Chapter 176: The First Warrior
He naturally understood the reason behind it.
The Church could create a heroic story of driving out Werewolves using White Doves as guides and a path paved with Flowers.
Then Piero and his group could naturally craft a perfect warrior in the same manner.
He must possess the bravery to defeat all opponents, win the heart of a Noble Daughter, and have wealth.
With the Church’s example, they merely refined the once crude method of using fine wine, women, and riches to corrupt people into something more sophisticated.
As for the Local Gentry’s daughter used to build momentum, and this Noble Daughter...
From what Oscar knew, that Local Gentry’s daughter was merely an illegitimate child. Though only fifteen, no one knew how many times she had already been played with. She had even given birth to a child by her half-brother.
The case of Baron Bevan’s Noble Daughter was even more bizarre. Although he had surrendered early and wasn’t slaughtered to the extent of Baron Puniel’s family—leaving only a son—half of his family was still killed.
Among the survivors, Oscar had never heard of any Noble Daughter of marriageable age.
Indeed, Baron Bevan did have a daughter, but she was only eight years old.
But who cared? No one cared to delve into the truth behind the events. They only wanted to hear the information they craved.
Oscar couldn’t help but admire the intelligence displayed by Piero and the nobles once they adapted to the new rules, especially compared to these foolish Apprentices of the Monastery.
Their vision was broader, their resources more abundant, and even the strategies crafted by Apprentices to seize power might become their weapons.
For instance, building a New Village would inevitably require hiring workers, and that expenditure needed the approval of Administrator Piero and the Senate.
Or take monetary reform—since the taxes of the York Territory would ultimately be distributed by Administrator Piero and the Senate, taxation was the foundation of monetary reform.
Beyond the Noble Code of Conduct, these were the matters that truly made the nobles uncomfortable.
But Oscar knew that behind this code was the nod of a Bishop.
Though Administrator Piero and the three Barons seemed to be toyed with, were they not, in truth, lifting the Apprentices high?
The bites of ants could discomfort a giant—but discomfort was all it would be.
If they really started playing seriously, Apprentices who held only the identity of Apprentices of the Monastery would never match those who controlled the York Territory’s resources and maintained the current order of York Town—the Senate.
Even those Local Gentry who once seemed to stand with the Apprentices on the matter of establishing a New Village acted in complete unison with the Senate’s momentum this time.
Behind it all lay mere tug-of-war over benefits and everyone knowing the role they had to play—there were no friends or stances involved.
Turning his back to the four Apprentices of the Monastery fumbling to install components, Oscar couldn’t help but smile excitedly.
This manipulation of discourse, this reshaping of hearts—he found it fascinating.
...
On the second day after the seven-day duel ended, that First Warrior donned exquisite Armor, with a Sword and Shield at his waist, riding a tall warhorse.
He wore no Helmet. Several wounds marked his face, now crusted over with dried blood.
A woman in a tight-waisted long dress with pale skin sat on his lap, her cheeks flushed.
He laughed heartily, pride on his face, emotions running high.
This was the Honor granted to him by the Senate.
They said, “You are the First Warrior of York Town. You must let all see your Honor.”
So this First Warrior rode his warhorse, holding the Noble Daughter, into the Castlelot Market.
He made a round, receiving many envious and longing gazes, then laughed loudly and prepared to return to the town.
At that moment, the Noble Daughter in his arms suddenly spoke.
“Tobias, you are the First Warrior of the York Territory. You are so glorious. I am proud of you. But in the York Territory, I feel you still lack the highest Honor,” she said.
Tobias Bruce—the name of the First Warrior.
“The highest Honor? Am I still not glorious enough?” Tobias’s smile faded gradually as he spoke.
“You are glorious now. You are immensely strong, have defeated over a hundred challengers, and the nobles of the Senate have recognized you. The Commoners sing your name. But the Church of the Sanctuary has yet to acknowledge you,” the woman said, pointing toward the nearby Church of the Sanctuary.
“Even now, none of their people have appeared. Not even those from the Small Church in the Market are here today.”
“Look, the Church of the Sanctuary is right before your eyes. You should go there. You are the First Warrior of the York Territory, the pride of the York Territory. I believe the Lord will also be proud of you, bestow upon you His Blessing, and even praise your Honor.”
Withdrawing her hand, the woman gazed at Tobias with fascination, as though he were her entire world.
Tobias hesitated. Born into a small family, he had some martial prowess but was far from the line of succession. Still, he understood the status of the Church of the Sanctuary.
“My dear, you are the First Warrior. Even when Baron Jeffrey sought to confer Knighthood upon you, you refused. But in my eyes, you are already a Knight. Yet now, most Knights of the York Territory reside in the Church of the Sanctuary, including Knight Wolf,” the woman said, caressing Tobias’s face and the scabbed wound on it.
That was a scar left by an opponent in yesterday’s duel, scabbed but not healed.
Her touch brought a sharp pain, making Tobias feel as if he were back in the dueling ground.
“Of course, you are the First Warrior, but they are not just Warriors—they are Knights. So even if you haven’t defeated them yet, in my eyes, you are the First Warrior, the First Knight,” her eyes dimmed slightly, and she buried her face in Tobias’s chest.
Tobias recalled her moans under him the night before, that reverent, worshipful gaze. Now it overlapped with the dim, disappointed look she bore.
In an instant, Tobias’s face flushed red, his scar oozing blood.
He burst into laughter and declared, “Yes, my dear, you are right. I am the First Warrior of the York Territory. But if those Knights stand above me, wouldn’t that make me a joke?”
“I will challenge them. In front of the Great Church, I will defeat them. I will let the Bishop, let the Lord, bestow upon me His Blessing.”
Tobias’s voice rose high, like he was back in the dueling arena, roaring for the next opponent to step forth.
“Yes, that’s it. That’s my dearest, the First Warrior,” the woman’s eyes regained their brightness, gazing dreamily at Tobias. She clung to his Armor, gently caressing his face.
The pain in his wound, the woman’s eyes, and her touch made Tobias feel like he was reliving last night. His body burned with a fiery passion.
The woman pressed tightly against the cold Armor, her chest squashed.
Tobias couldn’t feel the touch, but the sensation from last night replayed in his mind.
His breath grew rapid. When the woman’s hand reached into his skirted Armor, he removed the protection there without hesitation.
The warhorse trotted steadily under Tobias’s lead toward the Church.
Their return, the scene on horseback, left everyone in Castlelot Market wide-eyed.
The raw display of desire stunned the Market folk, who soon began whistling with knowing tones, gathering and cheering with fervor.
This parade stirred the crowd more than the previous one. This pure display of desire overwhelmed them, making them forget the story of Marl, consumed only by this unrestrained Glory.
His eyes turned crimson, staring toward the Church of the Sanctuary.
As the warhorse passed the Market and headed for the Church...
Suddenly, it was as if time had stopped. The Market fell into silence.
The madness in their eyes faded, replaced by fear.
Those who knew Tobias, and the servants placed by the nobles, began shouting for Tobias to return.
But Tobias paid them no mind, urging his warhorse forward.
Someone tried to grab the reins, only for Tobias to draw his sword and slice off their head.
This time, the Market erupted in screams. Some hid in shops, others fled, while those hired by the nobles to stir the crowd ran toward the town in terror.
Things had gone out of control!
...
Tobias’s eyes now saw only the Great Church.
The woman gently leaned forward to fix his Armor, then gazed up at him. Her flushed face and moist eyes brought Tobias immense satisfaction.
“Tobias, you are not only the First Warrior. You should be a hero,” she said in a lingering tone.
“You should be a true hero, like Marl of the Church.”
His face flushed and blood seeping from his scar, Tobias grinned. “No, my dear, right now I’m only the First Warrior. No—wrong. I still need to defeat those Knights. Only then will I be the First Warrior.”
“After that, I will go with Sir Puniel to fight the Werewolves. I will drive them out. Then, I will be a hero,” he said.
The woman laughed. Her beauty and the redness from the act stirred Tobias’s desire once again.
“Yes, when that time comes, when you become a hero, our child will be born,” she said, caressing her belly.
“I will tell him he is the child of a hero. He will be proud of his father,” she said.
“Father, father, father... Yes, I am a hero. I will make my child proud to have me as his father,” Tobias muttered, then roared in fury, “I will never let him grow up thinking his father was a coward!”
Then Tobias’s gaze turned tender as he looked at the woman and said, “My dear, I will only love you. I will have no other woman. I will not let any illegitimate child share my love for him.”
“I will teach him martial arts. I will use the gold coins given by the adults to buy him the best meat. When he comes of age, he too will be a warrior.”
“I will earn merit and become a Knight. He will be the child of a Knight.”
“I will give everything best to our child.”
The woman replied just as gently, “Yes, I believe in you. You are my hero.”
Then she turned her head and said, “My hero, defeat them. You will become the true First Warrior.”
In the direction of her gaze, thirteen Knights sat silently atop their warhorses, awaiting him.