Watching his allies mount their warhorses and supervise their subordinates in scavenging the battlefield, Hudson was utterly speechless. He had thought he was already quite cunning, but it seemed there were many others like him.

  They had all agreed to collect the bodies of their fallen allies, but instead, they were busy profiting from the war. It turned out that the earlier dispy of genuine emotion had been nothing but an act.

  There was no doubt about it—he had to speed up. Everyone had suffered heavy losses in this battle, and without any significant loot, they had no choice but to turn their attention to the dead.

  Even noble families weren't overflowing with resources. This battle had been a bloodbath, and they needed to recover whatever they could.

  Hudson didn't hold out much hope for riches. These were poor folks, after all, and their pockets were likely empty. The real prize was the weapons and equipment. In times of war, these were the most valuable assets.

  Unfortunately, everyone was poor. Only a few rebel leaders had iron weapons, and armor was even rarer.

  On the other hand, the fallen allies' elite troops had been well-equipped. Sadly, most of their gear bore family crests. Unless the owner was also dead, it would be difficult to cim these items for oneself.

  To motivate his men, Hudson decred that whoever found a weapon first could keep it. If it didn't fit, they could exchange it among themselves. Those unlucky enough to find nothing would have to make do with their bamboo spears.

  As for collecting the bodies of their allies?

  There was no rush. The corpses weren't going anywhere. They could deal with that after looting the battlefield.

  As he scavenged for spoils, Hudson reflected on the day's battle. While he had successfully avoided the thick of the fighting, his performance hadn't been fwless.

  A lone knight wandering on the edges of the battlefield was far too conspicuous. Even though he had taken corrective measures ter, there was no guarantee no one had noticed.

  Being an outsider was never a good thing. A knight who didn't fit in with the mainstream would find it hard to thrive in noble circles.

  Fortunately, the battlefield had been chaotic, and no one had the time to pay attention to him. Even if someone had seen him, the distance was too great to identify him clearly.

  Still, this wasn't foolproof. After all, there hadn't been many knights in the first wave of the charge, and Hudson's absence was a fact.

  For now, everyone was too absorbed in the heavy casualties to think much about it. But once they recovered, suspicions would surely arise.

  Of course, Hudson's blood-soaked appearance worked in his favor. Not joining the charge didn't mean he hadn't fought.

  Falling behind and failing to keep up with the first wave, then being unable to break through the enemy's encirclement alone, was a pusible expnation.

  Since they all moved in the same circles, no one would make baseless accusations without evidence.

  However, such things could only happen once or twice. If it became a pattern, it would eventually come to light.

  For now, the most important thing was to avoid being discovered in this war.

  The only consotion for Hudson was that knights didn't spend the entire battle fighting. Even they needed to rest when exhausted.

  Of course, there were always a few reckless fools who didn't follow this rule, but they usually didn't live long. After all, human stamina wasn't infinite, and no one could sustain high-intensity combat indefinitely.

  Stories of knights fighting for days on end, dominating the battlefield, were just that—stories. If anyone took them seriously, the corpses on the ground served as a stark reminder.

  ---

  As the sun set, Count Piers looked out over the field of bodies, feeling utterly despondent. While they had won the battle, the Dalton family had suffered a devastating loss.

  Not only had they alienated the province’s small and medium-sized nobles, but they had also lost hundreds of their elite troops, with the Crimson Knights suffering over a hundred casualties. The cost had been immense, yet the results were far from impressive.

  Although the rebels had suffered even greater losses, cannon fodder was cheap. One batch could always be repced by another.

  With the Blood Moon Horn, even freshly recruited serfs posed a threat. Whether it was ten-to-one or twenty-to-one, the Skull Society still came out ahead.

  There was no doubt that the battles to come would be even more brutal. To make matters worse, the anti-rebel forces were now in disarray. The reactions of the nobles made it clear that they were deeply dissatisfied with their commander.

  By tradition, after a battle, the nobles should have first paid their respects to the commander. Instead, they had gone off to scavenge the battlefield.

  But anger was useless. The autonomy of nded nobles had always been high. If not for Piers’ position as the governor of the southeastern province, no one would have paid him any heed.

  While the Dalton family was the province’s most powerful noble house, the other families weren’t to be trifled with. Any family with a bit of history had its own hidden strengths.

  In normal times, they would give the Dalton family a face, but after being dragged into this mess, they weren’t about to let it slide.

  Piers knew full well that today’s events would be difficult to handle. If he couldn’t give a satisfactory expnation, the Dalton family’s future would be bleak.

  "Send the order. Invite representatives from each family to the fortress for a meeting," Count Piers said in a low voice.

  Adaptability was a noble virtue. Making mistakes wasn’t the problem; the problem was repeating them. Having long held power in the southeastern province, Count Piers was no ordinary man.

  The previous miscalcutions had been due to information asymmetry and underestimating the strength of the various factions. He wouldn’t make the same mistake a third time—reality wouldn’t allow it.

  ---

  Nobles valued appearances. Under normal circumstances, accepting an invitation would require careful preparation. This time, however, was an exception.

  Still in full armor, with bloodstains on his face, Hudson entered the fortress.

  Apart from a few nobles who had arrived te and missed the battle, everyone was simirly dressed.

  Clearly, this was a deliberate act to express their dissatisfaction with Count Piers. The members of the alliance who had fought from the beginning were especially furious.

  Because of Count Piers’ hesitation, they had suffered heavy losses. If he didn’t provide a proper expnation, they would take the matter all the way to the capital.

  Of course, Hudson wasn’t among the angry. His rational mind told him that anger solved nothing. He stood with the others simply to blend in.

  Seeing the cavalry lined up to greet them, Hudson knew this was a show of force, a warning not to push things too far.

  But such tactics didn’t faze him. Instead, he found himself gazing longingly at the cavalry, wishing he could cim them for himself.

  During the day’s battle, this elite cavalry had dominated the battlefield, leaving a deep impression on him.

  In Hudson’s eyes, this was what a proper army should look like. The private forces of the small and medium-sized nobles, with the exception of a few guards, were nothing but ragtag mobs.

  Deep down, Hudson had already made up his mind: if he ever got the chance, he would have his own elite cavalry.