As time passed, the thick fog surrounding the castle gradually dispersed, revealing the sight of the advancing riders. A massive cloud of dust filled the air as the band surged forward. Roughly estimating, there were at least two or three thousand of them, perhaps even more.
Baron Wilson and his knights grew tense, gripping their swords, which gleamed in the faint light, ready to charge forward at Wilson's command. Yet, Wilson did not issue the order, his expression growing more grave by the second.
"Three thousand… at least three thousand bandits," he muttered, his face marked with worry. Suddenly, he called Platt over, his voice low. "Platt, protect Merlin. No matter what happens, make sure he survives."
Though hesitant, Platt obeyed and moved to Merlin's side. Since leaving the battlefield with Wilson, Platt had never seen the baron so serious and apprehensive.
"All heavy-armored knights, form ranks and prepare to charge!" Wilson shouted. Instantly, his black-armored knights raised their long lances, pointing them skyward, lining up behind Wilson in a fierce, disciplined formation.
As the bandits drew nearer, they stopped about a few hundred meters from the castle and fell into an organized formation. From their ranks emerged three men clad in white robes and golden masks.
Wilson's eyes narrowed. He knew these masked figures were likely the leaders of the bandits. He took a quick survey; the sheer number of enemies could encircle the entire castle.
While Wilson's heavy-armored knights were formidable, there were only 200 of them. Including the other knights in the territory, the total didn't exceed a thousand. Against the three thousand bandits before them, they were vastly outnumbered.
Moreover, Wilson, with his keen eye, could tell that these bandits moved with a level of order and discipline far beyond ordinary rabble. Their precise marching suggested rigorous training, more akin to a seasoned military force.
Observing them, Wilson felt as if he were back on the brutal battlefield, not facing mere bandits but a trained army.
"Since when did bandits get such training?" he wondered, his gaze finally settling on the three masked leaders. He knew that if he could defeat them, there might be a chance to protect his territory.
With that resolve, Wilson raised his sword high and shouted, "In the name of knightly honor, charge!"
"In the name of knightly honor, charge!" the 200 heavy-armored knights echoed in unison, their voices resolute, showing no fear of the overwhelming bandit numbers.
This was the moment Wilson had prepared his elite heavy-armored knights for. Over a decade of effort, nearly half of his territory's taxes had been spent on creating this unit. Today would be their first true battle.
*Boom.*
The charge of the 200 heavy-armored knights began, shaking the ground like an avalanche. Wilson led the charge, a black torrent tearing into the bandit ranks.
Wilson himself fought at the forefront, carving a bloody path through the enemy ranks. The bandits, no matter how many, couldn't withstand the unstoppable charge of the armored knights.
The armor of Wilson's knights was so robust that it resisted ordinary weapons, requiring extraordinary strength to cause any harm. Only exhaustion or a knockdown could reduce their combat effectiveness.
Leading just 200 heavy-armored knights, Wilson managed to cut down over 300 bandits in a single charge, with minimal casualties.
The three masked leaders, watching from a distance, saw Wilson's unstoppable charge. Though their expressions were hidden, their dismay was evident.
"What formidable knights. Wilson lives up to his reputation—he survived the 'Slaughterhouse' campaign. It's a pity he won't join the church…" one of the masked men murmured.
"Angus, we can't let him keep charging. I'll finish him off, and his knights will scatter," said another, understanding that Wilson was the key to the morale of the heavy-armored knights. If he fell, the knights would lose their fierce cohesion.
"Quero, Reylo, go together and make sure Wilson is eliminated!" Angus ordered coldly.
"Hah, don't worry, Angus. Wilson is nothing to fear," Quero replied with a sneer.
The two white-robed men spurred their horses, rushing toward Wilson. Despite their skill, the armored knights couldn't break free from the bandit ranks entirely; the sheer number of bandits kept closing in on them.
Quero and Reylo directed the bandits, cutting off Wilson from his knights. Quero, a man with short, fiery-red hair, approached Wilson and slowly drew his sword, his gaze fixed on him.
"Remember, you'll die by my hand, Quero!" he growled. His sword suddenly burst with a dazzling light, even amidst the chaotic battle.
Seeing the light emanating from Quero's sword, Wilson's eyes widened in shock. In a raspy voice, he muttered, "Light element… Are you Guardian Swordsmen of the church?"
Wilson was stunned. He had expected mere bandits but now found himself facing swordsmen wielding the power of light. He knew well that individuals capable of using light-based powers were recruited as Guardian Swordsmen by the church.
In the blink of an eye, what he thought were bandits revealed themselves to be revered Guardian Swordsmen of the church, leaving Wilson momentarily at a loss.