This was a full set of heavy armor, made of higher quality materials and with greater thickness. Even the joints were covered with meticulously forged metal plates, hammered out piece by piece by the blacksmiths. From head to toe, it was entirely encased in steel, armed to the teeth. Compared to the heavy armor treasured by the Ferreira family, this set clearly outshone it in every way. Moreover, the craftsmanship in the details was perfect, making the armor a work of beauty and power. For a knight, it was perhaps even more tempting than a wife.
Derek was no exception. It was difficult for any man to resist such a deadly weapon.
"Put it on me," he ordered.
As a Level 3 elite knight, Derek's physique was already at the peak of what ordinary people could imagine. Even so, when his attendants began fitting the heavy armor onto him piece by piece, he could still feel the immense weight pressing down on him. As he took a few steps, the clanking of metal against metal filled the air, but this sound only deepened his sense of security.
"An elite knight can wear heavy armor in battle, but the burden is no small matter," Derek silently assessed. While it might be difficult for others to gather a unit of elite knights, for him, it was only a matter of time.
After removing the armor, Derek gave his orders: "I need more heavy armor—at least a hundred sets. And make sure to prepare barding for the horses as well."
Tru, standing nearby, instinctively made a bitter face. He had other tasks to handle, and this new order only added to his burden.
"I'll arrange for more people to help you," Derek said, understanding Tru's concerns. "From now on, the heavy armor and other confidential weapons will be manufactured here. The simpler weapons can be moved to Augusta City."
Derek intended to divide the blacksmiths into two groups: the more common work would be sent out to earn money, while the truly secretive projects would be hidden away. This was the foundation of real power.
Hearing that more people would be assigned to help and that some of the work would be moved elsewhere, Tru finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'll complete your requests as soon as possible," he promised.
Derek spent a few more days in the barracks, familiarizing himself with the soldiers and reinforcing his presence among them. Taking inspiration from certain special organizations, he discreetly placed some trusted individuals among the troops to manage their thoughts and morale. It was too early to gauge the effectiveness of this strategy, but the number of troops listed on his personal panel remained stable.
However, he couldn't stay in the barracks for long. Last year, he had been able to return home for the new year, but this year he would have to spend it in the Augusta Territory. Before the new year arrived, he needed to travel to the capital of the St. Milian Province, for the royal army had finally arrived.
This army had originally been preparing to launch an offensive into the Barbarian Kingdom from the northern provinces before the winter snows set in. However, the barbarians' unpredictable maneuvers had completely disrupted their plans. They had come seeking glory on the battlefield, only to find themselves playing the role of caretakers instead. The major achievements had already been claimed by the northern nobles, and there was no way the nobles from the royal capital would be content with that.
No one needed to warn Derek; he knew that a storm was brewing. So when the old Earl sent a letter, Derek set out immediately.
Plains City!
After the war, this city had regained its prosperity. A large influx of Lokians brought with them more people and resources. The old noble class had vanished, and for the commoners, this simply meant a new set of masters to serve under. In fact, the taxes were now even lower than before. The ones who had suffered the most were the merchants and minor nobles, who found themselves trapped—unable to flee, and yet bound to local industries. Those who fled left behind everything they owned. Some, by bleeding themselves dry, managed to secure a new protector, barely scraping by. Yet even so, tragedies of broken families and ruined lives were unavoidable.
But wasn't it only natural for the victors of war to hunt down their enemies and leave nothing behind?
Derek couldn't concern himself with such matters. He had personally seized a significant amount of bloodstained gold. Anyone too burdened by moral scruples would not survive long in this era. So when Derek arrived in Plains City, his mood was light.
Suspecting that some trouble might arise, Derek had brought ample manpower with him. Of course, not everyone could enter the city. His retinue was comprised of attendants and a few bodyguards. Yet even with just a small entourage, the sight of his high horses, fluttering noble banners, and the emblem of the two-headed dragon made it clear to onlookers who had arrived.
Whether they were natives of St. Milian Province or new residents from the northern provinces, everyone quickly recognized that identifying the local powers was their first priority. And with his control over the St. Milian Legion and a vast amount of property and people, Viscount Derek was not someone to be ignored.
From afar, the soldiers guarding the city gate noticed Derek's banner and immediately began driving away the townsfolk, clearing a path for his passage. Curious commoners gazed from a distance, watching the procession. Viscount Derek's name had been growing more legendary with each passing day. His story of rising from humble origins was particularly popular among the masses.
Taking advantage of his privileged status, Derek swiftly passed through the city gates. However, his first impression of Plains City was no different from the other cities in this world. Narrow, crowded streets, filthy and chaotic cobblestones—this was just the scene at the gates. Derek shook his head, though he had seen such sights countless times before. Each time, he couldn't help but remember the clean and orderly streets of his previous life.
Just as his group was about to leave the gate and turn the corner, disaster struck.
A large number of soldiers suddenly appeared, and from the rooftops, seven or eight archers stood ready. The hair on Derek's neck stood on end as an overwhelming sense of danger washed over him. He immediately dismounted, just in time to hear the whistle of arrows flying past his head.
"These are skilled archers," Derek thought. The precision of their shots was beyond what commoners could manage. For a split second, he wondered if Plains City had already fallen, but his rational mind quickly banished such chaotic thoughts.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the attacking assassins were all dressed as ordinary civilians, their movements disorderly. They seemed more like commoners than trained soldiers. Their coordination was poor. If Derek were leading the assault, he would have had the archers fire first before sending the others out.
"They're from the Holy Cross," Derek concluded almost instinctively. Only the Holy Cross had the motive and the means for this kind of attack. Plains City had been under the control of the Holy Cross Kingdom for thirty years, and the nobles of the United Kingdom had long-standing ties with the northern provinces. It wasn't hard to imagine that they might have hidden some forces in the city.
After a brief moment of panic, Derek quickly regained his composure. He pushed aside the attendant standing in front of him and reached for the knight's sword hanging from his horse.
"If you want to kill me, you'll need to send more men. Do you think so little of northern knights?" Derek scoffed.
Indeed, while the assassins appeared numerous, there were only about thirty or forty of them, likely a hastily assembled group. Against an ordinary noble, this might have been enough for a surprise attack. But the attendants and guards accompanying Derek were not ordinary people. Each one of them was an elite fighter, clad in simple half-armor or leather armor, yet on a completely different level than their opponents.
Derek, leading the charge, saw this as an opportunity to display his valor. This was a strategy he had learned in his previous life—seizing the moment to outshine others.