Staring at the dozens of heavily armed, aggressive soldiers across from him...
Then glancing back at his own soldiers, who had cowardly clustered into a ball and didn't even dare to come close...
Qin Ming, who had already charged up to the supply convoy, instantly lost all confidence as his expression collapsed.
Seeing the enemy's lead captain charging at him with a shield in one hand and a warhammer in the other, roaring as he ran, Qin Ming suddenly raised a hand.
"Wait! Hold on a second! Don't be in such a rush to fight! Let me handle my side of things first!"
Hearing this, the Horned Knight skidded to a halt, hammer in hand, and stopped abruptly.
Meanwhile, Qin Ming, clutching his dung fork with both hands, turned back toward his hundred-man squad and roared:
"What the hell are you all doing?! There's a battle happening here! What are you so scared of?! Didn't you say you haven't eaten in two days?! Isn't this convoy full of food?! Rob them!"
The few soldiers standing at the front of the group hesitated, hugging their upgraded dung forks with conflicted expressions.
"But we can't beat them..."
"What do you mean you can't beat them?! You haven't even tried fighting yet! How do you know you'll lose?! There are only thirty of them! You've got over a hundred! A hundred versus thirty and you're still afraid?! What the hell do you eat for?!"
"They've got armor..."
"Armor?! What armor?! You mean that tin can garbage that can't even block a dung fork?! What are you so afraid of?!"
As he ranted, Qin Ming turned and banged hard on the Horned Knight's armor beside him, slapping it repeatedly with loud thump thump thump sounds.
The Horned Knight's face darkened immediately after several slaps.
"Kid! I'm a knight! Show some respect! Are you gonna fight or not?!"
"Go, go, go away! I'm in the middle of disciplining my troops! Not your turn to talk! Where was I? Right! That armor is weak! If you can't stab through it, stab the gaps! One can't take him down? Then five of you gang up on him! Grab his arms, grab his legs! If it still doesn't work, kick him in the crotch! You—ouch!!"
Thud!
Before he could finish his sentence, a dull bonk sounded from Qin Ming's skull.
Watching this guy who had come to rob their supplies blatantly ignore him—and even try to slap his crotch—the Horned Knight finally lost it and went on the offensive.
With a vicious swing, he slammed his warhammer down on Qin Ming's head with a deep, heavy thunk, eyes full of murderous intent.
But to everyone's shock, Qin Ming didn't collapse like expected. Instead, he instinctively reached up, covered his head, turned with a dazed expression, and stared at him.
Silence blanketed the scene.
Everyone stared in disbelief as Qin Ming and the Horned Knight locked eyes.
After a long, awkward pause of three or four seconds, Qin Ming finally opened his mouth.
"You just hit me?"
Seeing that Qin Ming was still alive, the Horned Knight's eyes went wide in disbelief.
He looked down at his warhammer, then up at Qin Ming again.
Even he started to question reality—this was the first time he'd met someone who could take a full hit to the head like that and stay standing.
A bit stunned himself, the Horned Knight even tapped his own helmet with the hammer. After confirming it wasn't swapped out, he hesitantly replied:
"I guess… yeah."
Boom!
The moment Qin Ming got confirmation, he exploded in rage. He grabbed both horns of the Horned Knight's helmet with both hands and started smashing his head around wildly.
"I haven't even hit you yet and you dare strike first?! Are you out of your mind?!"
Caught off guard and with his head pinned down by the helmet, the Horned Knight couldn't lift his head at all. He thrashed and fought back, swinging his hammer wildly at Qin Ming, producing a series of dull thump thump thump sounds.
With both leaders suddenly brawling, the rest of the soldiers on both sides were thrown into chaos.
The supply guards exchanged glances, then drew their weapons without hesitation and charged in.
The hundred-something ragtag refugee soldiers stood frozen with fear, gripping their makeshift weapons.
Finally, the burliest man at the front clenched his jaw, raised his dung fork, and charged—triggering the rest of the group to follow and launch their assault.
Amid screams and shouting, the two forces clashed into full-scale battle.
Encounters with these so-called guerrilla squads formed by refugees were nothing new to the soldiers under the Evil Grand Duke.
With their villages destroyed and no food to eat, the refugees would often resort to robbing food convoys like this.
But despite their numbers, their success rate was abysmal. Just as the refugees themselves admitted—the soldiers of the Evil Grand Duke had armor.
With armor, superior strength, and better weapons, these trained troops could easily take on ten at a time.
The supply soldiers had completely underestimated the group of refugees in front of them.
However, as the two forces collided, the aggressive supply team suddenly realized that something seemed off this time!
The heavily armored swordsmen, wielding greatswords with both hands, roared as they led the charge into the crowd, trying to do as they always had—ignoring the enemy's resistance and slashing through the masses.
But as the forces collided, a sharp whoosh sounded, and one of the armored swordsmen at the front of the charge suddenly widened his eyes in disbelief.
He looked down, stunned, at his chest. His finely crafted iron chestplate, which could withstand ordinary swords and knives, had been pierced right through by a farm fork!
The iron spikes on the fork had pierced straight into the armor, causing blood to pour out of the wound and flow down the shaft of the weapon.
His armor was pierced by a farming tool?!
With a clank, his greatsword fell to the ground. The armored swordsman, still in shock, grabbed the farm fork with both hands in a desperate attempt to dislodge it.
The burly man opposite him, equally stunned, met his gaze. After a brief pause, the man suddenly roared and pushed with all his might, lifting the armored swordsman off the ground and forcing him forward.
Looking at the armored swordsman, now fully impaled on the farm fork, those supply soldiers who had been charging in panic stopped abruptly.
The militia, who had only just mustered the courage to charge in a swarm, also came to a halt.
With only a few meters separating the two sides, they stared at each other, wide-eyed, until the leading burly man of the militia pulled the farm fork free and threw the armored swordsman's corpse to the ground with a heavy thud. At that moment, both sides seemed to snap out of their stupor.
A series of terrifying screams rang out as the militia, with their farm forks raised high, suddenly charged at the supply team.
Realizing that the enemy's weapons were now far more dangerous than expected, the supply soldiers quickly turned to flee.
The militia, now emboldened, pursued relentlessly, with the refugee soldiers, who had once been on the run, now switching roles and becoming the aggressors.
As for the leaders of both sides? Qin Ming was still busy swinging his food bags, wildly slapping the Horned Knight.
…Ten minutes later, the chaotic battle finally came to an end. The militia had managed to kill a dozen of the enemy and send the rest fleeing. Now, they had returned to the convoy, desperately scrambling to grab the supplies.
Meanwhile, Qin Ming was still beating the already unconscious Horned Knight.
Only when the bag was completely torn did Qin Ming finally stop, breathing heavily. But as he looked up, he saw his useless subordinates running around, grabbing food at random!
Some were stuffing bread into their shirts, some were pouring rice into their broken backpacks, and others were hanging pieces of pork around their necks, eating as they went, shoving food into their mouths.
Seeing his subordinates, who looked like they were starving to death, Qin Ming's face darkened. He tossed aside the broken bag and marched over, kicking anyone he saw.
"What the hell are you doing?! All you know is eat, eat, eat! I didn't tell you to eat! Put everything back! You there! Yes, you! Put that bread back! And don't you dare roll your eyes at me! You—what the hell are you doing—get him some water! He's going to choke! Hurry!"
After a few punches and kicks, the food that had been stolen from the convoy was finally returned to the wagons.
The soldier who nearly choked on the bread was rushed back to safety.
With the wounded thrown into the cart, and everyone given some bread, jerky, and water, Qin Ming took the reins and led the team away.
As they made their way back, Qin Ming, riding the only warhorse, was holding a piece of bread, examining it closely.
He looked it over from all angles and even tapped it on his head.
Hearing a thunk, Qin Ming quickly tossed the bread back onto the cart.
Good heavens! This black bread was hardly bread at all! It was practically a rock!
It's amazing these guys could even chew it! And to think they could stuff so much of it into their mouths! Their teeth must be made of steel!
As the convoy continued on, it soon arrived at a village.
Or rather, what was left of a village.
The village had long been burned down, and the surrounding wheat fields had been harvested, leaving only ruins and scattered debris.
Hearing the sounds of the approaching convoy, a few figures appeared at the village entrance.
Upon seeing the militia, they quickly ran back into the village.
In no time, a large group of the elderly, sick, and frail emerged from every corner of the village.
They were the former villagers of this abandoned settlement, now refugees.
And they were also the family members of Qin Ming's hundred-man refugee squad.
(End of Chapter)