Chapter 279: Meeting of the Elites

Long after Henwell and his group leave, people finally gather on the street to assess the aftermath.

Henwell’s team has already cleaned the battlefield—not to loot, but to retrieve their spent arrows.

Most arrowheads are reusable, but the real focus is on collecting the arrows fired from their arm-mounted crossbows.

Those arrows are coated with a potent toxin.

When the mercenaries inspecting the bodies realize the victims were killed by poisoned arrows, fear spreads quickly.

Before long, the entire city of Tusayat recognizes just how extraordinary this group is.

Any thoughts of doing something quickly vanish.

After all, mercenaries don’t usually fear knights.

Knights often fight rigidly, while mercenaries rely on flexible tactics.

But Henwell’s team has shown them a completely different kind of knight.

These knights use hidden crossbows, heavy military crossbows, and poison.

That’s terrifying.

It means this knight squad will stop at nothing to kill.

This ruthless approach is the mercenaries’ own survival style—and what gives elite mercenaries confidence against knights.

But now, these knights are stronger, better equipped, and just as ruthless, almost like the ultimate evolution of mercenaries.

Even the city gate guards, seasoned veterans used to dealing with hot-headed mercenaries, fall silent when Henwell’s group arrives.

With Henwell leading a dozen knights, their cloaks draped over their horses are stained deep crimson from mid-way down.

Blood still drips slowly from the hems onto the stone steps at the city gate.

Orak rides forward and presents their pass.

After a quick inspection, the gate officer reluctantly allows the knights entry into the city.

Not long after entering the city, a squad of knights blocks Henwell’s path.

Leading them is a burly man in his forties, his face covered with uneven stubble.

Henwell recognizes this kind of stubble. It’s not the neat trim of a razor but the rough scrape of a sword or knife.

Soldiers constantly fighting on the front lines often do this.

The man’s half-exposed chest is crisscrossed with dense scars, clear evidence of countless bloody battles.

From Henwell’s perception, this middle-aged giant, even taller and more imposing than himself, is a Grand Knight expert.

The two men lock eyes for a moment before the man nods slightly.

“You’re the lord of Blood Hill, right? The reputation is well deserved.”

Henwell smiles.

“If I don't live up to this reputation, I’ve been dead a long time. Just like you, Lord Fred. It takes real strength to keep these unruly mercenaries in line.”

Fred sneers.

“Heh… and yet these mercenaries haven’t managed it. Before you arrived, I warned everyone about the trouble you bring. I told them not to mess with you, but some took my words as nonsense!”

He turns to his adjutant.

“Go check with the major mercenary groups. Find out who’s ignoring my warnings. I want a satisfactory answer by tomorrow, or I’ll deliver one myself. Gather my personal guard. If I don’t get an explanation by then, I will wipe those mercenary groups out.”

Without a word, the adjutant salutes sharply, reins in his horse, and rides off.

Fred squints at Henwell.

“They say you’re the strongest of the younger generation. You know, over ten years ago, I held that title too. But there’s one thing I can’t match you on: when I was your age, I didn’t have nearly as many troops.”

Sensing Fred’s underlying hostility, Henwell replies coolly.

“Now you still don’t have as many troops as I do.”

Fred laughs heartily.

“Hahaha… true enough! If I had a hundred thousand soldiers at my command, I’d already be king or duke here. But unfortunately, the people in this godforsaken place only want to be mercenaries without brains. Tell me, why won’t these damn fools serve as my soldiers?”

Henwell pulls out a gold coin, spinning it deftly between his fingers.

“Because you’re poor.”

Fred laughs as he looks at Henwell. “Not bad! This place is so poor there’s barely any profit, and I’m no good at running things. Plus, I have to pay taxes to the kingdom! I hear you manage Peace Haven pretty well, and you’re one of the wealthiest of the younger generation, right?”

Henwell replies, “That’s just a hollow reputation. Supporting so many people, money is never enough. So, Lord Fred, are you here to ask me for business advice? Frankly, I don’t think you’re cut out for making money.”

Fred’s smile deepens. “Buddy, you’re so rich. Can you lend me a little? I heard you lent five million gold coins to your king. I don’t need that much, just two million coins will do!”

Henwell chuckles. “Heh… That’s a small matter. But what collateral would you offer, Lord Fred? When we lent money to our king, he put up vast territories as security.”

Fred points at Henwell and his men. “What about your lives? If you give me the money, I guarantee you won’t face any trouble here. I promise that for two hundred miles west, no one will dare lay a finger on you. Sounds like a good deal, right?”

Henwell shakes his head. “No way. Your promises mean nothing. After all, just now in your own stronghold, some people still treated your warnings like nonsense!”

Fred strokes his horse’s mane. “Those who defy me don’t fare well, they face my wrath. So, are you going to refuse my kindness? That’s not a smart choice. When I’m broke, I get angry. When I get angry, I want to kill. Do you want to die?”

Henwell laughs scornfully. “Heh… You? Fred, don’t act like a wild brute in front of me. I carved my way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood. “

”When you were twenty-three, you were still just a foot soldier. Me? At twenty-three, I commanded the kingdom’s most elite troops and held lands larger than a duke’s domain. You became a Grand Knight at thirty-six. I was the number one of the younger generation at twenty-three—in every way.”

”At thirty-five, you were exiled here by King Baleqi. At twenty-three, I was arm-wrestling with the king.”

Henwell rubs the hilt of his sword. “Fred, you’re no match for me. If we went all out right now, do you really think you’d win?”

Fred’s eyes blaze with killing intent. “You want to try?”

Henwell shakes his head. “No. I’m still young. In ten years, I’ll be able to crush you easily. Why risk it now? But you—Fred—you want to gamble? Bet you can kill me? Bet your life? If you win, you become king, duke, a supreme ruler. If you lose, your corpse will cement my fame.”

Their guards tighten their grip on their swords, ready to fight in the street at any moment.

After a pause, Fred says coldly, “You better behave while you’re in my city.”