industrial lord

Chapter 727 Your mission is complete
Every autumn, the dock two or three kilometers away from Shanzha Village is always full of boats from Hanma City. They leave behind gold coins or agreed-upon goods and take away baskets of freshly picked hawthorns to make canned goods and various easy-to-store snacks.

This autumn, the number of ships from Hammam was many times greater than in previous years, and those disembarking were not merchants, but soldiers from the Duchy of Mainz.

The dock was too small, so many transport boats dropped people off at the riverbank. After disembarking, the soldiers in brown-yellow uniforms curiously looked at the hawthorn orchards in the distance, the neatly arranged wooden houses in the village, and the hunters hurrying home from the mountains.

Beyond the hawthorn orchard lies a dense forest, where many villagers make their living by hunting and are intimately familiar with every inch of the forest.

The soldiers were admiring the scenery, and the people in the scenery were also admiring them.

Lord Liberl, the lord of Hawthorn Village, stood atop the tallest wooden watchtower of his three-story castle—or rather, fortress—and glanced at the army swarming along the riverbank before letting out a helpless sigh.

Liberl's thoughts were seized by a bloody name deep in his memory—Hamma City Fortress. The humiliating defeat in the nationwide attack many years ago resurfaced with unparalleled clarity.

The army of the Kingdom of Danma, having poured all its strength into the battle, crashed into the fire-breathing behemoths outside Hamma City, which were guarded by the Duchy of Mainz and the Duchy of Bain.

That year, the young Liberl was among the army preparing to attack the city. He saw the magic crystal cannons of the mage corps destroyed by a sudden burst of fire, and he also saw the kingdom's most elite soldiers and fierce mercenaries fall like stalks of wheat before the fortress.

He could not find any other words to describe the terrifying weapons from the Duchy of Wessen on the fortress except for scythes.

Liberl still clearly remembers that time, when he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, sweat soaking through his shirt under his armor, his heart pounding as he awaited the bugle call for his phalanx to attack—a death knell that would lead to his demise.

In a sense, Frederick's arrival with his cavalry saved his life; the attack ceased, and the rout began.

After the war, Liberl was assigned to lead the prisoners of war in cleaning up the corpses. The land in front of the fortress was stained dark red, and the corpses were piled up like mountains. It is unknown how much lime water was sprinkled to prevent an outbreak of plague.

Today, history played a cruel joke: the Duchy of Mainz besieged the city, and he defended it.

Liberl glanced bitterly at the army gathering below the bunker: a hundred conscripted hunters, bows and arrows in hand, but all with vacant eyes; beside them were fifty cheap mercenaries with mixed equipment and tense expressions, constantly grumbling.

These 150 people were the last line of defense for Hawthorn Village, but Liberl was too poor. It was not a major transportation route, and hawthorns could not be sold for much money. They could not even equip the recruited hunters with hunting rifles, and the mercenaries were all cheap, strong men.

At the top of the watchtower, a green flag fluttered in the wind, with a hawthorn tree laden with bright red fruit embroidered in the center.

Many people looked up at the flag, unsure whether they were saying goodbye to the flag or to their own lives; in any case, there was no conflict.

On the riverbank, more and more soldiers, warhorses, and supplies were unloaded from the boats, and the soldiers began to build military camps.

Some people were loading freshly picked hawthorns into the empty boat and transporting them back to Hanma City along the way.

Liberl's forehead was slightly sweaty. The army of tens of thousands of people from the Duchy of Mainz looked to him like monsters forged from steel and flesh, resting beside the small village with destructive power, and he didn't even bother to look at them.

A bugle call came from afar, sounding like the howl of a wild beast in the mountains.

The soldiers were restless, and the streets were deserted in the blink of an eye. Liberl saw all this and finally sighed, making a difficult decision.

The messenger arrived earlier, but he had been hesitating; now, there was no longer any time to delay.

The steward was summoned. Liberl gripped the hilt of the sword bestowed upon him by Her Majesty the Queen tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. He said in a low, strained voice, "Go and tell him that I agree to their terms, but I also have my own."

When he finished speaking, he let out a sigh of relief, looking as if he had aged twenty years.

The sun set and rose again, the sky was covered by a thin layer of clouds, and the autumn wind was chilly—perfect weather for battle.

The soldiers from Hawthorn Village ate two hearty meals last night and this morning, and nervously lined up in the pasture outside the village.

The earth trembled slightly, and beneath the rising dust, the Mainz army marched in orderly steps toward Hawthorn Village with unstoppable force.

The cheap mercenary company commander breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed that, as the boss had said, today was just a formality.

Everyone knows that the Weisen Army is the best in the world. Legend has it that there are four other armies almost identical to the Weisen Army – the Constantinople Royal Guard, the Osmarca Imperial New Army, the armies of the Duchy of Mainz and the Duchy of Bavaria, and half a force of the newly formed Elbe Treaty Organization. The Weisen Army's fighting style is legendary, but it's certain they would never enter the battlefield in such a perfectly uniform formation.

Liberl's face was calm, like a peaceful deceased person. He had already regarded himself as dead, in order to exchange for a glimmer of hope for Hawthorn Village and his family.

As the sun rose higher, the two armies, vastly different in number, equipment, and strength, met at a distance of 400 meters and formed ranks.

The soldiers from Hawthorn Village were overwhelmed by the enemy's numbers and momentum. Many looked around, ready to follow if anyone ran away first.

The Mainz army split in the middle, and Theodore rode out, his finely crafted plate armor gleaming, his warhorse tall and magnificent, and his head adorned with a barrel helmet decorated with gold patterns.

Liberl took a deep breath; the time had come to serve Her Majesty the Queen.

He stretched his arm out to the side, and a young servant hesitated for a few seconds before handing over the helmet.

Liberl was still a little nervous. He gripped the helmet tightly, and his thumb pinched through the steel plate.

He paused for a moment, picked up the helmet and looked at it, and found that it was poorly maintained, with only superficial repairs done, and the inner layer was already rusted beyond recognition.

"Boom!"

The helmet was carelessly tossed aside.

When Theodore saw Liberl pick up the helmet, ponder for a moment, and then throw it aside, he couldn't help but admire him.

This battle shouldn't have been fought. Merchants who had come to buy hawthorns in previous years acted as persuaders, but Liberl refused to surrender and put forward some conditions.

Theodore believed that Liberl was willing to die for his lord in a duel without himself.

The gleaming helmet was removed and thrown to the ground along with the wig-like cushioning pad. Theodore was unwilling to take advantage of this loyal and valiant man, and thus gave his opponent equality and dignity.

Liberl drew his sword, took a deep breath, and gave the order: "Everyone, listen up! Fire your arrows at the sound of the horn!"

At the brief blast of the servants' horns, the hunters silently drew their arrows and nocked them, while the mercenaries raised their crossbows.

Each person's quiver was empty, with only a lone arrow in their hand and two more in the quiver.

"Woo~~!"

The short, sharp horn call, after a brief pause, became long and mournful.

The sharp whistling of arrows leaving the bowstring suddenly rang out. The first volley of arrows gathered into a small, brief dark cloud, drawing a steep arc as it slammed into the ground in front of the Mainz army's lines.

The second horn blast followed immediately, and another rain of arrows fell on the open ground, followed by the third horn blast.

After the final volley of arrows was fired, the hunters and mercenaries silently lowered their crossbows, and a sense of relief filled the air.

They ran out of arrows, and their mission was accomplished.

Liberl took a deep breath, turned to his soldiers and said, "Your battle for me is over. You did not surrender without a fight, but rather it was due to my miscommand."

After he finished speaking, he squeezed his legs against the belly of his warhorse and walked towards the nearly ten thousand enemies in front of him, with only a trembling servant behind him holding a hawthorn tree flag.

Liberl walked toward the enemy, and a thunderclap echoed across the ground. The entire Mainz army responded by firing three blank shots.

Theodore scratched his head. He had only responded to them, but he hadn't expected to scare away more than a hundred people, and even startled Liberl's horse.

(End of this chapter)