Chapter 2: Knight Training

Fool?

Waste of space?

Pah, you’re the fool! Your whole family is a waste of space!

Every time he heard such words, the big-headed, seemingly simple-minded Roy would be seething with anger. However, the thought of Grandpa William’s stick forced him to hide his temper and continue to act like a simple, good-natured fool.

The residents of Polabel knew Roy as a cheerful boy who ran around like any other child, climbing trees, swimming in rivers, boasting, and daydreaming, with a naive and somewhat endearing nature.

However, few truly understood this boy.

Before coming to Polabel, Roy had been wandering the Avalon continent with his grandfather, William.

At the age of three, he could climb trees to fetch bird nests and catch fish in the river. By four, he could enter wolf dens to catch pups. At five, he could run around in the mountains where wild beasts roamed, hunting, setting traps, and gathering herbs.

At six, he accompanied William to the dwarf underground city. In less than a year, he had made a significant name for himself. A group of dwarves of the same age revered him as the captain of the "Little Firecracker Scouts," known for his short temper and the nickname "Rude Little Dwarf."

When he left after a year, the dwarves celebrated with fireworks, nearly destroying the underground city in their joy.

At seven, he went with William to a barbarian camp. Every day, he would run around naked among the towering barbarians, riding horses, hunting, covered in totems except for his eyes, wielding spears and shouting, eating raw meat from trees, and dragging girls he liked into the bushes.

After living in the barbarian camp for half a year, William realized this wasn’t a good path and quickly took him to the Mechanism City. Within a month, Roy was lying with such ease that even the most deceitful gnomes couldn’t match him. He turned the city upside down, making everyone’s life miserable.

Finally, he was kicked out. At eight, he followed William to the elves’ lakeside city.

Elves are an elegant race, lovers of music and all beautiful things, with remarkable artistic achievements. Their manners and speech are more refined than those of the noblest humans. However, the big-headed boy only learned the elves’ petty and vengeful nature. If anyone wronged him, he would chase them for a month to get his revenge.

After wandering for a while, they arrived in Polabel.

From the day they settled down, Roy’s grandfather William laid down three rules.

First, he couldn’t act like a wolf, baring his teeth and growling at the slightest provocation, even when pretending to be weak, his eyes would be calculating how to bite.

Second, he couldn’t fly into a rage and start swinging axes and chairs at people. He had to learn to control his temper, endure insults, and run when attacked. He had to learn to solve problems like a human, not a dwarf.

Third, he couldn’t throw tantrums or seek revenge at the slightest provocation. He couldn’t follow people around for days with a bag and a club, or lie without blinking.

Most importantly, he couldn’t pounce on girls he liked!

In short, he had to put away all his old habits, act obedient, and learn to get along with people. If he didn’t...

At that time, William took out a stick thicker than Roy’s arm and swung it in the cold wind, looking extremely fierce.

Thus, the ten-year-old Roy, who arrived in Polabel, spent five years transforming into the simple, good-natured boy he is now.

Roy couldn’t understand. What good was a good temper if it couldn’t put food on the table? It was already bad enough that he couldn’t cultivate martial arts, and now he had to pretend to be obedient and naive.

If it weren’t for finding that...

With a big yawn, Roy rubbed his eyes and continued his work.

As the stable hand responsible for the lord’s warhorses, the big-headed boy’s daily morning task was to groom and saddle a dozen warhorses.

The morning air was still cool from the night, but Roy was already sweating profusely.

“Stay still, Whirlwind.” Roy didn’t need to act submissive in front of the horses. He glared, held the reins with one hand, and the brush in the other, quickly and skillfully cleaning the dust and dirt from the gray and white horse.

The horse, which had been circling to avoid the brush, immediately stood still at the boy’s command. The shiny coat revealed the strong muscles trembling as if it were extremely itchy.

“Don’t act all innocent, Big Head. This is the secret horse grooming technique from the barbarian tribe’s elder. It can make you feel so good, you’ll believe it,” Roy said.

After finishing with Whirlwind, Roy straightened up, and the horse’s large head affectionately rested on his shoulder, snorting and trying to bite his neck with its long, flexible lips.

The boy couldn’t help but laugh.

Outside the castle gates, the square was already bustling with activity.

Armored guards stood at attention with spears, while the knights, dressed in padded jackets with puffed sleeves and lace, chatted in groups as their squires helped them put on their training armor.

Maidens sprinkled water on the dusty ground; barefoot children and dogs ran around; two skilled and trusted shield bearers shouted, leading a group of squire apprentices in a warm-up jog; and four servants were busily transporting training spears, swords, and shields.

Some idle townspeople and passing merchants and travelers with horses or camels stopped to watch the training with great interest.

For sixty years, since the first lord received this small town, the "Pioneers" family has ruled here. Under the management of three generations of barons, Polabel has flourished, with the population, grain production, and trade taxes increasing tenfold.

The economic strength also meant military power.

Including the current baron, Brian, and his son, Les, who is a squire in the western Viscount Winger’s territory, Polabel now has nine knights.

The people of Polabel are proud of this. Many viscounts with larger fiefs can’t afford to maintain so many knights!

After a while, the squire apprentices finished their warm-up.

The knights, now dressed in their training armor, entered the field to guide the apprentices.

In the center of the field, the first knight of Polabel, Buck, a lean and well-dressed man, faced a muscular shield bearer in dirty linen clothes. They wielded two-handed greatswords, moving quickly and slashing, parrying, and blocking. Sparks flew as the swords clashed, and the sound of metal on metal was deafening.

In the middle of the fight, the shield bearer parried Buck’s diagonal strike and suddenly delivered a powerful overhead chop.

The spectators saw a bright light flash from the shield bearer’s head, slicing down toward Buck’s head, and they gasped in unison.

Roy, who was grooming a horse, stopped and instinctively looked at Buck’s feet.

“He should use a retreat step and then a ‘Whirlwind Sweep’!”

As if hearing Roy’s thoughts, Buck took a step back to avoid the overhead chop, then swung his greatsword upward in a half-circle, pressing against the shield bearer’s sword and twisting it.

With a “clang,” the shield bearer’s sword flew into the air.

“Wow!” The spectators were amazed and cheered loudly.

Those in the know understood that the “Whirlwind Sweep” was Buck’s signature move, rarely seen.

None of the knights in Polabel could withstand Buck’s “Whirlwind Sweep.” Once caught, they would be thrown off, without fail!

Even though the shield bearer was a towering, skilled warrior, comparable to a cavalry sergeant in the imperial border army, he was no match for Buck. Buck didn’t even use martial arts, just skill, to disarm him.

This was a knight!

If Buck had used martial arts, the shield bearer wouldn’t have lasted a single move!

The knights on the Avalon continent are ranked in six levels: Armed Knight, Brave Knight, Just Knight, Glorious Knight, Great Light Knight, and Holy Knight.

Each level is further divided into one to five stars based on strength.

Buck is a three-star Armed Knight.

While this might not be impressive in famous knight orders or under great lords, in a small city like Polabel, he is the best.

Applause broke out on the training field, and Roy continued his work.

After grooming the horses, the big-headed boy placed the horse trappings with different knight emblems on their backs, saddled the horses, and then picked up a pitchfork from a nearby post. With a quick, reverse motion, he lifted a bundle of hay.

The hay rope was severed in mid-air by the rotating pitchfork, and the hay was evenly distributed in the horses’ feeding troughs.

From the reverse pitchfork motion to the completion of feeding, the entire action was smooth and efficient.

If someone had noticed Roy at that moment, they might have been surprised to see that the half-circle motion of the pitchfork and the severing of the hay rope were extremely similar to Buck’s “Whirlwind Sweep,” a secret technique. However, in Roy’s hands, it had no lethal force.

After finishing his work, Roy squatted by the training field.

Unable to cultivate martial arts, he had no right to join the proud squire apprentices in the morning training. Although he was不服气 (unwilling to accept it), Roy knew that without martial arts, he might truly be a waste of space.

At his feet, the fat dog Oliver lay on his back, basking in the sun.

Oliver was a mixed-breed dog with black and white fur, large ears, small eyes, short legs, and a tail that stood up like a flagpole.

Because of his short legs and excessive weight, he walked with a waddle, his round belly almost touching the ground. If he didn’t move, he looked like a loaf of bread from a distance.

Everyone who met Oliver for the first time swore it was the ugliest dog they had ever seen.

The dog spent most of his time lying or sitting, always trying to cozy up to pretty female dogs, unable to bark or guard, but quick to snatch food.

No one understood why Roy kept such a dog. Even a hunting dog would be a thousand times better than Oliver, let alone the valuable battle beasts of noble knights.

However, Roy ignored all this.

He and Oliver were like brothers, inseparable every day.

Over the years, in Polabel, whether in the morning or evening, whether working or staring at the sea by the port, the big-headed boy was always accompanied by the fat dog, either basking in the sun, scratching his itchy bottom, or panting with his tongue out.

“Oliver, if you bite my pants, I’ll sell you to a dog meat restaurant,” Roy said, chin in hand, without turning around.

The fat dog, who had been persistently biting Roy’s pants, reluctantly let go, whining to remind Roy.

Hearing Oliver’s whine, Roy quickly took out his breakfast box, opened it, and ate a bun and a sausage, his mouth full of oil.

Oliver squatted on the ground, tail wagging wildly, eyes wide and watery.

Roy looked at Oliver.

They stared at each other for a while.

“Sausage?”

Oliver whined, nodding vigorously.

Roy stuffed the sausage in his mouth, looking puzzled: “What’s a sausage?”

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