As Horten departed, the Household Knights began to mutter amongst themselves again.
Those from families on poor terms with the Bovendens were particularly vocal in their complaints.
"Running off? Why is he running off? I bet that's the last we'll see of him."
"He should have at least left the militia with us."
Arguments of this nature eventually reached the ears of the Captain of the Household Knights, Joan.
Joan trusted Horten's character. Why would a man who came to their rescue at the most dangerous moment possibly flee right after winning? It defied logic.
But the buzzing arguments of the other knights drowned out her rebuttals.
Joan's appointment as Captain had been at Canossa's insistence and was not universally accepted, which only intensified the disputes.
Thinking of Horten's departing figure, all Joan could do was hope.
Likewise, Canossa—despite the audacious kiss from Horten—hid in her nearly destroyed carriage, her life hanging by a thread, waiting with a tangled heart for his return.
"Summon one unit of Crusader Longbowmen!"
"Summon three units of Pilgrims!"
Meanwhile, Horten had already found a hiding spot in the forest and was calling forth his new troops.
The Pilgrims swarmed in from all directions. Most were bare-chested and dressed in rags, wielding flails, scythes, and hammers, their expressions savage and violent. Yet, in the presence of Horten the Chaplain, they were perfectly docile, their fanaticism exuding the terrifying calm of men who believed their death was a holy calling.
There were 120 such men. Since they required no upkeep, Horten summoned the maximum number allowed.
Then, the longbowmen appeared.
This was a group of professional soldiers clad in light chainmail and iron helms, their bodies covered by tabards. They were well-equipped, carrying longbows as tall as a man, two quivers of arrows, and a shortsword at their waist—gear no worse than that of an impoverished knight. Their sharp, armor-piercing arrowheads were enough to kill any proud knight.
Forty such longbowmen gave Horten his greatest bargaining chip against Canossa.
Next, Horten examined the content unlocked by his new rank.
With each level up, Horten gained one skill point. He could choose a bonus from one of three trees: Personal Skills, Army Skills, or Strategy Skills.
Personal, of course, was the martial combat path.
Army provided command bonuses and enhancements to his troops.
Strategy clearly offered global, overarching support.
Horten mulled over the three options and ultimately decided on a Strategy Skill.
His personal prowess was not yet enough to turn the tide of battle, and a bonus to his current army would be a mere drop in the bucket.
Only a change on the strategic level could make a real difference.
Horten invested the point and unlocked [Wayfarer: Army movement speed +15%].
A god-tier skill!
In a world where everyone relied on their own two feet, Horten's army was now simply faster than everyone else's. For catching up to Howard's forces marching on his village, it couldn't be more perfect.
"Chaplain, give us coin, and we'll do anything!"
The longbowmen pushed forward a leader who introduced himself as Greb.
Greb had long arms, a short torso, and the sturdy look of a farmer. He claimed to be a sergeant from a village in the neighboring duchy. After returning from a crusade, his wealth was secretly seized by the local viscount, forcing him to flee with his brothers-in-arms.
Horten nodded.
This so-called "sergeant" was essentially a warrior-leader, a wealthy peasant, or a small landholder. They weren't typically considered nobles, but as the lowest rung of the feudal ladder, they were obligated to provide a certain amount of military strength and grain to their lord, serving as low-level commanders like "squad leaders" or "decurions" in wartime. People often derisively called them "half-knights." To have won wealth and honor on a crusade only to have it stolen by a great noble—Greb's story was indeed tragic. But Greb refused to submit, gathering his friends to go into exile with him.
It was precisely because of this that this group of experienced Crusader Longbowmen had fallen into Horten's hands.
Horten took out the spoils from the Greenskin battle and generously shared them with his 160 new soldiers. In return, he earned their loyalty.
To stir his soldiers' fighting spirit, Horten spoke with a sorrowful voice. "Brothers in faith, hear my words! The abbot of my own abbey is corrupt and greedy. His brother, the Countess's own steward, a man who swore an oath of fealty, has betrayed his lady to commit evil. This pair of brothers is steeped in sin, and no one stands against them. I have resolved to be their enemy and to cleanse this world of their wickedness for the glory of God. I ask you to walk this path with me!"
As soon as he finished, the devout soldiers began to roar, proclaiming their readiness to fight for God.
If an ordinary person had tried to lead them, it would never have worked. But Horten was a Court Chaplain. As a spiritual leader, he naturally possessed the ability to rouse the common folk to battle, which was perfect for mobilizing these fanatics.
"Good! Then we shall... first attack the villa of Abbot Skork!"
With a glint in his eye, Horten chose not to return to the hill but to settle a personal score first.
On one hand, his army was now larger, and he was short on supplies and funds.
On the other hand, Horten was fighting to gain more leverage for himself.
The Countess's court at Göttingen was desperate; for the moment, Horten was their only hope. If he didn't use this critical moment to secure more benefits for himself, was he supposed to just be a sycophant for the cunning Canossa?
He would let them stew for a while first.
Generally speaking, a Court Chaplain was often the prime minister of the court, responsible for handling all manner of daily administrative affairs. This was because nobles were often illiterate, their knowledge limited to hunting, feasting, and tournaments. A systematically educated chaplain, however, was fluent in Latin, mathematics, and theology, giving them superior administrative abilities. A Court Chaplain naturally wielded power.
Horten wanted to be prime minister, too.
Whether it was for revenge against the Skork family or to support his own Bovenden family, Horten needed power.
Leading his army, Horten took advantage of his [Wayfarer] trait and quickly located Skork's countryside villa.
The abbot, a beast that only knew how to consume wealth, had his riches and mistresses hidden away in several manors, watched over by his stewards and thugs. With these manors, Skork could muster several hundred soldiers, a formidable force.
As dusk fell, Horten arrived at the manor gate.
"Who goes there?"
A guard on the manor's watchtower held up a torch, looked down, and recognized Horten. "Oh, it's you. What are you delivering today?"
Horten's unpopularity meant he was always sent on errands, so many people in the surrounding area knew him.
Horten pointed to Greb and the others behind him. "The Abbot sent me to arrange lodging and food for these men. They are Crusader Longbowmen, veterans of the Holy Wars. Very impressive."
The guard took a closer look. He saw that every man wore chainmail and an iron helm, and carried a longbow. They looked formidable, and he subconsciously accepted the story.
How could a mere nobody like Horten possibly command such warriors? he thought.
He turned and waved his torch. "Open the gate."
As the portcullis slowly rose, the guard was about to go down for a drink when the air suddenly whistled.
In the moonlight, a glint of cold steel flew over ten meters and pierced the guard's throat.
Lowering his longbow, Greb slowly drew the shortsword from his belt and looked at Horten.
Horten, a cold smile on his face, raised his spear.
"Skork's bastards are probably still inside. Brothers, kill them!"