Chapter 199: War Pig

Renard Eckhardt looked at the “John Gutenberg Metal Craft Workshop” so close yet seemingly out of reach, and fell into a long silence.

Cold rainwater dripped from the edge of his helmet and slipped into his collar, but he did not notice at all.

The attack plan they had hastily revised was like a map spread out on a table, already seen through completely by the Enemy.

On the way to the workshop, the army he led was tightly entangled and constantly harassed by Workers’ Patrol from every district.

Marching through rain was already tormenting enough, and with these damned flies, the private soldiers of the Sword-Bearing Nobles had bottled up a bellyful of anger.

The Enemy did not engage them head-on at all. If a small force chased out, it would instantly be swallowed by enemies several times its number; if the main force pressed forward, they would scatter into pieces and quickly vanish into the maze-like streets and alleys of the Capital.

These tactics looked simple, but carrying them out was a Nightmare.

Most farmer conscripts, once scattered into pieces even one time, could not be expected to regroup; if they did not turn into a complete rout, that was already treating their lord well.

Yet this Militia could spontaneously regroup without officers whipping them, and their Organization and Discipline were simply appalling.

How was this some “Workers’ Patrol”? This was clearly a well-trained force of tigers and wolves no inferior to the Kingdom’s elites!

Renard felt that the punch he had thrown with all his strength had landed on a ball of water-soaked cotton, and the stifled frustration made his chest ache.

Damn it! He should have thought of it long ago!

The Mutual Aid Association was not at all the soft persimmon his Master, who only knew how to talk war on paper, claimed could be squeezed at will.

How could such an army have been trained by those incorporated street thugs and worthless gangs?

A terrible guess took shape in his heart.

This was most likely the elite army the King had kept hidden, belonging entirely to himself!

That “Mad King” had deliberately let his army use the name of the “Workers’ Patrol” to rightfully control the entire Lower City.

Once the Sword-Bearing Nobles made too much trouble, he could at any time pull out this hidden army and stand against them as equals.

The Mutual Aid Association, from beginning to end, was an extension of the King’s will.

Their attack on the Mutual Aid Association was itself openly opposing royal authority and committing treason.

And that Your Majesty, who seemed long since to have ignored state affairs, had already laid a heaven-and-earth net for them, these jumping clowns.

Everyone thought he had delegated power to his sons and daughters, hid in the Royal Palace as a hands-off manager, and had already become decadent.

But he had actually been playing chess all along! To carry out that damned Reform, he had dug the fire pit with his own hands, just waiting for the Sword-Bearing Nobles to eagerly jump in one after another!

Renard’s heart sank to the bottom.

He knew they would die here. He knew even more that after they died, the Sword-Bearing Nobles, in order to wag their tails and beg the King for mercy, would certainly push out a few unlucky ones to bear all the crimes.

His own Master, in all likelihood, was that greatest unlucky one.

The Law of the Jungle, was this not the jungle law the nobles themselves believed in?

Since they had failed, then they should naturally bear the consequences of failure.

The King had ruled this country for a thousand years; how could they not know those little moves of the Sword-Bearing Nobles?

Their crude and violent conspiracy, compared with the deadly convoluted schemes of the Robe Nobility, was simply like a child’s game.

Probably from the very beginning, their entire Plan had been laid out word for word on the King’s imperial desk.

The King merely turned their plan against them, using the Mutual Aid Association’s hand to severely beat all the disobedient Sword-Bearing Nobles.

The conflict between royal authority and the nobles had never disappeared; it had only been temporarily covered by centuries of prosperity and stability.

Louis XI’s Reform was too radical; the nobles would never accept it.

National wealth and strength were certainly good, but letting those mud-legged peasants escape their control and shake the foundation of their rule?

Absolutely impossible!

In the eyes of nobles, they and commoners had never been the same species.

The Bloodline of the Sigil was the noble proof they were born with.

Renard understood this mentality too well, because he himself was a Crestbearer.

Livia’s experience was not rare. Bastards like her, abandoned by nobles as a disgrace and later recovered because they displayed the bloodline, were countless. Renard was one of them.

The identity of bastard would follow them all their lives; they would not be treated as family, but… as a handy tool.

In this country, only priests and nobles counted as “people”; everyone else was merely livestock that could talk.

What was truly terrifying about Reform was not the system, but thought.

When commoners realized that no one was born to be a slave, when they discovered that the Holy Book had never acknowledged any sacredness in Crested Nobles, the foundation of the nobles would be completely dug out.

That was why this probing war had broken out.

And they had already suffered a crushing defeat.

The King would use this victory to show everyone his determination to tear off all pretense with the Sword-Bearing Nobles.

But what about next time? Next time the Sword-Bearing Nobles would return in an even more brutal and reckless way.

Renard’s feelings were incredibly complicated.

Pointless sacrifices and meaningless struggles would ultimately only drag this thousand-year Kingdom into the abyss of destruction.

They had lit the first fire. Even if this fire was briefly put out, as long as the arsonist was never brought to Judgement, this country would sooner or later burn to ashes.

This was a dead end.

The closer Renard came to death, the more clearly he saw the absurdity of the world.

What loyal Knight, what righteous war, it was all bullshit! In the end there was only endless betrayal and slaughter.

Holy law, chivalric spirit, what meaning did all of this have before absolute violence?

Why exactly was he fighting?

Renard did not know; he was merely carrying out a doomed mission in vain.

But he knew why the army before him fought.

At the end of the long street, an army stood silently in the rain, like a forest cast from steel.

All of them were covered in heavy full plate armor, gripping nearly 5 meters long heavy halberds. The dense halberd tips reflected a chilling cold light under the dim sky.

They formed a huge square formation; the shields of the front ranks were tightly linked, forming an insurmountable wall of steel.

Halberds extended in layer after layer from the gaps between the shields, like a steel porcupine ready to strike, giving off a terrifying killing intent.

They blocked Renard’s path, and on every face was a readiness to die similar to that of the death warriors.

But deep within those eyes was something completely different.

That was protection.

They were defending their homes, defending their tomorrow.

But death warriors had no home, much less a tomorrow. They feared no death only because they lived in order to die.

One died for life, one lived for death.

The ridiculous thing was that their final fates were no different.

“Count the men.” Renard dispersed the stray thoughts in his mind and calmly gave the order.

“Sir… we have fewer than 100 people left.” The adjutant’s voice carried a trace of despair.

The Workers’ Patrol’s harassment tactics had indeed worked. They had lost many men, and with the unit assigned to the Continental Hotel, their numbers were at an absolute disadvantage.

“Then we make up for what remains with courage!” Renard drew his Sword without hesitation, pointed the blade straight at that forest of steel ahead, and roared with all his strength, “Loyalty to the Master! Charge!”

The standard-bearer carried no flag, because this was an unjust war that could not see the light.

But he blew the horn.

Woooo–

The bleak horn call echoed in the rain, tragic and resolute.

As the Kingdom’s elites, they had charged countless times against stronger enemies, just like at this moment.

The will to break into the formation, to advance with no thought of survival.

“Kill!”

In the heavy rain, the army formed by the remaining noble private soldiers uniformly bared their weapons.

The water beneath their feet was instantly stomped into a mist that filled the sky.

Bearing the enemy’s sky-full rain of arrows, they launched a desperate charge at the steel square formation waiting in strict formation.

Werner Kruger planted his two-handed greatsword before him, and cold rainwater slid down the blood groove of the blade.

He heard the enemy’s charge horn, and in that sound was a madness of mutual destruction.

This Joint Founder of the “Lily Guard” private military company was personally at the front, serving as commander.

This bloody and cruel war atmosphere made him find again the feeling of hot blood boiling on the battlefield.

All the Lily Guard elites had gathered here.

His old subordinates, who were already shining in various posts, heard that a hard battle was coming, threw aside their stable lives one by one, grabbed their tools of the trade, and hurried over.

They said this was to prove themselves, and even more to prove that Young Master Laval’s path was not wrong!

They were born for war and fought for Freedom.

Even if they no longer needed to live the wandering life of mercenaries, they still belonged to the battlefield.

“Master, we got work!”

A trusted aide managing a Lily Guard branch was wiping his beloved battle axe with a piece of rag.

He had changed into a brand-new set of plate armor and was grinning, eager to try.

“What’s the rush!” Werner glared at him.

“This is the square formation personally designed by Young Master Laval, its first time on the battlefield! All of you watch carefully. Your task is to find problems and pick faults. After the fight, every one of you has to submit a 300-word report and discuss it in a meeting! What did the Young Master call this again?”

“Military Democracy.” The trusted aide who used to hate using his brain the most had now also learned a few new words through the literacy night school run by Dawn’s Children.

“The Leader says this means we cannot just listen to you brag alone; us rough fellows have to help pull and tug too.”

“Yes, that’s it!” Werner slapped his thigh.

“So all of you cherish your lives, don’t be the first to charge up and die, damn it! Have you forgotten we still have a secret weapon to test today? The enemy definitely has a Crestbearer. Our task is to preserve ourselves and fish that fellow out!”

“Who’s scared? Isn’t that Young Master Hugo, the Crestbearer wearing a strange mantis-insect mask, watching from behind too?” Just thinking about that made Werner’s brain ache.

“Forget it. If he takes the field, I think we’ll lose all face. Anyway, follow the Plan.”

“But Master,” the trusted aide pointed behind him, where those soldiers had begun striking their shields with weapons as if beating war drums, “the brothers can’t wait any longer.”

Werner looked at the noble private soldiers opposite, fewer than 100 people yet daring to charge an army of thousands, then looked at the steel forest behind him, restless and eager.

He suddenly felt that after spending so long with Young Master Laval, he too had become indecisive and fussy.

Thinking, planning, preserving strength…

He was not that Revolutionary who strategized from behind the lines; these things were for Young Master Laval to consider.

He knew only one thing – when brave men meet on a narrow road, the brave win!

To hell with the Plan!

Werner opened his mouth wide, his white teeth especially eerie under the dim sky.

He suddenly raised the giant sword in his hand and let out an earth-shaking roar.

“Lily Guard, charge! See you in Paradise!”

“See you in Paradise!”

“Yay! Kill!”

“Kill these noble turtle bastards!”

“Long live the Lily!”

The order was given, and that silent steel square formation instantly came alive.

Accompanied by battle roars, the entire square formation began to advance in step with a heavy and unstoppable momentum.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Their steps grew faster and faster, finally turning into a run.

This steel beast covered in spikes, like an enraged “War Pig”, launched a fearless head-on clash against the enemy!

Two steel torrents collided with a thunderous crash on the narrow street.