Before Tabek lunged forward, he was still paying attention to the movements around him. That Golden Divine Archer had already been startled awake, staring in shock in this direction, but he seemed not to have reacted yet, his body still leaning against the chair back, with no sign of rising to protect his lord. Instead, the corners of his mouth cracked into a smile...
The two guards behind that brat were also laughing, showing absolutely no intention of stepping forward to protect their lord. Could it be that this brat isn't the
Just one more step, and he'd be able to grab this hateful brat's shoulder. A mere Iron rank — what could he do once caught in his hands? Once the overall situation was settled, he'd definitely have to teach him a proper lesson, make him regret offending this Gold Knight... But why was this brat standing there stupidly without moving? Shouldn't he be panic-stricken, leaning back trying to dodge? And he's still smiling — has he been frightened stupid by me?
Tabek grabbed down forcefully, but caught nothing but air... But the shoulder was clearly right before his eyes. He'd been too impatient, actually misjudging it. No matter — this hateful brat couldn't escape now.
Grab again, got it — but Tabek's face already showed a horrified expression. He hadn't grabbed
Tabek's mind no longer held any thought of grabbing Lorist as a hostage. He used his left hand to push, to pry, only wanting Lorist to get away from his right hand — and then his left hand was also caught...
"Ah...!" Another miserable scream rang out, even more horrifying than the last. Tabek saw clearly — Lorist's whole body rotated several times in midair, and his own left arm had become a twisted mess.
Besides the excruciating pain, Tabek's mind was blank. His two hands might as well not exist; his whole body swayed unsteadily, unable to stand. But Lorist still didn't let him off — he lifted his leg, drove his knee into Tabek's stomach, and with a "pu" sound, everything he'd eaten that afternoon was vomited out, even dirtying a small patch of Lorist's trouser leg.
Chin, left cheek, right cheek — Tabek's mouthful of teeth finally bid him farewell. Lorist kicked and stomped continuously, still cursing: "You idiot, dirtying my pants..."
Tabek felt as though he had become a piece of wrought iron on an anvil, being hammered ceaselessly by a great sledge. Just before he passed out, he suddenly understood what the smiles of that Gold-ranked Divine Archer and the two attendants had meant — mockery, mocking him for having run headlong into an iron plate.
Baron Camorra watched with a pounding heart as his companion, the Gold Knight Tabek, turned into a human sandbag in Lorist's hands — like a helpless girl falling into the clutches of seven or eight burly men *driven mad by lust*, with no heaven to call to and no earth to answer. It was a scene he had never imagined. He knew Tabek disliked him, even contemptuously calling him a clown, but what could he do? He was merely a court baron, while Tabek was a Gold Knight — the Duke had only five Gold Knights in total. Aside from swallowing his pride and enduring it, he had no other recourse.
But he never expected that a Gold Knight like Tabek would be utterly powerless to fight back against Lorist. When Tabek had lunged forward, Baron Camorra had silently praised the move — not a bad idea at all. If they could seize Lorist, the newly appointed head of the Norton Family, as a hostage, the Norton Family would have no choice but to submit. Yet what followed — Tabek's fate — only confirmed the baron's initial instinct: this Lorist was more terrifying than a savage high-rank magical beast.
*Although watching the Gold Knight Tabek — who had always looked down on him — get beaten to a pulp by Lorist gave Baron Camorra a strange sense of satisfaction, as an envoy he knew his duty all too well. He had to stand up and put a stop to this farce before the Duke and the Norton Family truly tore faces. But by the time Baron Camorra rose to his feet, Tabek had already been reduced to a pile of mud beneath Lorist's boots, blissfully unconscious, no longer tormented by the agony wracking his body.* Baron Camorra watched, eyes wide, as Lorist bent down and, with practiced ease, rifled through Tabek's person. He pulled a bulging leather pouch from the knight's waist, opened it to glance inside, then tossed it to an attendant behind him: "Hold this. Later, hand it to Steward Spiel to log in the accounts. This is the compensation that piece of trash on the ground is paying us — reimbursement for the table and utensils he damaged…"
A chill shot down from the crown of Baron Camorra's head, freezing him to the bone in an instant. His legs trembled uncontrollably. *Just what kind of background does this new lord of the Norton Family have?* He openly robbed Tabek of his money and spoke of it with such righteous conviction, *framing this banditry as something perfectly natural and justified.* The baron knew that pouch well — Tabek had flaunted it right in front of him, boasting of the sixty-odd gold Forde he had extorted and hoarded over the years. Compensation? If it were truly about compensation, buying crude long wooden tables and those ceramic utensils could fill the entire Norton Family castle estate…
A cacophony of clattering rang out as the twenty Silver Knights who had accompanied Baron Camorra and Tabek overturned tables, kicked over chairs, and drew their weapons, ready to swarm forward…
By the time they realized what was happening before their eyes wasn't a dream, Tabek was already lying at Lorist's feet. Now those twenty Silver Knights wouldn't stand for it — this was a slap in the face to all of them. Their boss beaten like this? They'd be laughed at as cowards when they returned. If they didn't take advantage of their numbers to avenge their leader now, when would they?
"Stop! Halt…" Baron Camorra stomped his feet in frantic anxiety. No one paid him any heed. Accustomed to hearing their captain constantly refer to him as a clown, these Silver Knights held the baron in equal disregard.
"Reddy…" Lorist called out.
Reddy took off the two tubes of throwing spears he carried on his back and placed them before Lorist.
Six throwing spears flew out, forming a row before the twenty Silver Knights. Each spear sank half a chi into the ground, spaced half a chi apart, like a row of fences suddenly sprouting from flat ground.
"Whoever crosses the spears dies without mercy. Here are two tubes of spears, eighteen remain now. You twenty men, let's see which two lucky ones can survive to carry the message back..."
Lorist's voice wasn't loud, yet it echoed clearly beside everyone's ears in the dining hall.
The great dining hall fell silent for a moment, no one speaking, only Baron Camorra's rapid breathing audible. Faced with such a situation and subordinates who wouldn't obey orders, he was powerless.
The few Silver Knights standing before the throwing spears had shifting expressions, the sword light on their longswords wavering uncertainly. They hesitated over whether to cross this throwing spear fence on the ground. A coarse voice rang out from behind them, breaking the dining hall's silence: "What's there to fear! Everyone charge together, hack this brat to pieces..."
"Kill!" The Silver Knights in the front row raised their longswords, no longer hesitating, and swarmed across the diagonally planted throwing spears on the ground...
Throwing spears flashed like lightning; the few Silver Knights who had just crossed the spears' positions were struck as if by thunder, miserable cries connecting into one continuous sound...
One Silver Knight hastily retreated two steps, returning behind the throwing spear fence. Before him, seven comrades had already fallen to the ground, seven throwing spears pierced through their chests pinning them to the earth, four of them vomiting blood and gasping as they struggled in agony...
The Silver Knight heard his own teeth chattering, his entire body trembling. It was too fast; they were less than ten paces from Lorist, yet those seven or eight meters represented the line between life and death. The fastest comrade just now had only charged four steps before collapsing; if not for a comrade ahead dying in his place and buying him time to retreat two steps, he would have been the eighth man lying on the ground...
Fortunately, he had reacted quickly enough — the moment he caught sight of a comrade dropping, he had fallen back. Otherwise… it had been too close. The limp exhaustion of cheating death left the Silver Knight feeling utterly drained. A foul stench assaulted his nose, and a faint "pitter-patter" reached his ears. He stole a glance sideways — his companion had voided his bowels and bladder in sheer terror.
"Who shouted just now? Step forward," Lorist said mildly, a throwing spear balanced casually in his hand — clearly a man settling accounts after the fact.
The Silver Knights knew perfectly well who had shouted; they could still recognize their comrade's voice. The few knights at the front scattered to either side, exposing the bearded giant behind them, longsword raised.
The big man hadn't expected his comrades to suddenly sidestep and leave him exposed. Facing Lorist and the throwing spear in his hand, he froze for a heartbeat, then let out a roar, dropped his sword, spun around, and bolted for the dining hall doors.
Lorist was about to act when a green-fletched arrow whipped past him, catching the fleeing Silver Knight mid-stride and launching him bodily into the air. The arrow drove him, man and shaft together, into the wooden wall beside the main gates. The giant hung there, twitching twice, then went still.
Josk said, "Thinking of running? Ask my bow first…"
Only then did the remaining Silver Knights remember the enemy still had a Gold-ranked archer on their side, while their own Gold Knight lay dead on the ground. The twelve Silver Knights still standing fell deathly silent, each wondering whether they would be spared.
"Josk, you bastard, stealing my thunder again," Lorist muttered. He turned his gaze on the twelve Silver Knights; every man who met his eyes involuntarily lowered his head.
"Very well. I can let you live, forgive your insolence. But you must pay for your actions and accept my punishment. Weapons on the ground, now. Form up over there. Reidy,
"You… this is banditry! I'll denounce the Norton Family's shameless conduct before every noble in the realm!" Baron Camorra erupted, leaping to his feet and pointing an accusing finger.
"Banditry? Shameless conduct? Baron, please don't compare our Norton Family to the Duke. We're not qualified to use the words 'banditry' and 'shameless' before the Duke. Is your purpose in coming here so sacred? We welcomed you with the finest food, yet you disrespect me as your host, striking first and drawing swords with murderous intent. Does the Norton Family have to let you slaughter us for it to count as hospitality?"
"Baron, don't forget the Northland custom: honored guests are welcomed warmly; ill-intentioned guests leave their lives behind. As the host, I've been more than merciful—I didn't take their lives, only confiscated their weapons and took their coin purses as compensation for the furnishings they destroyed. Or do you want me to slaughter them in retaliation for their disobedience to your orders just now?" Lorist said.
The poor Baron Camorra immediately found himself on the receiving end of twelve hateful gazes.
Reidy reported: "My lord, all twelve coin purses have been collected..."
"Are you an idiot too?" Lorist smacked him on the back of the head. "There are still seven on the ground, and didn't you see the one hanging on the wall over there? Go clean them up properly. The dead are gone like extinguished lamps—since they're dead anyway, strip them of everything valuable..."
"You—you! Lord Norton! They're dead already, please show them some respect! They were all valiant warriors..." Baron Camorra could bear it no longer; if the fury in his eyes could become reality, Lorist would have been burned to ash.
"So you mean only the dead are valiant warriors? Then the living ones are all cowards?" Lorist asked, pointing at the twelve Silver Knights.
Thus the poor Baron Camorra was once again pierced through by twelve furious gazes, leaving him utterly shredded.
"Tha—t's—not—what—I—meant..." Baron Camorra ground out through gritted teeth, enunciating each word.
"I understand what you mean. They were a little valiant, but they were even more stupid. And they didn't die in the right place—not only did they ruin furnishings, they dirtied my dining hall floor, and I'll have to spend money hiring people to clean it up. You do know labor is expensive these days. If it's not cleaned properly I'll remember their death throes, smell the blood, and then I won't be able to eat, lose my appetite. No appetite means I'll get sick, sickness means buying potions, and Northland potions aren't cheap. So I've decided to strip them bare as compensation for dying here..." Lorist rattled off the tongue-twister.
Baron Camorra flipped up his formal robes, and Lorist watched him with curiosity, thinking to himself: *If you pull out an AK-47, I'll drop to my knees right there and sing "Conquest" for you.* What Baron Camorra produced was his money pouch, which he hurled viciously at Lorist. Lorist caught it effortlessly.
"I'll compensate you with my money — now all our pouches belong to you! As a noble, please grant these fallen warriors some dignity..." Baron Camorra bowed deeply.
"Fine, blame my soft heart." Lorist turned to Reidy and Patt, who were stripping the corpses: "That's enough. Take the weapons and money pouches. Why bother stripping those reeking socks? Hiring someone to wash them costs more than buying new pairs. Put their clothes back on them — shoes too. Leave it all."
Baron Camorra slumped helplessly into the chair behind him, a single thought running through his mind: *Your Grace the Duke... you've finally met your match...*