58 Assassination

This was a suit of full-body heavy armor, with superior materials and thicker plating. Even the joints were covered with layered iron pieces, painstakingly forged by the blacksmith hammer by hammer. The entire body was completely covered in steel, armed to the teeth. Compared to the treasured heavy armor of the Ferreira family, this one was clearly a cut above. The craftsmanship of the blacksmith was impeccable, with attention to detail that reached perfection. The entire suit exuded beauty and power, an irresistible temptation for any knight.

Derek was no exception; men often found it difficult to resist such masterpieces of weaponry.

"Put it on me," he commanded.

As a level 3 elite knight, Derek already possessed a top-tier physique in the eyes of ordinary people. Yet, when the squires helped him don the heavy armor piece by piece, he still felt the weight pressing down on him. Walking a few steps, the clanging of metal colliding together gave him an unparalleled sense of security.

"Elite knights are capable of fighting in heavy armor, but it is no small burden," Derek assessed. For most, elite knights were difficult to assemble, but for him, it was only a matter of time.

After taking off the heavy armor, Derek instructed, "I need more suits of heavy armor—at least a hundred sets, including armor for the horses."

Little lute instinctively pulled a long face. He still had other tasks to handle.

"I'll send another group of people to assist you," Derek continued. "From now on, keep the production of heavy armor and classified weapons here. Simpler weapons can be moved to Augusta City."

Derek deliberately divided the blacksmiths into two groups. The common weapons could be produced openly to make money, while the secret, specialized equipment was kept hidden. That was the real foundation of power.

Little True breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing that more people would be available and that some of the work would be distributed.

"I'll complete your requests as quickly as possible," he promised.

Derek spent a few days in the military camp, familiarizing himself with the personnel and reinforcing his presence among the soldiers. Taking inspiration from certain organizations, he quietly dispatched a group of trusted aides to handle ideological work within the army.

the effectiveness remains unclear for now, but the population count on the system panel has remained steady. However, he soon found it difficult to stay there. Last year, he was still able to go home for the New Year, but this year he had to spend it in the Augusta territory.

Before that, he had to make a trip to the provincial capital of St. Millet Province. The reason? The king's army had finally arrived.

This military force had originally been prepared to launch an offensive into the Barbarian Kingdom from the northern provinces before the snow fell. But the barbarians' unexpected maneuvers had disrupted their plans. Instead of earning glory, they had come to play babysitter.

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The big achievements had already been snatched up by the northern nobles, leaving the capital's aristocrats unwilling to accept the situation. Derek didn't need anyone to remind him that a storm was brewing. So, at the request of the old count, he departed immediately.

…

Plan City!

After the war, the city had regained its prosperity. A large influx of Locke people had settled there, bringing more population and resources. The upper-class nobles had vanished, meaning little change for the lower-class commoners, who simply had to answer to a new set of lords. In fact, taxes were even slightly lower.

The merchants and minor nobles, however, suffered. Many couldn't escape, and their assets were tied to the land. Leaving would mean losing everything. Those willing to pay a hefty price and find a new patron could barely survive, though they often couldn't escape ruin.

In times of war, it was common for the victors to show no mercy. Derek, too, had taken plenty of blood-stained gold. People with moral scruples didn't last long in this era.

Thus, Derek entered Plan City in good spirits. Knowing potential trouble awaited him, he brought a sufficient escort. However, his entire retinue couldn't enter the city, only his squires and a few guards. Even then, his mounted squires, the noble banners, and the distinctive double-headed dragon insignia made his identity clear.

Whether local residents of St. Millet Province or newcomers from the northern provinces, everyone recognized the need to know who the dominant power was. With control of the Saint-Mihiel legion and vast holdings in industry and population, Viscount Derek was an unavoidable force.

The city guards spotted the banners from afar and cleared a path, shooing away residents to create a smooth route. Curious commoners watched from a distance, intrigued by the procession. Over time, Derek's name had become increasingly legendary, and his rise from humble origins was a tale that delighted the masses.

Using the privileged route, Derek quickly passed through the city gates. However, his first impression of Plan City was no different from any other in this world: narrow, crowded streets and filthy, disorganized paving stones. Even at the gate, it was still the same scene.

Derek shook his head. Although he had seen it countless times, he still couldn't help but recall the clean and orderly cities of his past life. Just as the procession was about to leave the gate and make a turn, disaster struck.

A large group of soldiers appeared suddenly, with even seven or eight archers positioned on rooftops. Derek's instincts screamed danger, and he immediately leapt off his horse. Arrows whizzed over his head with a deadly hiss.

"These are skilled archers," he thought, noting the precision that only trained marksmen could achieve. For a moment, he even feared that Plan City had fallen, but his rational mind quickly dispelled the chaotic thoughts.

In his peripheral vision, he saw that the attackers were dressed in common clothes, disorganized and uncoordinated. They looked more like townsfolk than trained soldiers. Even their timing was off; if Derek had been in charge, the archers would have fired first, followed by a coordinated assault.

"It's the Holy Cross," Derek concluded almost instinctively. Only they had the motive and capability to orchestrate this. Plan City had been under Holy Cross Kingdom's rule for thirty years, and many nobles from the United Kingdom had ties with northern provincial aristocrats. It wasn’t unthinkable that some of their forces had remained hidden.

After a brief moment of panic, Derek regained his composure. He pushed aside the squire in front of him and grabbed the knight's sword hanging from his warhorse.

"If you want to kill me, you'd better send more men. Do you think so little of northern knights?"

Indeed, while the ambushers seemed numerous, there were only thirty or forty of them, and who knew where they had scrounged up the numbers. Against an ordinary noble, surprise might have been enough. But Derek's squires and guards were elite warriors, clad in half-plate and leather armor. They were on a completely different level.

Derek himself took the lead, seeing this as a chance to display his valor. This move, a lesson from his previous life, was known as making a mark.