"Your Grace, you said that our homes lie just behind us." Despite the unease and fear of his first battle showing on his face, the young man replied to Malin with the most unwavering voice. After he finished speaking, he knelt on one knee before Malin: "Your Grace, we will definitely not let you down. Sacrifice is for the better lives of our families. We understand, and we know why we give our lives."
This was the child of a Knight, instinctively adopting the Noble’s manner in addressing Malin, while Malin patted his shoulder: "Every one of you will be a Knight of this city, so stand up, and face the enemy with me."
This time, the young man’s face showed more pride and arrogance: "Am I a Knight too, Your Grace?"
"Yes, everyone is a Knight of this city. It’s not just a title; it won’t grant you status or identity. All of you, like me, stand on this earth and face everything in this world. Just like those comrades who have faced the Black Orcs to the North, you are my Knights, the Knights of this city. Perhaps those Nobles won’t acknowledge all this, but I do."
"That is enough for me, Your Grace. Even if it’s just in your eyes, we can be proud as Knights. Now, I must go and rally my troops. Please permit me to leave, Lord Malin."
"Go, go and rally your troops."
After Malin spoke, he watched the young man turn and run toward the direction where the city guard was assembling.
"Every man a Knight of the city?" The Elf Ambassador exclaimed, "Mr. Malin, you always seem to have a way to lift spirits."
"Because right now, all I can give them is honor and an equivalent exchange," Malin said and then sighed in silence.
He could only offer these young men the glory of a death in battle, he could only give them money so their families would have a place to live, so their children could grow up without worry, so their wives... would have no concerns for the future.
"Because war always leads to death; he could only lead them to die over and over again," Malin continued, then turned to glance at the Elf Ambassador, "How do you Elves regard death?"
"Death is a cycle of returning to the World Tree; in our civilization, it’s a peaceful process. Only those who have protected the homeland or the World Tree are entitled to pride," the Elf Ambassador responded with a sigh. "I can understand your thoughts, Mr. Malin. You always try your best to keep everyone alive, but death is a part of war. Telling them why they die is already very merciful for a commander."
"Yes, I tell them because I believe everyone has the right to live, but I understand, war always involves death... So sometimes, I must let some of them face death head-on, and at such times, I have to tell those troops on the most dangerous missions that it is my own hand pushing them towards hell..." Malin finished, taking a deep breath, "That’s all I can do..."
"Sir, you have done what no commander could achieve. And what frightens me more is that they march proudly to their doom, knowing it well. Your men are the bravest soldiers I have seen; even if they aren’t Elves, I would still be proud to stand shoulder to shoulder with these warriors." The Elf Ambassador spoke, placing a hand over his chest.
"This is my principle... I must tell my soldiers what it is we’re fighting for." After speaking, Malin reached out to catch the descending messenger from the spirit realm: "Ah, our model one has arrived."
"Lady Matilda is indeed a natural pilot."
"As I’ve said, though she is a Paladin, she’s very adept at embracing new things."
Malin and the Elf Ambassador watched as the diminutive mechanical body emerged from the transport portal.
The Half-human loading crew was hanging in a basket, while on the other side lay a four-barreled machine gun, another Half-human crew was adjusting the feeding system, and a Dwarven Archer was bellowing, which was met with roars from the Half-humans.
Could they really manage all this?
Malin had his doubts.
Then he heard Matilda’s curses and saw the Dwarves and Half-humans bow their heads like mice before a cat, starting to work earnestly.
"Your lady sure has a way with people," the Elf Ambassador commented, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I think it’s more about who’s louder," Malin said while catching a gas mask from the logistics team, a rubber product imitating those from World War I. The filters of the mask contained leaves from the World Tree; fresh leaves were the best at filtering poisons, while dried and crushed leaves also had a decent effect. Malin’s idea was to issue one mask per person with three filter cartridges. If this didn’t kill the Rat-men below, Malin would have to call in the heavy artillery to smash the floorboards and utterly destroy them—eradicate them before they could take root in this clan.
"Your Grace, I have brought my troops," the young man’s voice made Malin turn; he saw a force much larger than a single unit. Some soldiers even had tattoos of anchors on their left arms, likely the mark of merchant fleet marines.
Malin raised an eyebrow, "Have your men button up their sleeves, and next time, don’t treat me as a fool who cannot count." After speaking, Malin lightly kicked the young man in the shin—careful not to hurt him.