Chapter 17 The Answer Ends with "Ack!"

"Our castle is part of the northeastern region. The court count responsible for this area is from the Woodlock family, and Count Woodlock is a loyal servant of His Majesty the King. However, there's little need to concern yourself with him—he holds only an honorary title and resides in the northeastern palace without actual dominion. The true power in the region is Count Charles. He's as ambitious as he is capable, so be cautious around him.

"Sigh… If only I had more time to properly train you as my successor…"

Michael, puzzled by the baron's lament about insufficient time for successor training, soon learned the reason.

"A critical report arrived yesterday. A group of deranged cultists has settled on the outskirts of Crowley Barony and massacred two villages in succession. Baron Crowley sought aid from both Count Woodlock and Count Charles, and all five neighboring territories have been ordered to join the subjugation effort. As the heir of this domain and a knight, you must accompany me in this expedition. Among the cultists are necromancers, so they won't be easy foes."

Michael remained unshaken, having anticipated such developments. In this era, there was even a saying: "Wars grow like barley sprouts," highlighting their frequency. Wars were as common as the barley harvest, be it between kingdoms, empires, or noble factions vying for territory.

Although this was a subjugation rather than a war, the gathering of northeastern nobles ensured inevitable conflicts. Without the fantastical elements like magic and aura, Michael might have doubted whether he had been reborn in a medieval era. Except for the foreign Pamir Empire, a federation of tribes, the Rubel Continent resembled medieval Europe to a fault.

"When will we set out?" Michael inquired.

"We'll depart at dawn in a week and head to the Kensington Barony, where we'll join the other reinforcements. There's no need to go early and become fodder for arrows. Prepare accordingly. The butler will provide you with the promised items. Also, select a couple of squires—they're all direct descendants of our vassals and will be of great assistance."

It was a wise decision. There was no need to take unnecessary risks by leading the vanguard.

After receiving growth-enhancing elixirs and armor from the butler, Michael headed to the stables. There, a black horse with a massive, imposing frame stood alone, snorting aggressively in one corner.

The stable master cleared his throat. "That one, sir. It's got quite the temper. I'm not sure you can tame it within a week. If not, you'll have to ride another horse."

Michael locked eyes with the spirited animal as the cat on his shoulder tensed. Climbing onto the horse, he immediately felt the power of its rippling muscles. It was a fine horse. Although it resisted briefly, Michael exerted firm pressure with his thighs, and the animal quickly submitted.

After circling the training grounds a few times, Michael glanced at the stable master, who stood gaping at the sight. "It's completely tame. Was it handled incorrectly?" Michael questioned.

The horse lowered itself to assist Michael's dismount and followed his commands effortlessly, never requiring a whip. What part of this horse had a bad temperament?

"Well, it seems it recognizes its master," the stable master stammered. "Everyone else who tried to ride it got thrown off immediately."

Though the stable master had spent fifty years around horses, he was at a loss for words at Michael's seamless bond with the animal.

"So, what's its name?" the stable master asked. "I can have it engraved on the saddle."

After a moment's thought, Michael replied, "Bucephalus." The name matched that of the famous horse of a legendary conqueror from a past life.

The stable master, Paul, nodded approvingly, finding the name fitting. After riding Bucephalus a few more laps around the training grounds, Michael dismounted, feeling refreshed. Nothing beat exercise for lifting one's spirits.

At a well by the training grounds, Michael splashed his face with cold water when Sir Ronald approached, leading a group of a dozen children. The youngsters, visibly tense, stood in silence.

A knight required at least two squires to assist with tasks such as donning and removing armor, calming and grooming horses after battle, and maintaining weapons. These children, selected from the kin of vassals, were undoubtedly talented.

As squires, they would have a high chance of becoming knights themselves, learning swordsmanship and gaining experience under their knight's guidance. On the battlefield, trust in one's retainers was paramount. A squire was expected to protect their knight, even at the cost of their own life.

There was a reason that direct descendants or close relatives of loyal vassals were traditionally chosen as squires. The boys standing before Michael ranged from twelve to fifteen years old. They were noticeably taller and sturdier than the average commoners, likely due to better upbringing and nourishment.

Contemplating how to select his squires, Michael decided on an elimination method. He first made the boys run laps around the training grounds while wearing sandbags to assess their basic stamina. From there, he chose six boys with the best endurance and held a tournament to finalize the selection.

The boys ran with fierce determination. Watching their desperate efforts, Michael felt a twinge of sympathy. Bringing children this young to the battlefield was far from ideal. Naturally, the older boys had an advantage when it came to stamina, but Michael was determined not to take excessively young squires to war.

In this harsh, survival-of-the-fittest world, risk was inevitable for those seeking to rise. The boys understood this and threw themselves into the competition as if their lives depended on it. For many, this was a chance to elevate their families and secure even a small parcel of land.

Eventually, six boys returned to the starting line while the rest collapsed onto the ground, swallowing their tears. The tournament began with wooden swords and ended quickly. Michael named Alex, the winner, and Antony, the runner-up, as his squires. Together, they accompanied him to observe the soldiers' training.

What Michael saw left him stunned. The soldiers' skills were abysmal—worse than he had imagined. Their basic drills were chaotic, and their clumsy handling of spears, with their backsides sticking out awkwardly, was laughable.