Section 5 Family Mobilization

  Sir Wendel held the shield in his hand, hardly believing his eyes. The leather strap was cleverly crafted to fit a human grip, and the more robust triangular structure made it difficult for the shield to slip when placed on the arm. Two small iron rings secured the top of the leather strap, allowing another person to adjust the length freely if needed. Sir Wendel positioned the shield on his own arm, trying out mock combat with an enemy, finding it unusually light and convenient due to its well-suited placement on both his arm and hand.

  "My son, I had no idea you had this talent." Sir Wendel said in surprise to Arwade, but at this time Arwade was attracted by the various weapons in the armory and did not hear Sir Wendel's words.

  "The weapons here are really great." Arwade's eyes almost shone with excitement, he had played with many modern gadgets before, but that boy never thought of more attractive cold weapons, and here, in this dusty armory, there were all sorts of weapons, only these weapons were very old, some even damaged.

  "Yes, they once were." Sir Wendel looked around at the walls adorned with a yew-wood bow whose string was broken and whose limbs were warped out of shape, a rusty wolf's-toothed club leaning in a corner as if it would shed rust at a touch, several long spears with bent tips but serviceable shafts which Sir Wendel intended to use to arm his peasant retainers, and other odds and ends heaped around their feet.

  "If these things are fixed, they should make a very good weapon." Arwade glanced at Sir Wendel, whose irrepressible technical enthusiasm was already bursting forth, his eyes shining with fervor.

  "Ah, well, if you're interested, it's a strange child, here's the key, although we don't have anything to lose, but locking up the armory is a tradition." Sir Wendel looked at Arwade deeply, took off the copper key tied around his waist and handed it over to Arwade, then turned around with the shield that Arwade had repaired and left.

  In medieval Europe, it was not an era that people in later generations would yearn for. The conditions were harsh and dirty, and life was dull and tasteless. Occasionally, some traveling performers would pass through this remote village to perform, but this only happened during the more grand festivals in the county's capital. Arwade, a young soul who had experienced the modernization of entertainment in the 21st century, had been driven almost mad by boredom. However, he had now found his pleasure in his family's armory, which had accumulated various weapons over generations, from the Roman-style pilum to the battle-axes carried by Viking warriors, and the long spears and muskets commonly used in medieval times. Arwade made new discoveries almost every day, and he was like a madman, indulging in the pleasure of repairing weapons.

  "Is Arvad all right? He's been shut up in the armory all day, I don't know what he's doing." Lady Wendel, Arvad's mother, said to her eldest son and husband with some concern. In her opinion, Arvad, who had been tinkering in the armory all day, seemed a bit mentally unstable, which made her very worried. For this reason, she saved some money from household expenses and bought a white wax candle from a traveling merchant, went to the Holy Mother's shrine outside the village to pray for the Holy Mother's blessing.

  "Every day, he's hammering away without end, it's driving me crazy! If no one stops him, I'll go in there and drag him out like a little dog!" Yifu bellowed loudly, his ruddy cheeks puffing out inferior malt liquor fumes, his massive body stumbling and crashing, the noise echoing through the cramped house.

  "Let him be, perhaps Arvid has some unexpected talents." Sir Wendel was sitting at one end of the dining table, writing something on a precious piece of vellum with a quill pen. Lady Wendel was proud that her husband could write, although literacy itself was a skill that nobles were supposed to learn, but most nobles would rather leave it to the clerics to handle. Sir Wendel knew he was literate because of the teachings of Duchess Seremaya, the wife of old Duke Mason. At that time, he had just become a squire, and Lady Seremaya would always use a small wooden stick to force him to read, looking back, this might have been just a way for the lady to find some entertainment in her boring life in the castle, of course, the two of them also found plenty of pleasure between the sheets.

  "Are you really going to borrow money from that greedy Jew?" Mrs. Wendel looked at her husband with a frown as he sealed the letter with wax and stamped it with his ring, a loan agreement.

  "Yes, I plan to buy some equipment for Arwode as well. This time, bring him along to the battle." Sir Wendel weighed the rolled-up sheepskin paper in his hand, thinking that bringing a son who could repair weapons was also a good choice after Arwode fixed his shield, at least it would save on repair costs.

  "But we must leave a man at home, after all." Mrs. Wendel grasped a piece of linen, war was something men had to face, and as women they had no right to interfere, but she always felt that her little Arvid wasn't ready for the battlefield yet, so she thought for a moment and came up with what she considered a reasonable reason.

  "He's already a squire, a grown man, and should have been sent to serve the Duke of Marston or some other earl, but we couldn't afford it, so he's been delayed. But going to war is also a way for him to fulfill his duty to the duke." Sir Wendel said, glancing at Iver, who was sleeping soundly with his feet on the table. He got up and walked over to his wife's side, comforting her, "Don't worry, Arvid is only following as a servant, he won't be going into battle, at most he'll just help us groom the horses and hand us our weapons."

  "May God bless you." Mrs. Wendell murmured, leaning against her husband.

  Arwade didn't know that his father had planned to take him to the battlefield, he was repairing a bow and arrow, this curved bow had become much straighter, if it could be soaked in oil, it would become more flexible, unfortunately, the material of the bow was not good enough, if he could find purple shirt wood, Arwade was confident that he could make an English longbow. Satisfied with his work, Arwade felt a little hungry, only then did he realize that it was already time for lunch, so he locked up the armory and walked into the house.

  Arwode had his mouth stuffed with apples when he heard his father's words about going to the battlefield. Upon hearing this news, he almost choked on the apple pulp in his throat and died, which would have made him the most pathetic transmigrator ever. To be honest, although brawls between farmers did occur from time to time in his father's territory, overall it was still very peaceful due to Sir Wendel's personal prestige and extensive connections, so even bandits rarely came here. However, Arwode privately thought that this village was simply too poor, not worth the trouble of robbery.

  "But, but I'm not good at fighting at all." Arrode stuck his fingers into his mouth and scooped out the apple pulp, barely escaping disaster. He thought that war was always far away from otakus, of course it might be exciting in fantasies, but when it came to actually going onto the battlefield, honestly, Arrode didn't know if he could survive the first wave of attacks.

  "Don't worry, you're just in charge of our logistics, just take care of the servants and that's all." Sir Wendel didn't even lift his eyes, he had too many things to attend to, and his own money should be enough to support the expenses of a battle.

  "Alright, alright." Arwade thought to himself that after all, he was living in a chaotic and dark era of war, always hiding wasn't a solution, maybe experiencing real war wouldn't be a bad thing either.

  In the remaining days, Arvad joined in the work of preparing for war. He had not thought that war would be such a trivial and boring thing. He had to wipe clean and arrange his brother's needed weapons, then put them on a wooden cart pulled by a pack horse. The cart contained long spears, a halberd, bows and arrows, and shields, etc. Their dry rations were prepared by their mother herself: dried apples, jam, bacon, and hard black bread that seemed like stone.

  "Archer, this is your mount." One day when Archer was exhausted from his busy schedule, his father, Sir Wendel, led a strange-looking long-haired horse in front of him. The horse's coat was a dull grey color, and its long mane almost covered its eyes. The left hind leg of the long-haired horse seemed to have some problem, and it limped as it walked, truly an unusual horse.

  "Is this a horse?" Arvad looked at Yev's tall, handsome warhorse, glanced at the small, long-haired horse beside him, and stared at his father with an open mouth.

  "Right, although you are a vassal, you are at least a noble and cannot walk like a lowly servant. This is your weapon." Sir Wendel handed Arwode a curved jujube wood spear, the jujube wood still having fresh green bark, which should have been hastily made, fortunately the spearhead was at least iron.

  "Can't I just have a straight spear?" Arwode knew that any protest would be futile, so he reluctantly picked up the curved spear, muttering discontentedly to himself.

  "Haha, isn't this just perfect for you, long-haired monster knight." Yifu burst out laughing and teased his younger brother.

  After being knocked down in the woods by Aruth, although Sir Wendel forbade Yves from attacking his own brother, Yves would seize every opportunity to mock and ridicule Aruth in front of everyone, while Aruth completely ignored him.