Pledge of Allegiance

 The Knight of Gosseur stood on a hillock, looking away from a group of tribes in the distance, this was his destination - Clan MacDonald.

 Scattered slaves were watching over the sheep not far away, mischievous children chased after each other with reckless abandon, a peaceful atmosphere.

 Suddenly, more than a dozen cavalrymen surrounded Gosseur from his left and right sides, and before Gosseur could react, all kinds of bronze weapons were on his neck.

 "I surrender! Warriors! Put down your swords first, I am a messenger sent by His Majesty the King!"

 The Knight of Gosseur had the good sense to beg for mercy, not forgetting to emphasize his status, especially with the word king pronounced heavily.

 "Okay! I'll take you to the chief! Don't act rashly!" Among the group of cavalrymen, the most stoutly built man was the first to speak, and it was clear that he had a lot of authority.

 "Okay! Then can you guys put your knives down? Your chief is going to blame you if you hurt me by mistake!" Gosseur scowled, softly soliciting the lanky man's opinion with a shadowed threat in his tone.

 "Clatter~" hearing this white face in front of him like that, Johnny sensed that he wasn't much of a threat, so he nodded toward the cavalry, and there was a loud clatter of weapons being put away.

 Immediately afterward, Gosseur was escorted along like a tortured prisoner, causing him a lot of pain.

 Before long, he arrived at the cluster of tribes he had seen, hundreds of tents if he looked deeper in, and that was just on either side of the walk into the center of the tribe.

 There should be around five hundred tents if you make a bold estimate. Knight Gosseur thought silently in his mind, surprised in his heart.

 In a tribe like this where all the people live in the same tent, almost all the families live in the same tent, so two warriors can come out of each tent, and this McDonald's tribe alone can come out of more than a thousand warriors.

 And slaves are also considered a class of warriors ah, so this tribe is expected to be able to produce more than fifteen hundred warriors, which is also its limit. In this era where tens of thousands of people are a battle, a tribe has the strength of a count in Europa.

 The warriors of the Scottish Highlands, each one of them tall, were the bravest warriors in the whole of Scotland, and they were unafraid even in the face of the heavily armed English heavy knights.

 There are a dozen such great tribes in the Highlands loyal to the King of Scotland, and countless more of all colors, and they are Scotland's greatest strength against England.

 Gosseur then entered a large, relatively speaking, most luxurious tent, where a large, middle-aged man with a straggly black and white beard sat in a wolfskin wooden chair.

 "Servant of Her Majesty, the Great Queen of Scotland, Gosl Yarli meets Lord Baron MacDonald!" Gosseur rubbed his left hand over his chest and bowed his head slightly in respect.

 Arsham MacDonald was the head of the MacDonald tribe and a baronet through James V of Scotland, so Gosseur had to do the noble salute.

 "Oh! what news that fellow James of Edinburgh brings me!" The chieftain exclaimed ostentatiously, without the least concern for the Earl of Argyll's regency.

 "This is the letter that Lord Regent has brought to you, please read it!" Gosseur pretended as if he didn't hear it, and directly took out the letter he had clipped to his chest, ready to hand it over to the maid next to him.

 "No need! You just give me a direct hit!" Chief Ascham stopped Gosseur and commanded directly.

 "Aye! Honorable Baron!" Gosseur forgot about the fact that these barbarians who only knew how to fight couldn't read, and explained aloud.

 "Lord Chief, it's mainly England ..." It took a waste of ten minutes for Chief Ascham to finally understand what was going on, and Gosseur breathed a sigh of relief.

 "So! Here we are at war with the English bunch! It's not early, so why all the dilly-dallying! You aristocrats are just dawdling!"

 This sentence made Gosseur dumbfounded, and he didn't have the guts to dislike him, after all, they could really be a bunch of barbarians, and he wouldn't have a place to look for reason if he killed him for no reason.

 "Johnny! Hurry up and get the lads together, a warrior from each house, the Queen of Edinburgh needs us!"

 Chief Ascham spoke loudly toward the lanky man escorting Gosseur, who responded loudly in kind, turned and headed out of the tent.

 The next thing Gosseur saw was an unforgettable scene of a family of women and children joyfully bidding farewell to their husbands or fathers and organizing their weapons.

 In less than half an hour's work, more than five hundred brave warriors with bronze weapons in their hands gathered in front of the chief's tent in a spectacular manner.

 "Knight Gosseur! Look what a brave warrior this is! And how the English are our opponents!"

 Looking at the slugger in front of him, who averaged a whopping six feet in height, while the muscles in his arms looked exaggerated due to his regular consumption of lamb.

 Compared to those knights in Edinburgh, except for their weapons, these tribal warriors outclassed those knights in every other way.

 Knights like Gosseur were sent as if they were sown by the Regent, Earl James Hamilton, to the Northern Highlands region of Scotland.

 Thus, after more than ten days, Edinburgh had brought together more than twenty thousand tribal barbarians, and more than ten thousand private soldiers of the nobility who had been summoned, as well as hundreds of knights of all colors, which was almost the whole force of Scotland.

 While the numbers look large, they almost have an Achilles heel - weapons.

 Scotland has always been rich in minerals such as coal, iron and copper, but iron ore is very difficult to mine, so the Scots have always mixed copper and tin to make bronze, which has become the weapon they have always used.

 Only those local knights were clad in iron armor and used iron weapons, drawing a good deal of envy from those Highland warriors.

 On August 12th of that year, all the troops of Scotland were assembled in the suburbs of Edinburgh, and the regent, James Hamiston, Earl of Arran, came to hold a pledge of allegiance.

 Those tribal warriors from the highlands were placed in the left position, while the nobles' private soldiers were positioned on the right, and at the forefront were the knights and the leaders of the nobles and tribes who had arrived from all over the world.

 The warriors of the tribe stood loosely, but overall they looked exceptionally tough, so the recently arrived Lord Regent made a point of watching them carefully.

 And because of that plundering battle four years ago, where the knights, because of their proximity, were quickly enlisted to fight against the English, there were heavy losses, and this war they came to make up the numbers.

 Embraced by a group of nobles, the Count walked to the specially constructed wooden platform, cleared his throat, and let go of his voice and spoke

 "All nobles, knights! And Her Majesty's loyal warriors! As you must already know, the shameful thieves from the south are preparing to invade our territory again!"

 "They have burned and pillaged their way through the lands of Scotland, and this time they have even come to rob our Majesty!"

 "With this in mind, the council of elders and many nobles deliberated, and we decided to pummel those barbaric Englishmen!"

 "Let us, under God's guidance, fight together for Her Majesty!"

 "Fight for the Queen!" "Fight for the Queen!" ......

 At the Lord Earl's speech, the knights in the front row shouted in unison, followed by the soldiers and highland warriors behind them.