The appearance of the stirrup solved the hardest problem in mounted combat — maintaining balance on horseback. It drastically shortened the time needed for training riders.
With just a few days of drills, soldiers could already learn the basics of handling a horse — and soon after, they'd be able to fight while mounted.
No wonder Lord Chen had ordered them to become knights in such a short time. What once seemed impossible now felt completely within reach.
On the wide training ground outside the manor, a hundred-strong cavalry unit stood in perfect formation.
Every man was fully armed — wrapped head to toe in polished silver armor. Their warhorses, massive and powerful, were covered in steel barding that gleamed beneath the sunlight. Swords, shields, and lances hung neatly from their saddles; even the horses looked ready for battle.
Golden sunlight poured across the field, and the bright silver of their armor reflected it into blinding flashes of brilliance.
Other than the rhythmic sound of heavy breathing from the warhorses, the entire formation was silent — cold, focused, and lethal. The air itself seemed to tremble with their killing intent.
At the head of the column sat Chen Mo, astride a towering black warhorse clad in full silver-black armor. Beneath the shimmering plates of Adamantium, he wore a noble's long coat of black trimmed with silver. The King's Sword hung diagonally at his waist. His sharp gaze, half-hidden behind the dark mask of his helm, shone with an icy edge.
He looked like a blade unsheathed — cutting, unstoppable, and ready to strike.
Chen Mo surveyed the assembled knights, nodded with satisfaction, and spoke in a deep, steady voice that carried across the ranks.
"These lands know no force mightier than the knight — the shield of mankind, the vanguard against the werewolves."
"To bear the title of knight is not only a mark of power, but a symbol of honor itself."
"In the past, becoming a knight was near impossible. But here, in my lands… things are different."
"I have given you the finest weapons, the strongest armor, and the best horses. From this moment, you are knights in waiting."
"Prove your worth — slay a single enemy knight or werewolf with your own hands — and you will be recognized as a true knight!"
The men stirred, a murmur running through the ranks like thunder rolling in their chests.
They all knew what that meant. In this medieval world ruled by lords and noble bloodlines, one could only become a true knight through a lord's investiture. Knights weren't just warriors — they were vassals bound by oath, their status blessed and recognized by nobility.
Those without a lord's sanction were nothing more than wandering knights or squires.
Only after swearing fealty, proving valor in battle, and earning merit through loyalty and blood could one be knighted in truth.
And for the rare few who achieved great glory, there was an even higher reward — a small fief, perhaps a village or estate — the first step toward becoming landed nobility.
Ordinarily, that process took years, sometimes decades. Generations of effort and unflinching loyalty just to earn a noble's notice.
But Chen Mo was offering them a shortcut — a single feat of valor, and the dream of a lifetime could come true.
If this had been before, only Andrew might've believed it possible. The rest would have dismissed it as a fantasy — and still they would've charged into battle anyway, because even the chance at knighthood was worth dying for.
Now, though, things were different.
Their confidence was real.
They were stronger — not just because of the high-grade armor and weapons that far surpassed anything the old nobles possessed, but because of the grueling training and Chen Mo's secret techniques.
The Holy Cross Sword Style he'd taught them made their movements faster, their strikes sharper. In just one year, ordinary peasants had been reshaped into elite warriors whose strength already surpassed that of most squire knights.
Soon, they would be able to slay knights — and even werewolves — with their own hands.
To earn glory.
To earn knighthood.
To change their fate.
Their hearts burned with ambition. The air was heavy with battlelust.
Chen Mo could feel it — the hunger, the resolve, the devotion. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade.
"—Move out!"
Warren County, Blackstone Castle.
Under the afternoon sun, Count Warren sat leisurely in his garden, sipping tea while several beautiful maids attended him. Two armored knights stood at the entrance, vigilant and unmoving.
As the regional overlord, Count Warren commanded the largest and strongest fortress in the area, along with the greatest host of knights.
Under his banner served over fifty fully armored heavy knights and more than a hundred squires — a formidable force.
Years ago, when over thirty werewolves attacked his castle, it was these very knights who held the walls. With the aid of Blackstone's towering fortifications and their steel discipline, they had fought through the night, finally driving the monsters back and killing over a dozen of them.
Though ten of his knights perished and countless squires and soldiers were torn apart, it was still considered a glorious victory — one that made the Count's name echo among the nobility.
But Warren had never forgotten that battle. He had seen firsthand the horror of werewolves — their speed, their power, their bloodlust.
So when he later heard tales of a young lord named Chen Mo — who had single-handedly slain dozens of werewolves — and when his spies confirmed the bodies were real…
Count Warren felt something he hadn't felt in decades.
Fear.
Because he knew — only a terrifying power could achieve such a feat.