Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest
Chapter 186 - 23: Quack! Can’t win! Run!

Chapter 186: Chapter 23: Quack! Can’t win! Run!

The cruelty of the Cold Weapons Era lay in that samurai had to personally chop off their enemies’ heads, facing the blood directly.

And they had grown accustomed to it.

Nathan, leading the 300 men of the third squad, charged in, clashing like two torrents, with blood splattering everywhere.

He was exceptionally brave, killing seven men on his way in and driving the noble army to successive defeats.

They held the strategic advantage of the terrain, while the noble army had to wade through water to attack, which was extremely disadvantageous for the latter.

And their fine equipment was no joke—everywhere one looked there were only simple half-body plate armor, steel spears, steel knives, everything one could need, with no inferior goods to be seen.

"Damn it! We can’t beat them! Run for it!"

Someone shouted out loud.

Morale completely collapsed.

Some turned their heads to see that the fleet at the rear couldn’t land.

The riverbank had been packed with the ships of the first wave, preventing the following ships from docking, and the turbulent river waters, once one entered, pulled at the body making it impossible to stand steady.

It wasn’t a joke for an adult to drown in chest-deep water.

They had crossed the river boldly, but realizing they couldn’t win, they immediately cried for their fathers and mothers, rolling back in retreat.

And the routed soldiers further affected the overall situation, leaving the soldiers landing from different directions isolated and without support.

Seeing this disorganized situation, the subsequent fleets could not continue to land.

Eventually, the retreat signal was sounded, and the noble army abandoned hundreds of damaged and defeated soldiers, fleeing the river valley under a barrage of arrows.

Far back, hundreds of meters away.

Old Richard nervously gripped the steel fork in his hand, while those around him were also armed with sickles and cross pickaxes.

This was Roman’s prepared reserve force, comprised of youths and elders.

Should the frontline be pressed hard and unable to intercept the enemy forces, they would throw in the reserves, not expecting to make much of an impact, but at least it would bolster their presence.

They totaled over a thousand men, undisciplined but imposing in number.

This backup plan never came into play.

The enemy quickly broke under the heavy assault and swiftly retreated.

A scout stood on the hillside, waving a flag.

The one who had organized them was Balrog, and after reading the flag signals, he let out a sigh of relief, and turning back, said, "Our warriors have won, we won’t need to go to battle."

Hearing they wouldn’t need to fight, everyone cheered, "Long live Lord Roman!"

Old Charlie also relaxed.

His hair was gray, and his body was starting its decline.

Unable to grasp the larger principles, he had come solely to ensure his daily meals and his family’s safety.

He had been a vassal to the Earl for most of his life, firmly believing that the Earl’s army wouldn’t allow them to maintain their current status, and his daughter Lola would suffer the consequences.

Because she had married a soldier who lost his hand and also received a wedding gift from the Lord.

They couldn’t go back anymore, never again.

Old Charlie had thought he didn’t have many years left to live and that soon he would die coughing blood in the fields, like his grandfather and father before him.

But after living here for more than a month, his health had actually improved.

Certainly, it was not the blessing of the All Gods, but because of a significant improvement in food standards.

And Balrog, the Steward, had made it clear that if Lord Roman were defeated, they could return to their former lives, or find themselves in an even worse situation due to the turmoil.

A sturdy, comfortable brick house gone, savory meat soup gone, a bright future gone...

To keep this future, they had to take up arms and confront their former Lord.

Fortunately, just as they were mentally preparing to enter the battlefield, those professional soldiers sorted everything out.

But things were far from over.

Balrog, the Steward, then arranged for them to do post-battle cleanup, serving as menial logistics workers.

After they arrived, they discovered the ground was covered in blood.

Bodies floated in the river, their murky reddish tinge carried downstream toward the distance.

...

Roman personally arrived at the scene, bringing members of the battlefield hospital’s reserve to treat the wounded.

Roman taught them how to handle injuries, properly bandage, suture wounds, and other basic skills.

Competent medical staff come from hands-on practice.

And at this moment, there was no shortage of practice. Once they started, the impression was bound to be indelible, and soon a group capable of basic medical care would be trained.

The battle results were quickly tallied.

A total of 89 soldiers fell in battle, half of them recruits.

Another 262 soldiers were injured—with home-field advantage, the wounded could be evacuated promptly, so most injuries were minor.

The enemy casualties totaled over five hundred, with 74 captured, and another 124 injured prisoners.

They seized 18 boats of various sizes, not counting the rest.

There was no industry more profitable than warfare.

These boats alone were worth three to four hundred Gold Coins. Although they were damaged and riddled with arrow holes, they could still be repaired and used.

"These are elite troops, some of the enemy’s physical qualities are close to Conquest Knights!" Dick remarked.

"Their main force hasn’t engaged," Jet interjected.

"Even if they did, they’d have only death to look forward to, Conquest Knights can’t do much," Green said with a smirk.

"Green’s right," Aaron nodded.

Dismounted Conquest Knights were just ordinary warriors, who in equal armor could even be overpowered by three professional soldiers ganging up on them.

They could certainly act as a sharp dagger piercing the enemy’s line.

But they would then be met not by ordinary soldiers, but by another dagger.

Roman’s Conquest Knight-level officers awaited eagerly behind the lines.

His own Large Bow was aimed at those Transcendents daring to step foot on his territory.

The Nobles were shrewd not to send their main forces.

They concealed themselves in those ships, observing quietly, ready to retreat immediately if the tide turned.

After Roman finished bandaging a Soldier’s wounds, he stood up and said, "Dick, tell me, will they launch a second assault?"

"No! Otherwise, they’d all perish here."

As the overall Commander of the battle, Dick was well aware of the thorough preparations Roman had made.

The enemy would only be strangled in the water.

Roman was pleased with the response, "Good."

He gently punched the air. "Then tell everyone, we’ve won, and they’ve lost!"

It was essential to make those fools feel at ease!

A sense of security was the foundation for progress.

A victory brought many intangible benefits, the kind that boost social stability by +10.

He intended to use this victory to bolster his reputation and made sure the event was widely publicized, essentially brainwashing them daily.

Since mining the Salt Mine and having two harvests last year, he had established prestige here, and no one questioned his orders anymore.

He gradually transformed from a nominal Noble Lord into a true Lord of noble prestige.

He had won the people’s hearts.

Even if someday the legitimacy of his noble title was questioned, and someone cried out "Are rulers and nobles made differently," he would still sit securely in the ruler’s seat.

Because no one would think to overthrow him.

And these wartime victories pushed his prestige to an even higher level.

Those fools began to praise him with words like "sagacious and martial," "far-sighting," "extraordinarily intelligent," and "magnificently strategic."

And they sincerely believed that by following his lead, life would be better.

Never again would someone go hungry or suffer on the lands he ruled.

And all they had to do—in return—was offer their loyalty!