Section 6: British Guy
Arvid looked at the so-called soldiers in front of him, their ages varied, with more old men who had lost teeth than those who still existed, and silly young boys. These recruited farmers had some bald heads blowing noses in the cold wind, while others wore felt hats emitting strange smells, looking at Sir Wendel and his sons riding horses with different expressions. The elderly generally looked dull and numb, while the young people were excited and uneasy.
"Father, who are these?" Arva pointed at the twelve peasants in front of them and asked Wendel confusedly.
"Not bad, and we can make up a dozen armed infantry." Sir Wendel did not answer Arvid's question directly. He kicked his horse with both legs, moved forward a little, and then circled around these twelve uneasy farmers.
"Light infantry?" Aruth's jaw almost dropped as he looked at the twelve gaunt farmers in front of him, their clothes tattered and barefoot, wrapped only in dirty linen, moving slowly and stiffly. This was actually the soldiers his father, Sir Wendel, had spoken of? The image in Aruth's mind of fully armored medieval infantry was far removed from this.
"What's wrong?" Sir Wendel asked his young son Arwod, who looked utterly bewildered.
"But Father, they don't even have proper weapons?" Arwade stretched out his right hand and pointed at the militiamen. Indeed, these people were empty-handed, so how could they go into battle and kill the enemy?
"Oh, right, how many long spears do we have left?" Sir Wendel nodded in agreement with Arwode's words, thinking it made sense. The feudal decree of Duke Mason stipulated that the light infantry brought by vassals must be equipped with their own weapons; without them, they would only be considered laborers, not soldiers.
"There are only five usable long spears in our armory after repairs." Aruo De spread out his hands and said, he had indeed tried his best, but his family was really too poor, and the entire armory could only find five broken long spears.
"Hmm." Sir Wendel frowned at the twelve peasants in front of him, he had already borrowed heavily to prepare for this expedition and couldn't afford to spend more on equipping his soldiers.
"What's the big deal?" Yifu urged his horse forward impatiently, his tall stature and ferocious expression causing the farmers to cry out in surprise like startled deer, retreating hastily. Yifu stood up on his stirrups, looked around at the crowd below, and shouted loudly, "Those who have ever been in battle, step forward!"
As soon as the husband's voice fell, six farmers squeezed to the front in twos and threes. Except for an old man with white hair, the other five were robust young men with a fierce look on their faces.
"Ah, yes, these few men are indeed good fellows who have fought with me in several battles." Sir Wendel nodded in satisfaction, his chin hitting the silver cross pendant on his neck, making a crisp sound.
"Give the long spears to these good men, and have the others go home to fetch their pitchforks and wooden clubs." Yifu waved his hand and turned to face Arode.
"But spears are still not enough." Arwade looked at the six people, but he only had five spears in his hand, and it was a problem to distribute them.
"Except for him." Yifu pointed at the old man with white hair and then rode away on his horse without looking back, he had enough of these trivial matters, he wanted to have a good time in the tavern before leaving his hometown.
"Why? Just because he's an old man?" Arvad didn't understand what Yifu meant, was it that just because he was old, he wouldn't even be given a weapon?
"If what he says is true, the old man's name is Quarto, and everyone calls him Cowardly Quarto." Sir Wendel whispered in Arwod's ear.
"What's going on, Jo?" Arvid asked, his curiosity piqued. He turned to look at the farmers who had gone to fetch their weapons, while old Jodo seemed to understand Ivar's decision and followed the others, hanging his head in silence as they headed back home.
"Yes, he used to follow me into battle all the time, and participated in almost every fight, yet he never got a scratch. But whenever the fighting was most intense, his figure would always be nowhere to be found." Sir Wendel sighed, looking at Old Joe's back. Actually, he didn't have to participate in this operation, but there were not enough men, and Old Joe had strongly requested it, so Sir Wendel reluctantly agreed.
Sir Wendel's words made Arwod very curious, if he was a coward, why would he strongly request to participate in the war? This contradiction left Arwod puzzled and unable to figure it out. Perhaps everyone had their own reasons, and for now, Arwod could only pray for his own fate.
"Arvid, my son, come with me to the tavern." Having settled matters with the soldiers, Sir Wendel's mood had become quite good. He beckoned Arvid towards a dilapidated wooden house in the manor, its door made of old planks nailed together, above which hung a sign depicting a beer mug. The wooden door couldn't be closed properly and always left a gap, through which the commotion inside was revealed. Pushing open the creaky door, a warm wave unlike the chill outside rushed out to greet them.
"This is a medieval tavern?" Arwed stood behind Sir Wendel, seeing that it was packed with all sorts of people, some of whom were even wearing swords and aprons. Plump waitresses squeezed through the crowd, occasionally letting out cries of surprise as someone snuck up and pinched their sensitive areas, and every time someone succeeded, the surrounding area would erupt in coarse, raucous laughter. It was a world full of men's vulgarity.
"Come on, come on!" A group of people were gathered around a wooden table, with two robust men in the center engaging in an arm-wrestling match. Beer glasses were placed around them. Arlo recognized the man sitting on the left as his annoying older brother Yev. Opposite Yev was a bald-headed man wearing a leather jacket. Their competition had reached its climax, both of their faces red with exertion, using all their strength, and bulging muscles on their arms formed lumps of flesh.
"Ah, it seems that Irfan has finally met his match." Sir Wendel ordered two beers and handed one to Arvid, commenting as he drank, slightly surprised that someone in his own territory could hold their own against his son.
"He's armed." Arwed noticed that the bald giant had a long sword hanging from his waist, and the ferocious expression on the giant's face made Arwed worry that he might draw his sword at any moment, because Yifu was always sharp-tongued even when he was being held in a wristlock.
"Is that so, he's a mercenary after all. What a pity, if we had more money to spare, we could have hired him." Sir Wendel was drinking his beer with an air of nonchalance, but the beer might not have been fermented enough, and Arwod thought it tasted like cat urine, so he ended up pushing most of it to his father.
"Hey, outsider, you're out of energy from drinking milk, did you do a woman last night? Haha, I'm about to win." Yifu stared at the bald-headed big man in front of him, sneering and saying.
"Damn it, I can take it," the bald-headed man shouted in a thick accent, but his country twang only made the people around him burst out laughing, which further infuriated him, his face turning bright red.
"Huh, it's a British guy." The last word of the bald-headed man was spoken in his native tongue. Arwade's eyes lit up - this guy was actually a Briton, but England was separated by the English Channel, how did he end up in the interior of the Holy Roman Empire in this underdeveloped transportation area?
Just as Arvind was at a loss, Yifu turned over the palm of the bald man's hand on the table to win the victory. The people around cheered and supported their fellow countryman in winning the victory, while the bald man was furious but had no choice.
"Alright, now it's your turn to pay." Yifu picked up the cup on the table, tilted his head and drank the beer inside, then said to the bald man.
"I'm broke." The bald-headed man let out a grunt and plopped himself down in his chair, finishing off his own beer before turning to Yev and saying... The people around them fell silent, watching Yev who was notorious for his short temper in this territory, even Arvad couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry.
"Oh? No money? Are you looking to die?" Yifu's eyes narrowed, he felt ridiculed, his hand unconsciously placed on his waist, while the bald big man stared at Yifu with dead eyes, his muscles tense, a bloody fight was about to break out here, when a slightly childish voice rang out.
"Wait a minute." Arwade walked between the two men, looking at his brother and then at the mercenary from England.
"Get out of here, Arwed. Otherwise, I'll make sure you get hurt too." Eif shouted coarsely, but Arwed knew he wouldn't take action because their father was standing beside them. Sure enough, Eif's hand relaxed.
"What's wrong with your horse?" The bald-headed man furrowed his brow, looking at Arod in confusion. He didn't have any acquaintances in this remote village, and the boy in front of him seemed to be a complete stranger.
"Why must my brother kill someone over a bet?" Arwade calmly said to Yifu.
"What does it have to do with you? Let me tell you, no one can owe my husband money. This stinky outsider, if he doesn't give me the money, don't think about leaving alive today." Yifu swung his hand and pushed the crowded onlookers to the ground, saying in a brutal tone.
"I didn't smoke." The outsider shook his head, sniffed himself with his nose and retorted.
"Alright, stranger, you really don't have any money?" Arwo asked, turning his head to ask the bald-headed giant.
"Damn it, I've been cheated." The foreigner said in a strange tone, using gestures to get his point across. He had been traveling with a merchant caravan when they were ambushed by bandits. He managed to escape with nothing but the clothes on his back and just enough money for a few cups of cheap beer. He thought he could make some quick cash by arm-wrestling people, and at first, he was winning easily. But then he ran into Ivan, what bad luck!
