overpowered the muscular mercenaries, stunning everyone.

Berrion smiled broadly, applauding his men, while Broda approached the five soldiers, helping the fallen mercenaries up with gentlemanly grace.

The third team battle took a long while to begin. After their defeat, Rochil’s group recognized flaws in their teamwork and spent time revising weapon choices and formations.

Nolandburg’s soldiers quietly rested, some sipping water, others silent.

Broda and five squad leaders whispered in a corner, discussing plans.

Finally, when everyone was nearly asleep waiting, Rochil’s team was ready. Nearly half of their twenty-plus men now wielded spears, learning from the previous lack of long weapons.

They formed a horizontal line, intent on a direct charge. Seeing Rochil and Grimber at each flank, Berrion smiled knowingly—he guessed their tactic.

But such a tactic was useless against Nolandburg’s formation. Berrion and his officers had carefully designed multiple formations to adapt to battle changes.

They had also anticipated enemy feints combined with main assaults. Broda, as vice captain of the guards and a key officer, was well versed in these strategies.

Gamlin, observing Rochil and Grimber’s positions, understood their plan and prepared a counter.

Broda arranged his men in a square formation: front line with four spearmen, two swordsman-shield bearers, and two halberdiers; the left and right flanks mirrored with two spearmen, one swordsman-shield bearer, and one halberdier; the rear matched similarly.

Five sword-shield wielders, formerly crossbowmen, stood in the center as mobile reserves, ready to support any side under pressure.

At the referee’s signal, the final battle commenced. Unlike the earlier matches, there was no shouting or reckless rushing. Both sides fought cautiously.

Rochil stood near the right of the line, Grimber on the left, with Olomi and more than a dozen elite mercenaries in the center.

Nolandburg’s soldiers held their formation motionless. Rochil’s line advanced slowly, veering left as they approached, with Olomi shifting to the left flank.

Broda blew his whistle and adjusted the formation. Soon, Rochil’s left flank collided with Nolandburg’s front and right flanks. The Nolandburg right, though weak, immediately felt the pressure.

Broda swiftly deployed his mobile troops and rearranged the rear and left flanks.

Nolandburg’s formation nearly became two squares. The front and right, with five sword-shield bearers and eighteen soldiers, engaged Grimber, Olomi, and the elite mercenaries in fierce combat.

Though numerically superior, Nolandburg’s troops faced tremendous pressure, especially from Olomi, who had already felled two soldiers.

At this moment, Broda led eight soldiers—four spearmen in front, two swordsman-shield bearers and two halberdiers flanking—from the left and rear in a fierce assault against Rochil’s right.

Before Rochil and his six or seven men could react, Broda’s charge caught them off guard. Except for Rochil, most of his men were knocked down instantly, as they were not elite troops.

Seeing this, Rochil rushed to warn Grimber and the others on the left, but Broda’s men pursued swiftly, breaking through the attack formation held by Grimber, Olomi, and their comrades from behind.

Nolandburg’s front and right, reinforced by mobile troops, counterattacked, encircling and disrupting Rochil’s mercenaries’ formation.

In the chaos, Olomi was struck in the leg by a wooden hammer thrown by a comrade, falling to the ground. The remaining mercenaries, including Rochil and Grimber, fought individually but were quickly overwhelmed by organized five-man squads of Nolandburg soldiers.

After victory, Nolandburg’s soldiers helped their fallen comrades up, formed neat ranks, and marched back to their starting position, standing tall and still like straight pine trees, awaiting inspection from their lord, Sir Berrion.

Berrion strode before them, his guards in two lines. He warmly embraced each soldier, wiping blood from their faces with his handkerchief. Such a heartfelt gesture moved the men to tears. In their upbringing, nobles and commoners were worlds apart, rarely sharing such intimate moments. Yet Berrion not only called them brothers but treated them as such.

The heart is won by heart. Generally, when you treat others sincerely, they do not repay you with malice. Though Berrion’s actions might seem performative, he truly felt pride in his soldiers, who had not disappointed him.

Looking into their pure eyes and radiant smiles, Berrion grinned foolishly and said, “Look at you all, foolish as ever. The clean armor you donned this morning is now in shambles. When we return, you’ll wash and mend yourselves properly. My personal guards must present an image that makes the ladies admire you!”

The guards burst into laughter, knowing their lord teased them but deeply valued their efforts.

“All right, men, enough chatter from me,” Berrion continued. “Broda, let the men rest here. There’s some food and several barrels of beer nearby. Eat, drink, and relieve yourselves as needed.”

Though feigning annoyance, his actions showed genuine care.

After arranging his men, Berrion approached Rochil’s group, pulling the seated Rochil and Grimber to their feet with open arms. Smiling, he asked, “How about now? Satisfied?”

Rochil smiled wryly. “Sir Berrion, it’s not about satisfaction anymore. After these two fights, I’m beginning to doubt if my past combat experience means anything.”

Berrion laughed heartily, turning to Grimber and fixing him with a keen gaze. Grimber nodded.

“I’m convinced,” he said. “As long as you help me avenge my losses, I will pledge loyalty to you!” Olomi knelt on one knee to swear allegiance.

Berrion caught him, preventing a public kneel, and said with a smile, “I told you to come swear loyalty after a month in Amondin. You’ve not been there yet; I won’t accept it now.”

Rochil quickly gripped Grimber’s arm, laughing slyly. “Olomi, you fool! You cursed me harshly before, and now you understand why I follow Sir Berrion? You’re a stupid groundhog.”

His words barely finished when their comrades burst into laughter. Though defeated, they had won a chance for themselves and their families. As seasoned wanderers, they sensed the coming chaos.

In times of war, few lords could ensure their people’s safety and prosperity. Berrion, young as he was, governed well, commanded respect, and wielded influence with skill and nobility.

Unaware of their thoughts, Berrion warmly invited Rochil and Grimber. “After this match, we’ve all come to know each other. Tonight, we’ll hold a barbecue feast in your courtyard—our celebration and a welcome to Nolandburg.”

“Sounds great!” They agreed eagerly.

Berrion called out, “Bran, Huck, you lazy pigs! Bring over the beer, cured pork, and beef jerky. Let the men eat and rest.”

The two poor fellows hurriedly wheeled a cart loaded with supplies.

Berrion rapped the beer keg and smiled at Rochil and Grimber. “This round, I fought you perhaps unfairly. Consider this compensation. Eat and drink, rest well.”

“Unfair?” Rochil looked puzzled. “What does that mean, Sir Berrion?”

Berrion laughed awkwardly. “My master taught me it means winning without honor—like winning, but without glory.”

“But your guards defeated us openly. Everyone saw it; no one suspected any trickery,” Grimber said, confused.

“Infantry defeating an equal number of dismounted cavalry, even with a third of them wounded—that’s more like a loss in my eyes,” Berrion explained.

Rochil and Grimber exchanged smiles. Grimber adjusted his eyepatch and chuckled, “If that’s losing, then we’ve truly lost face. Though we’re horse traders, not knights, and our cavalry skills don’t match theirs, as light cavalry we’re competent.

“But we always thought our foot combat was our strength. Look at that giant Olomi. He’s fierce on horseback, but skilled knights can knock him down. On foot, few can beat him. So, sir, your men defeating us in foot combat makes them among the finest soldiers on the Velin Continent.”

Berrion laughed heartily. “Hearing that lifts my spirits.”

Rochil sighed and said softly, “It’s true—the better the man, the harsher he is on himself. We’ve beaten wandering knights, bandits, and robbers and thought ourselves great.

“But Sir Berrion’s troops defeated our relatively elite mercenaries, yet he feels he took advantage because we lacked horses. How can the gap between men be so vast?”

Grimber punched Rochil’s shoulder and laughed, “You fool, how can we mere ragtag soldiers compare to Sir Berrion, from a knightly lineage, trained by the Sword God of Dawn?”

“Enough, enough! Stop!” Berrion interrupted, wary of their endless flattery.

He scolded them playfully, “Go eat and drink. I can’t stand you two sucking up to me like this.”

They laughed heartily.

Suddenly, a mournful groan echoed: “What are you doing… ow… hey…”

They turned to see two men trying to carry the injured Olomi to shade. Accidentally touching his injured leg, he groaned like a wounded chicken.

Approaching, Olomi lay moaning, unlike the fierce warrior from the arena.

Rochil nudged him with his foot and scolded, “Olomi, stop faking your injury. Get up!”

“No, I’m really hurt. I can’t get up. Carry me back,” Olomi insisted, eyes closed.

Rochil and Grimber exchanged sly grins. “Carry you back, huh? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I didn’t even want to fight. You forced me. Now I’m hurt, and you have to carry me,” Olomi replied.

“Fine! Let’s carry you, big guy. Come on, Grimber.”

They hoisted Olomi—Rochil supporting his upper body, Grimber his legs. Despite his size, the two strong men lifted him easily.

Counting down together—“Three, two, one”—they swayed Olomi side to side, then shouted, “Go!”

They threw Olomi onto a pile of soft straw mats at the side.

Olomi scrambled up, yelling unhappily, “You two are clueless! I wanted you to carry me back. Can’t you guess why?”

“I know, Olomi, my good brother,” Berrion said with a smile.

Olomi looked surprised. Rochil and Grimber continued laughing.

“Feeling guilty toward me and embarrassed to face me, so you feigned injury, right?” Berrion asked.

The two-meter-tall giant lowered his head and whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

Rochil looked to Grimber and asked, “Where’s his usual loud mouth?”

Grimber laughed, “I bet it’s not his leg that’s hurt. Something else got smashed down there.”

Grimber’s remark made Rochil laugh heartily, and Berrion burst out laughing as well, while Olomi stood red-faced and fuming.