How to Live as a Wandering Knight

𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞 (𝟑)

They target travelers, pilgrims, or merchants who are unarmed or look weak, and who travel alone. There was no need to risk attacking a carriage that was escorted by nine mercenaries.

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🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

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“I’m sorry about this.”

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“Not at all, Sir Knight.”

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Goran bowed politely and then went about his business. As a noble in the group, he had no need to do menial tasks or stand guard.

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‘𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵.’

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In this era, social status held absolute authority. In general circumstances, just revealing one’s status could earn them special treatment.

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While the mercenaries lit a fire and selected sentries for the night watch, Johan could rest comfortably after removing his armor. Of course, he didn’t take off all his inner gear. He couldn’t fully trust everyone. There are always bold and audacious people in the world.

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‘𝘍𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘌𝘭𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢.’

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Since he seemed to have made a good impression on Eldans, going to the city for an introduction seemed like a good plan. Everything becomes easier with a guide, and he had some money too.

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‘𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘧 𝘔𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴.’

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He wanted to get a weapon first, if possible. The current longsword felt a bit unreliable. He carried it because it would look odd without one. . .

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“This is too humble for Sir Johan to eat. . .”

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“What would a traveler have to fuss about?”

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Johan, who had left in a hurry, couldn’t have brought proper food with him. A few pieces of bread and light butter were all he had. Fortunately, the bread from the feudal lord’s house was soft wheat bread, a world apart from the hard black bread usually eaten by serfs and mercenaries.

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But even this can become monotonous after a while.

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The soup Eldans offered was more like a porridge, made by boiling a handful of mixed grains, water, and salted meat, but it was a feast for travelers. When in dire straits, one couldn’t even light a fire like this.

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The soup warmed his throat, making him feel slightly relaxed. Johan looked around. The sun was setting, and it was getting dark. He habitually checked if the campsite was in a vulnerable position for an attack.

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The camp was ideally located, with a gentle hill on one side and a distance from the forest. Setting a watch on the hill would allow them to spot anyone approaching.

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‘𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦.’

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There was a reason not to travel alone. Solo travel meant too many concerns. Joining this group of merchants seemed like a wise choice.

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🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

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Khan yawned. He thought that as he aged, he would sleep less, but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

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“So, Mr. Khan, to be honest, it’s quite ridiculous. I don’t understand why everyone else is groveling. Sure, nobles are impressive, commanding soldiers and all. But this guy is just a knight without any followers, no different from a wanderer or a pilgrim. . .”

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“Gamson.”

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“Yes?”

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“Shut up for a bit.”

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“. . . . . .”

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As the oldest in the mercenary band, Khan was paired with the newbie Gamson for guard duty. If there were mistakes, it was likely Gamson who would make them.

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Of course, that didn’t mean Khan was kind to the rookie. The newcomer had to learn and adapt on his own. Not beating him up was kindness enough. Other mercenaries typically learned through beatings and menial tasks.

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‘𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱?’

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Khan pondered whether to hit Gamson a few times but then decided against it. It would be silly for him to step in when the mercenary Captain Goran was there.

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Gamson was mistaken about nobility, having never seen one. He had spent his life in a remote village, only to flee with a passing mercenary band.

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Nobles were not scary because of the soldiers they commanded; their terror lay in their backgrounds. That’s why even the most worn-out mercenaries wouldn’t target nobles in public places. Especially if they didn’t want to be pursued for life.

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What if that noble was a well-trained knight?

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That alone made them a fearsome presence. Khan glanced at Johan, who was sleeping but still exuded an intimidating aura. His large physique and well-trained body, along with equipment far superior to that of ordinary mercenaries, spoke volumes.

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“Come on, there are nine of us. Are we really afraid of just one knight?”

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“Nine or twenty, it doesn’t work with knights, Gamson. You’ve never been on a battlefield, it’s obvious, so stop blabbering.”

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“What are you talking about, Mr. Khan? I’ve been in two wars. . .”

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“Probably just goblin raids in the village. Ever been in a real fiefdom war? If you had, you wouldn’t be so clumsy. Have you even seen a knight? Do you know how mercenaries react when a knight charges at them on horseback?”

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“. . . . . .”

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“Hundreds of mercenaries run away crying. They’re not cowards; they know the front few will just die. Don’t mess with knights. Pretending to be tough only exposes your ignorance.”

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Gamson’s face trembled. Back in the village, he was feared by other youths, but now in the mercenary band, no one treated him well. Ignored and scolded for speaking, he didn’t realize that not being beaten was something to be grateful for. He took Khan’s advice as an insult. Turning his head, Gamson muttered.