chsdbacks #211 - Black Knights
#211 - Black Knights
In a tavern in Rapid Falls City, the solid wood counter was a matte black, its once-rough surface polished by spilled food oil and sleeves.
It wasn't quite mealtime yet, but the tavern already had a customer. The owner didn't chase him away; he knew this weary-looking man: Knight Karl, captain of the Rapid Falls City Guard.
Although Knight Karl was a knight, he often ate at this kind of greasy spoon favored by commoners, even getting into drunken brawls after a few drinks.
Seeing Karl, the owner simply started the stove early, preparing a meal specifically for this important figure he couldn't afford to offend.
As the meat roll baked in the oven, the tavern owner silently cracked eggs into a frying pan. The sign outside swayed, and another customer entered the tavern.
This young man in a scholar's robe smiled with narrowed eyes. He leaned against the counter, sat next to Karl, raised his chin, tilted his head, and said with feigned surprise, looking at Karl's profile:
"Oh, what a coincidence, Karl, you're here for a meal too?"
Grasping the handle of his beer mug, Karl didn't say a word. He didn't even need to look up to know who it was.
"Mitternicht, what do you want?"
Mitternicht rested his right hand on the counter and snapped his fingers at the owner: "A portion of fried sausage and sauerkraut pea soup, three bowls of cheese and mushroom soup—no, wait, two bowls. And a beer."
Karl turned his head: "What's your point?"
"Nothing." Mitternicht turned to face Karl, who was sideways to him. "Isn't this how we usually order?"
Karl looked down at the cloudy beer with sediment floating in it: "I understand. I'll apologize to Cici."
Mitternicht smiled but didn't speak, simply taking a napkin from his pocket and tucking it into his collar, waiting silently.
He knew Karl wasn't finished.
Sure enough, after taking a large gulp of beer, Karl slammed the mug heavily on the table.
"Mitternicht, you and Cici don't actually believe that con… that Hörn and those stupid farmers, do you?"
Mitternicht didn't answer, only taking a small sip of the foamy beer to prevent it from overflowing.
"Mitternicht, they exposed the Blueblood Monastery, I'll admit that. Those who walked the path of blood and sweat are indeed heroes, and I admire them.
But you're asking them to train an army capable of fighting the Edict Legion in three months. Be honest with yourself, do you believe it?"
Using a fork to pick up a sausage, Mitternicht ate it with a bite of the cold fried egg: "Didn't Marshal Dungal train an infantry army capable of resisting the Edict Legion in just six months?"
Karl clicked his tongue: "Does it amuse you to quibble like this? Marshal Dungal only retrained elite mercenaries. They weren't farmers to begin with; they were all veterans who had been on the battlefield."
"So what?"
"So what?" Karl was almost laughed at. "A knight starts as a page at seven, goes on a grand tour at fifteen, and attends his first knightly tournament at eighteen. It takes at least ten years to train a proper knight.
An old mercenary enlists at thirteen as a messenger, officially goes to the battlefield at fourteen, and becomes a fully paid veteran at sixteen at the earliest. It takes at least three years to train a proper infantryman.
And what do those Salvation Army farmers have? Do they know the four ways to hold a sword? Do they know how to form a line? Have they ever killed anyone?
Three months is only enough to train serf soldiers at best. Four thousand serf soldiers might stand a chance against a few hundred armored soldiers or rural knights, but facing Edict Knights? You must be joking, right?"
"How would we know if we don't try? What we're trying to do is unprecedented. How many people can we trust, people who dare to stand against the Church Empire?"
Karl slapped the table, wanting to retort, but Mitternicht interrupted: "Among these people who dare to stand against the Church Empire, how many can prove they have unwavering resolve?"
Karl withdrew his hand from the table, and the owner took the opportunity to place a plate of baked meat rolls on the table.
Pulling the plate close, Karl tore into the rank meat roll in large bites, as if he had a vendetta against it.
"We must try to win over everyone who can stand on our side." Mitternicht slowly took Karl's cabbage soup and took a spoonful.
"I don't object to winning them over, but they overestimate themselves too much." Karl ate in a muffled voice. "No matter what, in three months, these Salvation Army soldiers will have to come out of the mountains.
At that time, we might have to fight the Imperial Church in the west and also send troops to support Joan's Fort. I guarantee that's what will happen.
This alliance is like this baked meat roll. It smells bad, but if you spit it out, it's still meat. It's better to settle the refugees in the Black Bone Swamp and call those old camps to…"
"To what?"
"Nothing."
"Call the Saint Son and the old camps to come and join us, right?" Mitternicht smilingly completed his sentence. "It's just that you don't like Lord Hörn because he killed Darnell, right?"
Karl's father was the leader of Duke Darnell's secret army, and his family had been the most valued stewards of the Kush family.
The five hundred transcendent knights of the Black Knight Brigade were all loyal vassals of the Kush family in the past, even vowing not to establish a family until Thousand River Valley was restored.
This led to the Black Knights being passed down from father to son, but only as illegitimate children.
They were stripped of their titles and families by the Church Empire. Their greatest dream was to revive the Kush family and return Thousand River Valley to their control.
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But after the incidents at the Blueblood Orphanage and Joan's Fort, Karl and his Black Knight Brigade were basically lost.
The Kush family they regarded as their wise lord was secretly selling Blueblood Wine, and the money used to support them might have come from the Blueblood Wine trade.
If so, were they Thousand River Valley people or Kush people?
Regardless of what Darnell had done, he had been benevolent to these Black Knights.
Their salaries were paid on time, and he even purchased a lot of land for their retirement, tax-free, allowing them to reclaim and farm it.
Even when Darnell sold Karl's Black Knight Brigade to Catherine, it was only a 99-year lease.
Although it was essentially a sale, because only Catherine had the right to renew or not, and Duke Kush of Joan's Fort would most likely escape to become Earl of Mount Giba.
Among the transcendent knights under Catherine's command, most had complex feelings towards Duke Kush of Joan's Fort, and Karl, as the leader of the Black Knights, was the embodiment of these feelings.
Swallowing the baked meat roll in a few bites, Karl turned to face Mitternicht.
"Yes, I don't like him. I know Lord Darnell deserved it, even the Holy Tree would agree. I… sigh, Lord Darnell was a bad person, but he never mistreated us."
"He did those things after all." Mitternicht ruthlessly exposed the truth, his words even somewhat vicious. "Maybe the armor you wear was bought with Blueblood Wine."
"We unanimously decided to sell those old Black Knight armors and use the money to build an orphanage, and then we'll pay for new armor ourselves." Karl's voice was unexpectedly hoarse.
"Is there enough time in three months? Instead of selling them, you should keep them and use the blood of the murderer to wipe away the dirt on them."
"Yes, three months isn't even enough time to buy a batch of new knightly armor, and those Salvation Army soldiers are supposed to train a strong army to fight knights in three months?"
Karl sighed: "If we really have to support Joan's Fort, I won't lead the team. You go, or let Cici go."
"Are you so sure they need our support?"
"If they didn't need support, why would they rush to ally with us?" Karl threw the fork and silver coins on the table. "I've seen through it. That Saint Son isn't stupid; he's smarter than anyone. He's hiding in the mountains and reaping the benefits, while we have to help him spread his name."
"Hmph, a liar!"