British hegemon

Chapter 25 Assembling the "Bandit Suppression Army"

When he returned to the castle camp with three thugs who had just been released from prison, a dozen bandit-suppression "warriors" had already divided up all the weapons and armor they had scavenged from the fortress armory.

Birds of a feather flock together, and people of similar backgrounds group together; the dozen or so men in the military camp were roughly divided into three regiments.

Baldy and Toothless believed that survival was the most important thing, so armor was the most important thing. The cloth armor should be left to Roger, so they didn't dare to touch it. Instead, they wrapped themselves in two sets of tattered cotton armor.

The bald man had somehow gotten hold of some needle and thread and was trying to sew up the tear in the chest of the cotton armor. However, judging from his rough needlework, it would definitely tear again after a few steps.

The cotton armor on the missing tooth was full of holes and couldn't be repaired, so he simply ignored it and wore it with holes here and there, which was quite trendy.

Although the other thugs had a bad reputation on the island, none of them were cowards who could stay in this military camp. Their usual bullying tactics were completely ineffective here.

So during the earlier looting, the three thugs only managed to get a chipped sword and a short spear. Now, the five thugs are gathered together discussing how to divide them among themselves.

However, the islanders who had fought alongside the army had quite a few weapons. They were most familiar with short spears, so the remaining five short spears were all in their hands.

In addition, they were given two small, badly damaged round shields. These people were essentially simple, honest civilians, and they didn't know how to distribute the seven weapons and protective gear among the nine people, leaving them in a dilemma.

The two hunters certainly didn't participate in the looting. They made a living by hunting, and naturally carried hunting bows and short knives with them. Although those two hunting bows weren't military grade, they were definitely more useful than those broken knives and swords, so they simply stood aside and watched the show.

As for the fat widow, she clearly didn't know how to use weapons, let alone choose them. At that time, relying on her large size, she rushed into the crowd and grabbed a weapon randomly. The thin machete in the fat widow's hand felt no better than a kitchen knife for cutting vegetables. She was looking at the others with a blank expression.

Roger, who led a few gaunt thugs into the room, attracted everyone's attention. The bald man immediately recognized the filthy, emaciated man following Roger as Blackie, and rushed over to hug him with a look of surprise, "Blackie, what brings you out here?"

"Hey buddy, you've lost weight." The bald man glanced at Roger, who was talking to some islanders, and quickly pulled a piece of bread from his black wool sweater and stuffed it into the black dog's hand. "Eat up."

The bald man then noticed the two thugs following behind the black dog, recognizing them as the same guys who had been locked up in the dungeon recently. He exclaimed in surprise, "How did you all get out?"

The two thugs, who had just been released from prison, were staring at the black dog's bulging mouth, their Adam's apples bobbing incessantly.

The bald man turned his head and looked around, then pulled out two pieces of bread he had secretly hidden from his pocket. The two thugs quickly took them and stuffed them into their mouths.

Before long, the black dog had rolled his eyes and swallowed the bread in his throat before replying, "Young Master Roger came to the dungeon saying he was going to fight those pirates in the north of the island. Anyone who dared to go with him was released, and if they could drive the pirates away, they would be pardoned. I'm not afraid of death, so of course I came out."

"Green toad, what's going on?" The black dog was surprised to find that the bald man had changed his attire, now wearing a full set of cotton armor and a black-sheathed dagger tucked into his waistband. "Are you going to fight too?"

"I've been doing this lately..."

"Bald man." Just as Baldy was about to launch into a grand boast about his heroic deeds of the past two days, Young Master Roger's voice rang out from behind him. He quickly turned around and lowered his head. "Young Master Roger, did you call me?"

"Take a few of them to the market town and collect all the useful tools the islanders brought. Tell them that young master Roger pays rent, a quarter penny for each item."

"We need to be selective. We're going to fight pirates; those guys are for self-defense."

"You lot better keep your mouths shut. Don't go around telling anyone about our plans, or I'll cut your tongues out."

The bald man nodded and bowed, repeatedly agreeing.

"By the way, bring in the blue mule that I've tied up in the stable, and have my steward put the prepared drinks and food on its back. We'll have to have dinner tonight in the north."

"Yes, yes, young master." The bald man led the islanders that Roger had pointed out out of the military camp.

............

Some weapons were piled up on the open ground outside the military barracks.

Two sets of weapons and armor for the security guards, a badly damaged cloth armor, a crossbow and a bundle of arrows.

Beside these weapons were a pile of weapons used in folk brawls: a wood-splitting axe, two long-handled sickles, a blacksmith's heavy hammer, three thick-headed long sticks, and an iron-tipped pitchfork, and even a homemade spiked club with iron nails stuck in it.

Roger seriously doubted whether people of this era understood village brawls in a way that was too bloody. He picked up a sickle from the ground and pressed his thumb against it to test the blade.

This long-handled sickle is extremely sharp. The blade is made of refined iron and is very thin. There is a rib on the back of the blade. The blade is shaped like a crescent moon. The entire sickle is shaped like an extra-large sickle, as tall as a person. It is the most important and valuable farming tool in a farmer's home.

If you accidentally get your head caught on this thing, the scene would be far too bloody.

Under the eaves of the military camp, with the efforts of several islanders who had fought in the war, twenty-one people managed to stand in two crooked rows on the open ground outside the camp.

Several servants and guards from the castle were watching the spectacle from the sidelines, pointing and whispering.

Roger adjusted the cotton armor he had taken from the security guards over his leather armor. It was really uncomfortable to wear, so he decided to take it off soon and put it back on when they arrived at their destination. Otherwise, he would die of heat before they even got there.

I don't know how those security guards can stand wearing this gear all year round.

"Those who have fought more than three battles, step forward!" Roger roared.

After some whispering among the crowd, an islander timidly asked, "Young Master Roger, does a defeat count?"

This caused a burst of laughter from the castle servants who were watching the spectacle.

Roger turned and glared at them fiercely, and the crowd immediately dispersed.

"A defeat counts too," Roger replied helplessly, turning around.

A man stepped forward from the line. He was short but strong. He was the third islander from the church to apply for a job. He was a forgetful gambler who had lost his wife to someone else.

"He served as a spearman?" Roger thought to himself. These cannon fodder were usually spearmen, so it wasn't hard to guess.

"Yes, Master Roger."

"Have you ever served as a front-line spearman?"

"We did it once, but the English chased us for miles." This guy was honest enough to even bring up the embarrassing story of being chased for miles after a defeat.

Roger raised his hand to stop him from further undermining morale, and pointed to the cotton armor and iron-winged short spear that he had taken from another security guard. The islander stepped forward, took the weapons and armor himself, and put them on rather clumsily.

"Those who have fought two battles, step forward."

Three islanders stepped forward this time, all with the dull look of ordinary farmers.

Roger walked up to the strongest farmer and noticed a scar on his chin. "From the enemy?"

"Yes, yes, it was kicked by the Englishman's horse."

Roger said "Oh," and then asked, "Have you killed any enemies?"

"I stabbed an enemy in the butt with a spear. I was in a hurry to retreat, so I don't know if he died or not."

Another person who has experienced defeat, but his words were much more tactful than the last.

"Very good. It's brave of you to raise your spear and stab the enemy in the backside." Roger really didn't know how to encourage him.

Roger turned to the bald man in the line behind the farmer, who was wearing a padded coat and standing tall with his head held high, and shouted, "Bald man, take off your padded coat and give it to him."

This is a life-saving tool; the bald man wouldn't easily give it to anyone, so he hesitated and was unwilling to make a move.

"Take it off and give it to him. You use the crossbow to fight the enemy from the rear." Roger bent down and picked up the crossbow from the ground.

Upon hearing that he could fight the enemy from the rear, the bald man thought for a moment and immediately took off his tattered cotton armor.

"Young master, I can also use a crossbow." The farmer who stabbed the enemy in the butt earlier also refused to wear the cotton armor, knowing that those who wore armor would definitely be at the forefront.

"No, young master needs a warrior like you to charge into battle with me. Go and choose a suitable iron spear."

The farmer looked distressed.

"Don't worry, the further ahead you go, the more bounty you'll get." Roger said, then gestured for the farmer to quickly return to the group, and quickly replaced the weapons for the remaining two.

"Next up is the one who thinks he's brave and daring, stepping forward."

Seven or eight people stepped forward, including both thugs and islanders. They were all shrewd and knew that the number of weapons available would decrease as time went on.

But what they didn't know was that the better their weapons and armor, the greater the chance of being forced to charge forward and dying.

Roger inspected each of them and, based on a rough estimate of their combat capabilities, issued them weapons with significant lethality, such as short spears, long-handled sickles, and spiked clubs.

That set of cloth-covered iron armor was originally left to Roger by Baldy, but Roger saw that it was badly damaged and very heavy, so he gave it to Blackie, who had just been released from prison.

"Fat widow, what weapon do you want? Pick one."

The fat widow strode forward, glanced at the few remaining weapons, threw down the machete in her hand, picked up the blacksmith's heavy hammer, weighed it in her hand, and found it to be quite handy.

"The rest of you, pick a weapon that suits your needs."

Those who hadn't gotten any weapons rushed forward to grab the "weapons" on the ground.

A moment later, the twenty-one bandit-suppressing "warriors" were basically all equipped with the same gear, with a few even fully armored and armed. At first glance, they actually looked quite impressive.

"Let's go. From now on, no one is allowed to speak without permission, and no one is allowed to leave the group without authorization." Roger led a horse chosen from the castle stables and headed towards the small gate at the back of the castle...

Including Roger himself, there were twenty-two "warriors" plus a horse and a mule. The mighty "bandit-suppression army" sneaked out of the back gate of Brodick Castle, stretched out in a long column on the gentle slope behind the castle, and pointed its "army" straight to the north.