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Chapter 113: The West Wind Knights Must Speak with One Voice
🕑 Added 2025-01-11 04:36:54 +0000 UTCCharlot Mecklenburg had just slain his opponent, but a thought abruptly surfaced in his mind: “Lamp Bearer, why in the world did I compete with him in swordsmanship? Wouldn’t it have been better to use Flame Dragon’s Hand and a silver rhino bullet to kill him instantly?”
Only now did he realize his entire body was drenched in cold sweat. The battle had been tense beyond words.
This hard-won victory had honed the West Wind Knights to the point where they faintly resembled a proper army.
As Charlot stood there without issuing a single command, the entire company fell silent, waiting for their commander to speak.
After a pause, Charlot drew a deep breath and bellowed, “We are the West Wind Knights, and we have won!”
Cheers erupted across the battlefield, growing louder and louder in waves.
When the cheering subsided slightly, Charlot continued, “Under my leadership, the West Wind Knights will continue to achieve victory and return home safely!”
“Now, let us clean the battlefield. All spoils of war will be divided equally!”
This statement elicited an even greater roar of applause. The earlier cheers had been somewhat perfunctory for some, but now every voice was filled with genuine fervor and heartfelt enthusiasm.
After all, money was far more endearing than Charlot himself.
Dubin Alger couldn’t help but sidle up to Charlot and suggest, “We’ve annihilated this Byron cavalry unit. It’s the perfect time to crush the rest of the South Seraph restorationist forces.”
“They only have two thousand soldiers left, and their morale and training are both abysmal.”
Charlot, however, had no interest in further combat. War meant death, and this was far from a just war for home and country. It was merely a contest among great empires, and every life lost was innocent.
He replied, “Pick 500 men and conduct some reconnaissance. I’ll follow with the main force. Remember, wait for me to arrive before engaging.”
Dubin, suspecting nothing, eagerly summoned a dozen combat squads and set out.
Charlot, meanwhile, directed his subordinates to clean up the battlefield and gather the remnants of the Behemoth Principality’s defeated troops. He had no intention of fighting the South Seraph restorationists. If he delayed for an hour or two, they would likely flee, leaving everyone happy—except Dubin, who might be mildly dissatisfied with Charlot for “missing an opportunity.”
But Charlot was the commander. Dubin wouldn’t dare voice any real complaints.
And so, the matter was peacefully resolved.
How wonderful.
Charlot managed to gather over 5,000 defeated soldiers from the Behemoth Principality.
Among them was Baron Frederica, one of the principality’s most powerful nobles, second only to Grand Duke Ferdinand.
Well, now that Grand Duke Ferdinand and his wife were gone, Frederica’s status had shifted, placing him just below the newly appointed Duke Franz Joseph, Ferdinand’s nephew.
From these defeated troops, Charlot learned that the unfortunate Baron Frederica had been slain over an hour ago by a crude knight in full view of both armies—just as Charlot had slain his opponent moments ago. Frederica’s Yahoo Knights had collapsed soon after, much like Charlot’s own foes.
Charlot had unwittingly recreated the same scene from earlier, when Byron and the South Seraph forces had defeated Frederica’s Yahoo Knights.
A true military strategist—or even an amateur tactician—would be deeply troubled by the presence of so many defeated soldiers.
But Charlot, a second-rate improviser, gave no thought to whether he had the authority to handle these troops or how to manage such a large group. Instead, he casually ordered the 5,000 defeated soldiers to be disbanded and integrated into the West Wind Knights.
This decision immediately sparked dissent among the Yahoo Knights.
A middle-aged knight clad in full armor with a neatly groomed mustache stepped forward, his voice filled with indignation. “Commander Charlot, you have no right to command us!”
“We are not citizens of Fars!”
“I demand equal treatment befitting my status! I demand the return of command over the Yahoo Knights! I demand troops be dispatched to retrieve the baron’s body…”
The man rattled off over a dozen demands in one breath.
Charlot nonchalantly pulled out his Anti-Space Long-Range Rifle from his collar and quipped, “Who the hell are you?”
The knight opened his mouth to identify himself, but before he could utter a word, Charlot mercilessly pulled the trigger, blasting the man into two pieces.
It wasn’t until after the shot rang out that Charlot realized he might have acted impulsively. “Have I been reading too many web novels? Why am I so quick to kill?”
In truth, Charlot’s emotions had been unstable ever since the battle ended, though he hadn’t realized it himself. The shot seemed to snap him out of his daze, but the surrounding soldiers were now looking at him with a mixture of awe and fear.
Charlot knew he had to maintain his composure. He took a deep breath and declared loudly, “The West Wind Knights must speak with one voice!”
Yellow Bear, who had regretted not participating in the battle, heard this statement and felt an instant connection. He bellowed, “That voice belongs to Commander Charlot Mecklenburg!”
The veterans who had witnessed Charlot intimidating Scar into submission during a past meeting immediately recalled the incident, as well as the City Patrol Guards’ subsequent destruction of the Black Scorpion gang. The memory spurred them to join Yellow Bear in chanting.
At first, the shouting was sporadic, but it quickly grew into a deafening roar:
“That voice belongs to Commander Charlot Mecklenburg!”
Even the prisoners, old patrol guards, and adventurers joined in.
This overwhelming display silenced the Yahoo Knights’ defeated troops. None dared to voice another objection.
These troops had just suffered a devastating loss, leaving them demoralized. With their commander dead and their deputy slaughtered like a mere chicken, they were terrified.
The Anti-Magic Armor-Piercing Rounds Charlot had used were so powerful that even high-level transcendent beings couldn’t withstand them. Against ordinary targets, they caused catastrophic damage, leaving no intact corpse.
Such ammunition wasn’t meant for the battlefield. It was intended for high-level duels. Each round was worth 1.5 gold écus—far too expensive for the indiscriminate wastage of war.
Charlot, however, was blissfully unaware of their price. Having acquired twenty rounds from Lord Leo, six from Annie Bretagne, and an entire case from Grandma Saint Karen—all for free—he would have hesitated to use them so liberally had he known their value.
“Yellow Bear, you’re really something,” Charlot thought with a faint smile.
But to the defeated Yahoo Knights, that smile was more terrifying than any demon’s.
After all, this commander had just led his troops to annihilate Byron’s cavalry—a cavalry that had previously crushed the Yahoo Knights.
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