Lady, you need to strive

The wannabe warlord, obviously lacking the intelligence of a warlord, stood frozen for a moment.

While he hesitated, Damian wasted no time. The arrows from the 40 peasant archers' hunting bows all aimed at the unfortunate green-skinned warlord. His glistening green skin was pierced instantly, blood gushing forth.

In his rage, the green-skinned warlord forgot his most prudent choice was to retreat to his camp. Instead, he continued charging forward, intent on wreaking havoc among the peasant archers.

It was evident that the green-skinned leader's small brain hadn't anticipated the appearance of archers; where were the foot soldiers?

Eighty spear-wielding infantrymen emerged from the dense undergrowth of the forest. Their small round helmets, thick leather armor, cloth robes, and bare feet all spoke of their rustic origins. Yet, the glinting points of their spears hinted at their strength and the potential for a counter-attack.

While a green-skinned orc could often take on five adversaries, the sight of dozens of spears made their fervor falter.

Caught off guard, the green-skinned leader turned to see his subordinates far away. As he turned back, another volley of arrows struck him, filling his back with arrows.

Damian clenched his fist, victorious!

Green-skins without a leader and those with a leader were two different concepts. Green-skins without a leader would only engage in internal strife and pose no significant threat.

...

"What a clever ploy," said Joan after seeing through the monk's stratagem, surprised. "In this day and age, even monks can fight?"

The countess, upon hearing Joan's words, couldn't help but become slightly interested in the mysterious monk.

During the Middle Ages, monasteries were centers of education, technology workshops, and medicine, representing civilization in backward areas. Especially when nobles needed coins minted or accounts kept, they sought the assistance of monasteries.

However, it was unheard of for priests to engage in combat.

The inner palace knights also wanted to take the head of the green-skinned warlord, but they couldn't bear to use the precious countess as bait, so their plan failed.

Who would have thought that Damian would succeed where others failed?

...

"Hurry up, finish him off in one fell swoop!"

Damian, seeing the warlord covered in arrows, blood gushing, lying on the ground, couldn't help but pull the donkey that had run back, pick up a spear, and command the militia to continue the charge.

However, upon reaching the vicinity of the green-skinned warlord, the orc cunningly feigned death, hiding on the ground, and sprang up for a counterattack!

Damian was taken aback, not expecting this turn of events.

The knights on the hillside were all nervously standing up. Was this a glimmer of hope for survival coming to an end?

Of course not!

After hiding for eight years, Damian couldn't let this opportunity slip away!

Knowing he wasn't skilled in combat, Damian gritted his teeth and reversed the spear, stabbing it backhanded into the orc. The sharp spear penetrated flesh and bone, lodging deep, but the orc, unconcerned, grabbed back, trying to pull Damian off the donkey.

Seeing this, Damian ruthlessly kicked the donkey, urging it to gallop wildly, dragging the green-skinned orc along the winding hillsides.

Due to excessive blood loss, the green-skinned warlord was actually dragged and ran away.

Seeing a giant rock ahead, Damian flipped off the donkey, letting it and the green-skinned warlord crash into the rock.

The donkey died on the spot, the spear embedded in the rock plunged deeper into the green-skinned warlord's chest, spraying countless blood, staining the boulder red.

The green skin warlord was instantly killed!

[Level Up, Available Skill Points: 1]

[Killing the Green Skin Warlord, Gained Trait: Green Skin Slayer, Plunder Income +15%, Morale Boost against Green Skins +1]

Though losing his mount, Damian couldn't help but roar with joy upon seeing the dead green skin warlord. Eight years of confinement, from immaturity to maturity, from recklessness to restraint—breaking through the clouds and fog, how could he not be ecstatic?

Turning around, the militia, initially fearful of the imposing green skins, were now awed by their leader's strength. Many initially timid ones, now emboldened, actively launched attacks against the massive green skin camp.

Even the summoned soldiers, modified from ordinary people in this world, had their own thoughts; they weren't mere machines obeying orders.

With the warlord at the center of oppression gone, the green skin tribe instantly crumbled. The two tribes driven to the side fled immediately, while the main tribe without its leader erupted into chaos and flight. Several big orcs with goblins each carved out their factions, fearing being absorbed by other orcs.

Damian then commanded the 120 militia to charge in, dispersing the scattered green skins like cutting through butter, killing quite a few hefty ones.

As dusk descended and the dark clouds cleared, the fragmented green skins fled into the forest, and the knights of the inner court of Gothingen unusually lined up, welcoming their savior.

A mere monk.

The proud noble knights quickly recognized Damian's identity.

"A child of the Bovendon family, well done!"

"Come to my territory for hunting in the future; I won't tax you."

A crowd gathered around, almost squishing Damian into a ball of flesh. Behind them, the militia, seeing their leader respected so, stood tall and proud, as if honored.

"Cough cough."

Suddenly, a woman's voice interrupted the chattering among the knight families.

Damian peered out and saw a fierce female knight with sharp black hair, Joan. Her wheat-colored, healthy face held two bright black eyes shining with confidence and radiance, her slender and beautiful figure standing tall like a pine tree, exuding the aura of a knight.

She was Joan, the renowned "Shining" Knight of Gothingen.

Joan looked at Damian with mixed emotions, lightly biting her closed red lips. "Lady wants to see you, son of the Bovendon family."

It seemed Joan was regretting her failure to protect Countess Conosa.

Thinking of his father, who could face defeat at any moment, Damian quietly followed, walking into the half-destroyed carriage atop the high hill.

As he entered the tent, Damian's expression changed.

He saw the lady, exquisite and alluring like a goddess, sitting at the dressing table. Her gentle, gorgeous silk dress covered her slender, jade-like legs, the light veil gently draped over her pearl-like skin.

She was Countess Conosa von Norsenburg, the gem of Losa Lingia, captivating countless men.

She turned her head, and her emerald-like eyes met Damian's gaze.

Undoubtedly, Conosa was surprised. Not just by Damian's tall stature and exceptionally handsome face, but also by the confidence and never-give-up spirit he displayed.

"Mr Damian, thank you for your timely support." Conosa sighed lightly, intending to say more, but Damian's words shocked her on the spot.

Taking two steps closer, Damian said earnestly, "Lady, if you don't pull yourself together soon, in three or four days, both you and I will become exiled slaves."