Infinity, The Arcade Age-Chapter 411: The Strategy of the Big Stick and the Sweet Date

Chapter 411 - 411: The Strategy of the Big Stick and the Sweet Date

"You want to join the knight corps too?"

"Yes."

"You're this old—can you even still hold a weapon?"

"Sir Knight, I've actually dreamed of going to war ever since I was a child! I just never had the chance to realize that dream!"

"Yeah, yeah, fine, you're in. Hey, someone get him a set of armor and a pitchfork. Next!"

Watching the white-haired old man cheerfully go collect his armor, Qin Ming withdrew his gaze and frowned, turning to the next person in line.

"Pfft... you want to be a soldier too?"

"Absolutely!"

"Are you even of age?"

"I am! I just don't look it!"

"Don't look—fine, fine! You're in too. Next! You... wait, why are there women lining up now? Toreid, isn't this your daughter? How the hell are you recruiting soldiers?!"

Seeing the girl in front of him, Qin Ming finally lost the composure he had been desperately holding onto and suddenly turned to roar.

Toreid, the burly man handing out armor—who also happened to be Qin Ming's current adjutant—heard the shout and immediately dropped what he was doing and ran over.

As soon as he saw the girl standing in front of Qin Ming, his face darkened.

"Toreitia! What the hell are you doing here? Don't interrupt Sir Knight's work! We're about to go into battle! Go home and cook!"

As he spoke, Toreid stepped forward and tried to pull his daughter away, but she forcefully shook off his hand.

"No! I want to fight too!"

"Don't be ridiculous! Women don't go to war!"

"Says who?! You guys are only winning because of your armor! Physically, you're not that much stronger than me! If I put on armor, I can fight just as well!"

Shoving her father aside, the girl named Toreitia strode up to Qin Ming with a very stubborn expression.

"Sir Knight! You said you need soldiers for battle! I can be a soldier too! I swear I'll be braver than anyone else! I'll even fight without taking the soldier's food rations!"

That last sentence made Qin Ming, who was seated behind a broken table, narrow his eyes. He gave the brown-haired girl a strange look.

He had assumed she wanted to enlist just to get her hands on the special rations given to soldiers, but apparently, she really was here to fight.

"Alright then, you're in. Toreid, get your daughter a decent set of armor, and give her a pitchfork."

"No! I want a sword!"

"A sword?"

"Yes! I want a knight's weapon! Not some farm tool!"

"Fine, give her a sword."

After giving the order, Qin Ming watched Toreid and his daughter walk off, then looked up at the ragtag line of people still waiting to enlist. He couldn't help letting out a weary sigh.

He was currently trying to recruit more soldiers, attempting to expand his forces.

And his recruitment target was the last remnants of people in the village—anyone among the old, weak, women, and children who still had the strength to fight.

It clearly wasn't an easy task to convince them to take up arms. After all, even when they were on the brink of starving to death, none of them had ever thought to rebel.

So Qin Ming had publicly upgraded the benefits for his soldiers—benefits that set them apart from the peasants.

First, clothing benefits: soldiers could wear the best clothes and were allowed to wear armor.

Of course, ordinary folks didn't care much about that. They weren't planning to fight, so what use was armor to them?

What really moved them was the second benefit—food.

Qin Ming took the food in his inventory, merged a batch of it, and produced a large stockpile of high-quality black bread, wheat, and dried meat.

With just one upgrade, the original black bread that was mixed with wood shavings and barely edible—only good enough to stave off starvation—suddenly became fragrant and sweet, with a taste surprisingly close to modern bread.

And this kind of bread—not to mention commoners—even the knight lords of this era had never eaten anything like it.

He handed some out for everyone to sample, then immediately announced a new rule:

This bread was for soldiers only. Each soldier could receive one kilogram of it per day, along with 100 grams of upgraded dried meat, one pound of upgraded wheat, and a bottle of upgraded malt ale.

If a soldier were to die in battle, Sir Qin—Knight Qin himself—would provide a soldier's weight in upgraded food as compensation to the family.

Moreover, if soldiers killed enemies or brought refugees back to the village, they could earn extra points.

Once enough points were accumulated, they could be promoted and receive additional food rations.

That's right—Qin Ming was establishing a military merit system. He was using food to tempt these refugees into joining the army.

And it worked. Old men who knew they didn't have many years left were the first to respond.

Other able-bodied folks who had previously feared that dying in battle would leave their families helpless also began signing up.

Whether they were in it for promotion and rewards or for the compensation, Qin Ming didn't care. All that mattered was expanding his army.

After a busy afternoon, just as night began to fall, the recruitment was complete.

The original group of under a hundred pitchfork knights had grown to more than two hundred. Though the new recruits were an odd bunch, their morale was decent.

Qin Ming armed the newly formed unit and led them out immediately.

As for the food they had just received, the soldiers left it all at home for their families. With grim determination, these makeshift warriors followed Qin Ming to the battlefield.

Their target: Med Castle!

Medieval castles were all built to be sturdy military fortresses—taking one down was never easy.

But Med Castle was now leaderless and nearly empty of troops.

The garrison still stationed there didn't even know that Sir Med was already dead. When they saw a group of soldiers in their own armor approaching through the night, they assumed it was Sir Med returning from a campaign.

Under the dumbfounded gazes of Qin Ming and his resolute soldiers, the castle guards actually lowered the drawbridge as they approached.

Carrying pitchforks, Qin Ming's group entered the castle in bewilderment, only to find equally confused guards staring back at them in silence...

Just like that, the Pitchfork Knight Order had acquired its first castle—completely by accident.

After seizing the castle's ample food stores, Qin Ming immediately decided to expand his forces.

Gather refugees! Alert nearby villages! Recruit troops!

Then lead these troops to attack and capture other barons' territories—even their castles!

Fight! Kill! Seize land! Upgrade equipment! Expand the army! Then repeat the cycle...

Thanks to his unique abilities and the dual allure of armor + bread, within just one month, Qin Ming—who had started with barely a hundred refugee cannon fodder—rapidly amassed vast territories. He became a third force to rival both the Evil Duke and the Round Table Knights.

What? He was supposedly a centurion under King Arthur? Nonsense!

Since when was he part of the Round Table? Qin Ming was now the leader of the Pitchfork Knight Order! The great and just Duke Qin! The Chosen One commanding 300,000 knights!

Like the legendary divine child Arthur, Duke Qin had also drawn his kingly pitchfork before the masses, leading them on a path to freedom and justice!

And in the eyes of the Evil Duke's forces, this suddenly emerged and rapidly expanding Pitchfork Knight Order was an even greater threat than their sworn enemies, the Round Table Knights!

Because...

"Lord Mayor! The Pitchfork Knights are attacking!"

A knight stumbled in, screaming in panic.

The mayor, who had been frantically packing gold and silver into chests, looked up in alarm.

"How many are there?"

"Maybe three thousand! Or five thousand!"

"'Maybe'?! Give me an exact number!"

"I don't know! They came with food carts! They're shouting slogans outside right now!"

"Slogans?! Stop them from shouting! Shut them up! NOW!"

At the word "slogans," the mayor—who ruled a large city, eight castles, and over thirty villages with an army of five thousand—turned pale with terror.

Shoving past his aide, he rushed out to stop the enemy—only to be met with tsunami-like chanting the moment he opened the door.

Along with the shouts, objects rained into the city like a downpour.

Food. Qin Ming's enhanced food.

The so-called five thousand Pitchfork Knights outside actually numbered far fewer—only a few hundred real soldiers, with the rest being peasants pushing carts.

As they stuffed bread into their mouths, they used small catapults to hurl food into the city while chanting their order's slogan:

"Open the gates! Welcome Duke Qin! Duke Qin brings food for all! Open the gates! Welcome Duke Qin! Duke Qin brings food for all!"

Inside the city, both guards and peasants scrambled for the falling provisions. Soft bread, fragrant rice balls, delicious jerky—things they'd never tasted before now fell from the sky like manna.

The mayor who had rushed out turned ashen at the sight of his own soldiers fighting over the food.

He had good reason to panic. This exact tactic had already turned countless soldiers and peasants without a single casualty.

And everyone knew that if this didn't work, what followed would be an overwhelming assault.

The enemy would swarm in with deceptively crude yet impossibly sturdy armor, outnumbering defenders ten to one—leaving no survivors among resisting soldiers.

Peasants wanted the food. Soldiers didn't want to die.

By defecting, they could instantly join the enemy ranks for better treatment.

But if they stubbornly resisted? While peasants might be spared, every last soldier would be executed—no prisoners taken.

Under this dual pressure of threats and incentives, soldiers and peasants might very well join forces.

And if they did... the consequences for city leadership were obvious.

"Stop picking them up! Throw them back! Don't eat! DON'T EAT!"

The mayor charged into the crowd, lashing out with his whip at food-grabbing peasants and soldiers alike.

His reputation made those struck scatter—but as soon as he turned his back, others would rush in to take their place.

No matter how he ran around flailing his whip, it was like trying to empty the ocean with a cup. Even his hundred-strong personal guard couldn't stem the tide.

"ENOUGH! I SAID DON'T TAKE THEM!"

Watching the crowd immediately swarm back the moment he stepped away, the mayor finally snapped when a loaf of bread smacked him square in the face.

He threw down his whip, drew his sword, and hacked down two peasants and one soldier still gathering food, bellowing:

"THE NEXT ONE WHO DISOBEYS DIES! NO EATING! NO EATING!!"

The sudden violence brought instant silence.

Peasants clutching rice balls, soldiers with bread in their mouths—all turned as one to stare at the bloodstained mayor in their midst.

Then, slowly, they set down their food...

And reached for nearby weapons and farming tools instead.

(End of Chapter)