Being a knight is not easy

Chapter 166 Save the Beauty
Outside the castle, the night wind blew Robin's velvet cloak.

He touched the spell scroll hidden in his sleeve, and the scent of rosemary behind his ear suddenly became hot.

That was not the smell of perfume, but the power of order surging in the blood, tearing off the disguised sugar coating and revealing the fangs of the Wilk family.

When the second bell rang across the starry sky, he suddenly chuckled: Maybe his mother was right, the real blade never shows its edge, it will hide in the rose bush, waiting for the prey to come up and kiss its tip.

The reason why the Viscountess chose Robin as a pawn to approach Lady Aisha was due to the other party's unique collecting hobby - the second wife of the Duke of Hawke was keen on collecting all kinds of male favorites, from the silver-haired zither player of the Snow Wolf Tribe in the North to the glass lamp craftsman in the desert of the East. Her "collection" covers all kinds of extraordinary people from all over the continent.

Robin's identity constitutes a fatal temptation: a young swordsman who has not yet officially joined the ranks of legendary knights. Such a "living collection" is unique in Aisha's display cabinet.

More importantly, Robin's "invisible" identity: as the heir of the Wilk family in the West, he had just returned to the West not long ago. In the past two years, he had not attended any special banquets. He spent most of his time in the training ground and rarely appeared in aristocratic social occasions.

Most people only knew that the Viscount had a son named "Alan", but they didn't even know his appearance clearly, let alone Lady Aisha, who had never set foot in the northern part of the Westerly Territory. In her eyes, the silver-haired young man who called himself "Alan" was just another "northern treasure" waiting to be collected.

The next day, Robin, relying on the network of power secretly woven by the Viscountess, forged the identity of "Alan, the Bard of the North", and stepped into the huge bronze gate of Horndimen City.

The largest city in the West is like a dormant iron-shelled monster. Its walls are made of black stone mixed with mithril, and they glow with a cold, hard metallic luster in the sunlight.

Although its reputation was overshadowed by the bright lights of Obedi and the academic brilliance of Minerva, it became an ironclad city due to the xenophobic policy of Duke Hawke - outsiders would be nailed to the city walls by crossbows on the city walls as a public display before their footsteps even touched the streets.

Robin's boots stepped on the mottled cobblestones, and the sword of judgment hidden under his cloak became slightly hot.

The drunk on the street corner glanced at him with cloudy eyes, but when he saw the fake bard badge on his chest, he spat bloody saliva in disdain.

In this city driven by gears and power, art is but an embellishment on the nobles' tables, and only the Hawke family emblem can pass unimpeded.

He looked up at the towering spire of the Duke's Palace, which was inlaid with colorful glazed tiles from the East, each piece reflecting a different light of power and intrigue.

The Viscountess's information was correct: Lady Aisha had just ordered afternoon tea to be set up in the garden this morning, waiting for a mysterious guest from the Snow Country.

At this moment, there was still some rosemary essential oil prepared by the Viscountess herself in Robin's hair. The scent mixed with the fake woody scent of the guitar case was drifting along with the north wind passing through the city, towards the blooming rose bushes in the Duke's Mansion.

In the shadow of Horndimen City, the gears of the mechanical clock turned quietly.

Robin's fingertips touched the gilded lines on the edge of the magic scroll, and the rough texture of the parchment reminded him of the gravel on the training ground.

The sound of armor colliding in the distance was like a drumbeat, and the Sword of Judgment stuck in his chest suddenly trembled. It was the sword's instinctive reaction to being unsheathed.

The wind at the street corner lifted his dark green velvet cloak, revealing the faintly visible emblem of order on the lining, which shone with a cold silver light in the twilight.

The sound of Lady Aisha's carriage bells came from afar, and seven snow foxes wearing pearl collars trampled the setting sun in front of the carriage.

Robin timed his turn perfectly, just in time to see the lady pull aside the velvet curtains. The jade bracelet on her wrist shone dimly in the setting sun, exactly as the Viscountess had described. Just as he was about to lower his head to pluck the strings, three dark figures suddenly leaped from the alley. The glint of their mechanical prosthetic eyes beneath their hoods revealed the special assassination gear used by the Wilke family's assassins.

"Be careful!" Robin's strings broke, and the clear sound of the Sword of Judgment being unsheathed mixed with the sound of the magic scroll tearing.

The fist of the assassin who rushed over first made a sound of breaking through the air, but was knocked back by a golden chain three inches away from his face.

That was the half-baked power of order that he deliberately revealed, which burst into tiny golden light in the air like bait.

Amidst Lady Aisha's exclamation, Robin turned around and slashed down the second dagger, but the sword suddenly turned as it brushed the assassin's throat, leaving a shallow mark on the opponent's shoulder armor.

"Are you hurt?" He knelt on one knee, with the Sword of Judgment resting on the blood-stained stone slab. When he looked up, the pupil of his left eye contracted slightly due to adrenaline.

Lady Eshar covered her heart with the ruby ​​necklace, but her eyes were attracted by the blood beads oozing from Robin's collarbone. That was the "battle damage makeup" he had deliberately scratched with a dagger last night, and it looked particularly attractive in the scent of rosemary.

Madam Your Sword's fingertips trembled slightly, not knowing whether it was out of fear or excitement.

"It's just a toy of a wandering poet." Robin lowered his head to wipe the sword, and the power of order burned in his veins like a tiny fire.

He heard the guards shouting in the distance, but before the assassins retreated into the shadows, he whispered in a voice that only they could hear: "Tell my father that the first step of the plan is complete."

As Lady Esther's carriage drove away surrounded by guards, Robin discovered that the silk handkerchief she had secretly slipped to him was embroidered with half a rose bud.

Robin unfolded the handkerchief stained with rose water and stroked the tiny silver bells hidden in the embroidery thread with his fingertips.

That was the "invitation" the Viscountess mentioned.

At noon the next day, when there was a knock on the wooden door of the hotel room, he was polishing the Sword of Judgment. The emblem of order on the hilt cast a diamond-shaped spot of light in the sunlight, which happened to fall on the white figure standing at the door.

The hem of Feng Ling's skirt swept across the dusty carpet. The maid, who always kept her eyes down, had delicate lace wrapped around her fingertips, but when she handed the teacup, thin calluses appeared on her knuckles - the marks of years of holding a whip.

"My lady said that the knight who rescued the beauty last night shouldn't live in a drafty attic." Her voice was like poisoned wine soaked in honey, "especially when the smell of the north wind is hidden in his harp."

Robin looked up and happened to see the tassel of a whip slipping out of the other man's sleeve. It was made of the hair of a male favorite, exactly the same as the "collection" mentioned by the Viscountess.

"Please tell my lady!" He put the Sword of Judgment back into the harp case. The sound of metal clashing concealed a subtle fluctuation of order. "The wandering poet's harp trembles only for those who know how to appreciate it."

The teacup tapped lightly on the table, and the water reflected Feng Ling's suddenly constricted pupils - she obviously felt this power that did not belong to a "bard".

This is the true pressure of a legendary knight, far beyond what Feng Ling can resist.

(End of this chapter)