The Seventh Section: Scattered Soldiers and Brave Warriors

  Since ancient times, to become a qualified mediator, one must have a certain amount of power. Obviously, Arwade does not possess this kind of power. Now, both Ifu and the mercenary from England are looking for an excuse to back down. The two powerful warriors are well aware that their opponent is not easy to mess with. However, as the heir to this territory, if Ifu lets this foreigner off so easily, how will he command respect in the future? This English mercenary is also very clear about his situation. Although he appears strong now, in reality, he has been looking for an escape route for some time. Not many mercenaries can survive and thrive by being reckless. Just then, Arwade intervened, easing the tense atmosphere between the two sword-wielding parties.

  "Although I sympathize with your situation, sir, you have lost to my brother after all. Therefore, you must pay the wager." Arwade stood between the two parties and raised his right hand to stop the English mercenary who wanted to retort. He then turned around to face his own brother, Ivor, saying, "My brother, as the rightful heir of this land and a noble German aristocrat, we cannot treat our guest from afar too harshly. I suggest finding another way for him to repay the wager. What do you think?"

  "Oh?" Yī Fū showed interest in looking at his slender younger brother in front of him, although he thought ā Ruò Dé's words were glib, but after all, he had taken care of his own face and didn't immediately object.

  "So what's the plan?" The English mercenary nodded with relish and asked the young mediator in front of him.

  "To repay your debt, join our Wandel family's army and serve my brother for a year. How does that sound?"

  Arvad deliberately raised his tone, so that everyone in the tavern could hear what he was saying.

  "Shall I offer you my sword?" The English mercenary furrowed his brow, straining to produce the correct Germanic inflection.

  "Hmph, I don't need a mercenary who fights for money." Yves said proudly, lifting his chin, but before he could finish speaking, Sir Wendel's calm and steady voice rang out.

  "I think you should reconsider your brother's suggestion." Sir Wendel came forward from the crowd, and people saw their lord coming and hastily removed their fur hats or bowed their heads in respect.

  "Hmm, okay then." Even if he was as arrogant as Irfan, facing the actual ruler of this land, his father, he couldn't help but lower his head. He roughly walked up to the mercenary and casually asked, "What's your name, mercenary?"

  "My name is Marcus, skilled in the use of swords and long-handled axes." Marcus didn't mind Eve's attitude, nobles were always so high-handed, and a mercenary who wandered from place to place without a fixed abode couldn't ask for anything better than finding an employer.

  "Welcome to the Wendel family's army." Compared to Yves' rough attitude, Arwint was much friendlier. As a soul from the 21st century, Arwint didn't have any concept of class; he only knew that this mercenary's strength wasn't inferior to his own brother's. If he could subdue Marquess, it would definitely be helpful to himself in the future.

  Sir Wendel was pleased to have mercenaries join his army, as the peasant soldiers were only summoned to fulfill feudal obligations. In fact, most of the fighting forces in the armies of various feudal lords were mercenaries, who were more reliable than the unwilling and escape-prone peasants, who took their lord's money.

  As soon as the English mercenary Marcus joined the Wendel family's team, he was appointed by Sir Wendel as a coach to train new recruits. The experienced mercenary quickly got into his role and in just a few days, those lackluster farmers were even more disheartened after being trained by Marcus. This made the entire Wendel family feel very depressed. The complaining farmers flocked to Sir Wendel to complain, thinking that this damned Englishman was going to make everyone unable to go to battle, while Arwed thought that if they didn't train now, they would be dead meat on the battlefield.

  "That stupid Englishman, Father, is driving our peasants mad. He must be stopped from this foolishness." Ivan strode swiftly to his father's side, saying discontentedly, while in the empty space of the house, Marcos was vigorously wielding a short thick wooden club, chasing the peasants who were carrying stones on their legs, and those who fell behind would be severely punished by him.

  "Lord Marcos, please come over." Sir Wendel also didn't understand why this mercenary wasn't teaching the peasant soldiers to form an array, but instead had them running wildly like madmen. After all, Sir Wendel was a noble who had received orthodox military training, and today his eldest son's doubts were what he wanted to ask about.

  "This is it, sir." Marcos had a great deal of respect for the Wendell family since he entered their employ, which was traditional among mercenaries.

  "Why don't you drill your soldiers in formation?" Sir Wendel asked.

  "This is how it drips, their combat effectiveness is very poor, they will definitely lose to the Swedes. We should focus on preserving our strength." Marcos said in broken German, and it took a long time for the people of Wendel's house to understand what he meant. According to Marcos' standards, these weak farmers lacked physical strength and determination, and if they encountered experienced warriors, they would definitely be defeated like cutting melons. Since combat skills cannot be increased in a short period of time, it is better to think about how to preserve their strength.

  "What the hell is this theory, we're trying to train these peasants not to run away and you're making them run even faster!" Ivan's face turned beet red with rage as he shouted at Marcos, spittle flying everywhere.

  Sir Wendel furrowed his brow as well, actually Marcus was not wrong, it's just that the plan he thought of was completely a mercenary way of fighting, while the nobles' way of fighting was completely different. In fact, the nobles even required their recruited infantrymen to form neat rows, and their true intention was not entirely from a military perspective, but rather to drive these unwilling farmers onto the battlefield and prevent them from escaping in the chaos.

  "Father, please look at this problem from a different angle." Arwade, who was standing beside Sir Wendel and holding his father's sword, keenly sensed the knight's dissatisfaction and hastily said to Sir Wendel.

  "Oh? Arwade, what advice do you have?" Ever since Sir Wendel discovered that his youngest son had become much smarter after falling off a horse and occasionally bursting out with special skills, this completely different personality from his eldest son's rough nature made him often willing to discuss things with Arwade and listen to Arwade's good advice.

  "Lord Marcos is not unreasonable, our family is the lowest vassal of Duke Mason, we don't even have a heavy cavalry unit, let alone a medium infantry unit, so even on a regular battlefield, we can't influence the development of the battle. If that's the case, why not train these peasant soldiers into guerrilla fighters to weaken the enemy? That way, we can preserve our family's strength and also help the Duke." Aruder said loudly.

  "Skirmishers?" Sir Wendel had never heard of such tactics, and he looked at his youngest son with a skeptical eye, while Yves had already snorted in derision, thinking that Aruth was just trying to show off.

  "That's right, look." Ah Ruo De said as he squatted on the ground and started arranging things. The others unconsciously gathered around him, only to see Ah Ruo De pick up many small stones from the ground and arrange them into two camps. One camp was densely packed with square formations, while the other was loose and scattered.

  "What? Are you simulating a war?" Sir Wendel saw Arwod fiddling with small stones and immediately realized that this was a simulation of a positional warfare, thanks to his rich experience in wars.

  "Yes, Father. Look, the Left Army is forming a tight formation, their marching speed must be very slow. Although they are powerful in a head-on battle, as long as we don't get close to them, the Left Army will have no way out." Arwade carefully analyzed to his father and brother.

  "Hmph, if you don't get close to the enemy, how can you hit them? Moreover, with your own men scattered so loosely, those farmers will sneak away unnoticed." Yifu said disdainfully.

  "Use the remote weapon." Arwade said to Eve.

  "Long-range weapons? What with? Bows and arrows?" Sir Wendel shook his head, this was simply too unrealistic. You see, there were only two bows in the entire family armory, and arrows were an unthinkable consumable item. Using a large number of bows and arrows was not something that their small family could afford, let alone mastering the use of them required long-term practice, which was not something that farmers who picked up tools could grasp.

  "Hmm, use a slingshot." Arwade had originally wanted to suggest that his father establish a force of skirmishers using javelins like the Roman velites, but looking at those scrawny farmers, he knew they didn't have the arm strength to throw powerful javelins. So he thought back to when he was young and used a slingshot; as long as the materials were good, he could make a fairly powerful one.

  "Sling? What's that?" Everyone was stunned, they had never heard of such a thing, and there wasn't even a word for it in the Germanic language at that time. Arvid had to use a lot of effort to explain that it was a weapon similar to a catapult, but with much greater power.

  "If we use remote weapons, it can indeed reduce the mortality rate of our people. I'm just worried that our people's will to fight is not firm." Sir Wendel stroked his chin, and he began to care about the tactics of his young son. The death of farmers would reduce the income of his own territory. If he didn't have to fulfill his feudal obligations, he wouldn't be willing to recruit these people to fight for him.

  "Hmph." Yifu discontentedly squeezed forward, he picked up a large stone and heavily smashed it among the scattered soldiers, then coarsely said, "If the enemy has cavalry, they will soon break into the scattered soldiers. At that time, your little tricks are of no use."

  "That's right, so we'll divide our group into three teams, with Father, Yifu and I each leading four people. That way, no matter who gets hit, the others can provide support."

  "Yes, that's a good idea. It will also prevent the peasant soldiers from running away." Sir Wendel nodded in agreement, thinking it was a great idea. The flexible command system may not be understood by the lord from theory, but he keenly felt that it was more effective than rough and large-scale commands in actual combat.