Pitchfork Militia
Class: Militia Level 1 (2/100)
Experience Pool: 1/100
Normally, training grants 2 experience points, but the extra 1 point overflowed into the experience pool. Arthur decided to experiment by transferring the overflowed experience directly into the level progress. The panel updated instantly:
Pitchfork Militia
Class: Militia Level 1 (3/100)
Experience Pool: 0/100
Arthur carefully observed the state of the pitchfork militia but noticed almost no visible changes.
There was no sudden surge of strength, no unusual reactions—nothing.
"Looks like without the panel's influence, they can't sense any changes themselves," Arthur thought to himself.
Of course, he had a hunch that dumping a large amount of experience all at once might yield more noticeable results. But given his cautious nature, he preferred to take things step by step, ensuring no one would notice anything out of the ordinary.
As for using the experience pool to pull off some kind of supernatural stunt? Arthur shook his head. In this medieval-like world, religion was a double-edged sword. A single misstep could lead to disastrous consequences.
He understood all too well that this panel wouldn't make him some invincible god. Keeping a low profile and growing steadily was the only way forward.
...
The militia's training sessions weren't long, only scheduled for the mornings.
At noon, they were given a meal of coarse wheat porridge. It wasn't exactly luxurious, but at least it was filling. Thanks to Arthur's intervention, these militia members could accumulate anywhere from 10 to 20 experience points daily.
With the panel's supernatural influence, their training efficiency skyrocketed.
Although gaining experience became harder as their levels increased, a month of training was enough to push this group to levels 3 to 5.
In terms of results, these militia members were already on par with soldiers who had undergone six months of full-time training.
In fact, many village guards weren't even as skilled as they were.
After training, the militia could barely manage to maintain formation during advances and retreats. Their skills and stamina had also reached basic standards.
With one or two real battles under their belts and a few more months of training, they might even rival seasoned soldiers with three to five years of experience.
Of course, the panel's abilities had their limits. For instance, a level 5 militia member might excel at spear thrusts, but in a one-on-one fight, they could still lose to a farmer wielding a pitchfork. And being a militia member didn't mean they couldn't return to farming once they put down their weapons.
In short, the panel's data was only a reference.
Even so, Arthur felt the panel's abilities were already game-changing. Not only did it drastically speed up training, but it also allowed him to recycle overflowed experience. Normally, training would be limited by fatigue, but the panel ensured that every ounce of effort was maximized.
Standing at the edge of the training field, Arthur watched the militia slowly take shape. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"It's time to take a gamble," he murmured, a determined glint flashing in his eyes.
...
The morning sun bathed the training field in golden light, but today, the atmosphere was unusually quiet. The usual shouts and clanging of weapons were absent, replaced by a tense and solemn mood. Even the estate's stewards and a few militia members had gathered here, clearly aware that today wasn't an ordinary day.
Training the militia might sound like a big deal, but to Arthur, this was just a routine assessment.
To be honest, no one ever failed the first stage of these assessments.
Even if someone lacked the necessary skills, they could always rely on connections or recruit a few strong farmers to fill in. Passing was almost guaranteed.
After all, the purpose of these assessments wasn't to select true elites but to give noble heirs a shiny "Honorary Knight" title.
Arthur was well aware of this, which was why he remained so calm.
He stood off to the side, quietly waiting.
...
As the clock approached 10 a.m., the sound of galloping hooves shattered the stillness of the training field.
The stewards, who had been lounging lazily in the corners, immediately stood up, their expressions turning respectful and serious.
The Knight-Banneret Edmund had arrived.
As a Banneret, Edmund nominally commanded fifty to a hundred knights. While his rank wasn't particularly high, his position under Count Avington made him someone to be reckoned with.
After all, the knightly order was the backbone of the Count's forces, and a Banneret's status often carried more weight than that of a Captain of Five Hundred.
Having Edmund oversee this assessment was more than appropriate.
Arthur's lips curled into a faint smile.
He wasn't particularly worried about the assessment, but running into a familiar face was always a pleasant surprise.
That's right—Knight Edmund was an old acquaintance of Arthur's father, Lysander Ashford.
In fact, Arthur's full name was Arthur Grayson Ashford.
"Arthur" was his given name, "Grayson" was the surname tied to his knightly title, and "Ashford" was his family name.
By accepting the name "Arthur Grayson," he had effectively renounced any claim to his family's inheritance. Otherwise, he would never have adopted his title's surname so early.
Despite their familiarity, both Arthur and Edmund maintained a professional demeanor in front of the others.
Edmund brushed off the stewards' attempts at small talk and went straight to the assessment. His attitude was meticulous, showing no signs of favoritism despite their personal connection.
The assessment itself wasn't particularly complicated. It covered basic militia skills, physical fitness tests, formation discipline, and maneuvers under drum and bugle commands—nothing beyond the fundamentals.
However, the militia's performance was unexpectedly impressive.
Edmund stood to the side, observing with a slight frown.
For a moment, he even suspected Arthur of cheating. After all, these militia members were performing far above the usual standard, almost on par with soldiers who had undergone six months of formal training.
But he quickly dismissed the thought. Arthur had already submitted his resignation from the knightly order—there was no reason for him to fake results in something as trivial as this.
"Looks like… these men really do have talent," Edmund thought to himself, quietly impressed.
When the assessment concluded, Edmund announced the results on the spot:
"Congratulations, Arthur. Your score is… exceptional."
Arthur smiled faintly and dismissed the militia.
He then approached Edmund, finally dropping his serious expression. His tone became much more relaxed.
"Uncle Edmund, I didn't expect you to be the one overseeing the assessment."
"Well, since I had to make the trip anyway, I figured I'd take the chance to check in on you," Edmund replied with a nod. Then, his tone shifted slightly as he asked, "So, now that you've retired from the knightly order, are you planning to return home?"
This was the path most noble knights chose. After leaving the competitive environment of the knightly order, returning to their family estates to manage affairs was both stable and respectable.
But Arthur shook his head, his tone calm.
"No. You know how things are in my family—too many brothers. They don't need me. I'm planning to become a Knight-Errant."
A Knight-Errant, officially referred to as a "Free Knight," sounded romantic—like a free-spirited knight wandering the land, seeking noble patrons and opportunities for glory.
But in reality, it was just a more dignified term for a mercenary.
Knight-Errants roamed from place to place, taking on jobs like escorting caravans or hunting down bandits, barely scraping by.
In times of peace, nobles rarely sought out Knight-Errants.
Even a Count like Avington already had a fully staffed knightly order and had no need for outsiders.
As for baronial families like the Ashfords, their lands were so limited that they couldn't even provide for all their own sons, let alone offer opportunities to outsiders.
Only during times of war did Knight-Errants have a chance to shine.
They would seize the opportunity to prove themselves on the battlefield, hoping to earn a title and a piece of land of their own.
But this path was fraught with danger and uncertainty.
For most, it was a lonely and grueling journey.
Edmund raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Arthur's decision.
In his eyes, Arthur was one of the most promising young men of his generation, both in terms of ability and background.
Especially after witnessing the results of Arthur's militia training today, Edmund was even more puzzled. Why would someone with so much potential choose the difficult and uncertain life of a Knight-Errant?
After a moment of contemplation, Edmund spoke, his tone carrying a hint of genuine interest and even a touch of recruitment:
"Arthur, perhaps you should consider coming to my lands to assist me. If you're serious about earning a title someday, I could sponsor you with a small company of soldiers."
This wasn't an offhand remark—it was a serious and generous offer. Sponsoring a company of soldiers was no small expense, and for a young knight, it was practically a shortcut to earning a title and land.
Arthur hesitated for a moment. Opportunities like this didn't come often, especially for someone who had just retired as a knight apprentice.
However, the moment Arthur's gaze fell on his data panel, the brief hesitation in his heart vanished like smoke in the wind. A calm resolve returned to him, and his tone was firm yet polite:
"Thank you for your kind offer, Uncle Edmund, but I already have my own plans."
Edmund wasn't offended by the refusal. He nodded, as if he had expected Arthur's answer all along.
A young man with his own ambitions—that, in Edmund's eyes, was a good thing.
He patted Arthur on the shoulder, his tone warm and encouraging:
"If you ever change your mind, you're always welcome to come find me."
The handover ceremony began shortly after.
Arthur received the badge symbolizing his status as a knight, marking his official recognition as one.
A badge, a surname, a family crest, and a triangular pennant—he now possessed all the symbols of knighthood.
But Arthur knew deep down that it was all just for show.
His knighthood was, in essence, watered down.
Technically, his service rank had been that of a knight apprentice, not a full-fledged knight.
However, to make it easier for these retiring apprentices to find their footing after leaving the order, Count Avington's knightly order would ceremonially grant them knight badges.
This not only made their resumes look more respectable but also helped them avoid being looked down upon in society.
If Arthur had chosen to formally join the knightly order, things would have been entirely different. He would have had the chance to meet the Count in person and receive his title in a proper knighting ceremony.
But Arthur had never considered that path.
The reason was simple: joining the knightly order would require him to swear an oath of fealty to Count Avington.
The bond between a liege lord and a vassal was ironclad. Once sworn, betrayal or seeking another path was nearly impossible.
For a young knight without sufficient power or influence, this was tantamount to tying his entire future to the Count's banner. Arthur wasn't willing to take that risk.
He preferred to remain free for now, to carve out his own path and seek opportunities on his own terms.
After bidding farewell to Knight Edmund, Arthur returned to his room and began packing his belongings.
His movements were swift and efficient, without a hint of hesitation.
Once he was done, he made his rounds, saying goodbye to the estate's steward and the militia he had personally trained.
Standing at the gates of the estate, Arthur turned back to take one last look at the familiar land. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he murmured softly:
"Goodbye… to my life as a knight apprentice."
The sunlight bathed him in a golden glow, outlining a figure filled with quiet determination.
There was no trace of regret in his expression, for he knew that his future was just beginning.