Watching one messenger after another gallop out of the camp, Hudson felt awkward. While others could call for reinforcements, he couldn't follow suit.

  If Baron Redman found out about this, he would likely rush over with his guards, and the leadership would immediately shift to him.

  Having a traditional knight as a father was usually fine, but on the battlefield, it was dangerous.

  The moment Hudson imagined charging into battle alongside Baron Redman, he quickly backed off. Compared to military achievements, he valued his life more.

  Only by surviving could he cim his rewards. If he died, no matter how great his achievements, someone else would reap the benefits.

  In a world of supernatural abilities, small elite forces could easily cover a hundred miles in a day, and in emergencies, even two to three hundred miles was possible. But untrained ragtag groups couldn't manage that.

  Without training, these soldiers were just ordinary people. Combined with long-term malnutrition, most of them were in a state of suboptimal health. Marching over a hundred miles in three days wasn't impossible, but it wasn't easy either.

  As the pace quickened, problems began to arise. During the march, no one noticed much, but when it came time to set up camp, the awkward situation of "soldiers not knowing their commanders, and commanders not knowing their soldiers" became apparent.

  The Coslow family's situation was retively better. Thanks to Hudson's earlier training, while they weren't exactly organized, at least the soldiers hadn't scattered.

  However, when it came time to count the troops, something unexpected happened—over thirty extra soldiers had somehow joined the ranks.

  The officer in charge of the headcount went to question them, only to find that these confused individuals couldn't even recall their own lord's full name.

  If it weren't for the fact that spies weren't a thing in this era, Hudson would have treated them as infiltrators. Of course, the main reason was that no one would send such clueless individuals as spies.

  By the next morning, when it was time to set out, there were still twelve soldiers who hadn't been cimed, leaving Hudson utterly speechless.

  Every lord in the alliance had come to check, so how were there still extras?

  Whether these guys were too confused to recognize their own or if other nobles had missed them was hard to determine. Hudson simply accepted the fact that his troop count had increased by twelve.

  The march continued, but morale was noticeably low. It was clear that the previous night's incident had been a harsh lesson for everyone.

  The most obvious change was that everyone started sending trusted aides to keep an eye on their troops, fearing another embarrassing mishap.

  Unsurprisingly, when they set up camp that evening, problems arose again. Somehow, the various forces within the alliance had mixed together, leaving the lords to sort out their own men.

  The farce repeated itself, and the most immediate impact was that Hudson's status within the alliance skyrocketed. He was now hailed as the leader of an "elite force."

  This was a cssic case of mutual fttery, and Hudson couldn't refuse. After all, his troops were only "elite" in comparison to the others. Denying this title would make everyone else look incompetent.

  With decent emotional intelligence, Hudson promptly accepted the title, and his soldiers' morale soared as if they truly were an elite force.

  The title was just for show, but the real gain was Hudson's tearful acceptance of his "troop count +15" reality.

  Now he was certain that there were other noble forces nearby, not part of the alliance, and not too far away. Otherwise, there was no expnation for his growing number of soldiers.

  But knowing was one thing; Hudson wasn't about to make a fuss. Picking up extra soldiers was a windfall, and sending them back would be foolish.

  While this approach didn't align with noble etiquette or knightly virtues, it was very much in line with Hudson's character.

  Free, obedient, and simple-minded soldiers were, in Hudson's view, the more the merrier.

  Fortunately, the "intense" march was short-lived, and they reached the frontlines on the third day. Otherwise, if this kept up, Hudson feared that one day the original owners would come knocking.

  As they approached Fort Ethel, before they could even catch their breath, the rebels came charging at them.

  "No sense of martial honor, no knightly spirit at all."

  Hudson muttered to himself.

  There was no choice. With the enemy charging, they had to fight.

  A knight's dictionary included retreat, but not fleeing without a fight.

  As the nominal leader of the alliance, Chelse took command without hesitation. "Everyone, follow me!"

  As soon as he finished speaking, Chelse charged forward on his horse. The other noble lords quickly followed, demonstrating their "bravery" in action.

  "Abandoning the troops to charge alone?"

  This scene completely shattered Hudson's worldview. But under the watchful eyes of everyone, he didn't dare to do the unthinkable and slip away.

  Fortunately, he had been cautious from the start, positioning his troops at the rear of the formation. Now, the chaotic mess in front blocked his path.

  If it were any other noble, they might have just charged ahead on horseback, but Hudson, with his compassionate spirit, wouldn't do that.

  To avoid standing out, he had to join the charge. Scanning the battlefield, Hudson ordered his men, "Tael, lead the troops and follow me to attack from the left fnk."

  With that, Hudson spurred his horse forward. By now, Chelse and the other noble knights had already plunged into the rebel ranks. In just one csh, seven or eight rebel soldiers were cut down.

  In front of Chelse, the rebels were like paper. The other noble knights weren't far behind. Though not as swift as Chelse, they were equally ruthless in killing.

  Watching his allies dominate the battlefield, Hudson's morale soared. He couldn't help but marvel, "As expected of a great knight. His individual combat prowess is unmatched."

  Whether influenced by the battlefield atmosphere or due to the rough terrain, Hudson's horse suddenly acted up.

  Despite his best efforts to regain control, the circles he was making grew wider and wider. Though he was closing the distance to the rebels, there was still a significant gap.

  "Damn beast, where's your fearless spirit? After this battle, I'm repcing you for sure!"

  Hudson cursed angrily.

  But while his words were harsh, his actions were gentle. After all, it was his own horse, and he couldn't bring himself to whip it.

  Watching his comrades fight on the frontlines, Hudson gave a helpless look. When a lone enemy soldier approached, he raised his nce and charged, killing the enemy in one strike.

  Perhaps due to a bad angle, blood sprayed all over Hudson the moment he pulled out his nce, staining his once-gleaming armor.

  Covered in blood, Hudson wasn't upset. Instead, he was thrilled. He had finally broken his zero-kill record and wouldn't have to worry about losing face ter.

  As if unlocking a hidden talent, Hudson continued to linger on the edges of the battlefield, picking off rebel soldiers who were also scking.