Chapter 27: The Light After the War

On the battlefield where the scent of blood had yet to dissipate, the post-war cleanup was underway, both urgent and orderly. The soldiers carefully sorted the spoils of war and executed every Englishman who was not yet fully dead.

After a meticulous count, it was discovered that fewer than fifty had miraculously survived this brutal clash. Those who lived were thoroughly shaken.

“I’ve never experienced a war like this... this is easier than slaughtering peasants in the village!” one English soldier stammered, his lips trembling uncontrollably.

“This isn’t war; it’s a massacre! And we are the lambs being slaughtered!” another cried out in despair.

Among these captives, to everyone’s astonishment, were three knights directly under King Edward III and a lord, thanks to Baron Morey’s extensive network. They were already utterly terrified by this utterly one-sided battle, their faces pale as paper, eyes filled with fear and hopelessness. Upon seeing Countess Jeanne of Erbourg, clad in exquisite armor, it was as if they grasped a final lifeline, shouting desperately:

“Please show mercy! We will truly pay ransom!”

Their voices quivered as their hands flailed, trying to convey sincerity and a desperate will to survive.

Countess Jeanne, still immersed in shock over the battle’s outcome, had no time to heed their pleas. Her gaze was deep and contemplative as she surveyed the battlefield, her mind racing.

When Resserit suggested borrowing troops to stage an ambush, she readily cooperated, having witnessed the knight’s recent brilliance—Resserit had effortlessly dealt with four English foraging parties. Trusting him, she even unhesitatingly handed over temporary command of the army.

Yet the results before her far exceeded her expectations.

Not a single one of their own had been wounded, yet they had defeated eight hundred elite troops directly under the English crown. If it had been a frontal clash, her three thousand mostly conscripted soldiers would not have been so confident of victory.

Moreover, they had not only achieved a complete victory but had also captured most of the enemy’s weapons, armor, and horses intact. This had come so easily, almost miraculously—the spoils had practically been handed over by the enemy, making the aftermath far easier than collecting them personally on the battlefield.

Countess Jeanne was thrilled beyond words, her face radiant with excitement and admiration. She strode quickly toward Resserit and exclaimed loudly:

“Resserit, you are truly remarkable—like a reincarnation of Charles Martel!”

Her eyes shone with praise and wonder.

Resserit himself was filled with both curiosity and astonishment, deeply admiring Carlo’s command skills. He had once asked Carlo:

“Carlo, how do you do it? Those brilliant tactics, the wisdom that turns the tide on the battlefield—where do you learn it?”

Carlo responded calmly, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather:

“Just from reading more stories about Alexander and studying Caesar’s writings.”

Mounted on his horse, Resserit looked out over the slightly disordered battlefield, silently resolving to find some military books to study once he returned.

He increasingly realized that such masterful command far surpassed his usual headlong charges on the field. Thinking this, he glanced at the young yet extraordinarily talented squire Carlo by his side, his eyes full of admiration.

With a humble smile, Resserit respectfully said:

“Actually, it wasn’t me. This battle was commanded by my squire, Carlo.”

Jeanne, hearing this, turned her gaze toward Carlo beside Resserit.

It was the second time she had seen Carlo. He remained the spirited young lad, standing tall in the sunlight that warmed his shoulders, bringing her a sense of joy.

A faint, captivating smile curved on Jeanne’s lips.

Yet within Carlo stirred a different sensation.

He secretly mused that in his previous life, he had seen countless glamorous actresses on screens. Their exquisite faces and flawless makeup had long given him a form of “aesthetic immunity.” Compared to them, Jeanne was beautiful but only “decent.”

He soon felt a twinge of shame for such thoughts.

After all, in this era, a woman donning heavy armor and resolutely stepping onto a blood-soaked, perilous battlefield required immense courage and fortitude.

He grew curious about what kind of passionate, powerful heart lay hidden beneath that delicate frame.

This was also the second time Jeanne had heard Resserit praise Carlo.

She couldn’t help but admire not only Resserit’s extraordinary ability but also his humility, a true embodiment of knightly virtue.

“Resserit, would you consider changing your lordship to Erbourg? I can grant you the title of baron directly.”

Resserit bowed slightly, his expression firm yet respectful.

“Thank you for your kindness, Your Ladyship, but Flanders is where my family and ancestors have lived for generations. My forebears swore eternal loyalty to the Count of Flanders. Our family has faithfully served the Counts of Flanders for over five centuries, so I cannot consider transferring my allegiance.”

In truth, Resserit had wrestled with this decision—the prospect of becoming a baron was highly tempting. But the honor and legacy of his family weighed heavily on him, an unbreakable bond.

Jeanne’s admiration for Resserit deepened upon hearing this.

In these turbulent times, there were indeed many like him, devoted unwaveringly to their liege, just as the Count of Flanders was steadfast to Philip VI.

She nodded gently, smiling:

“Very well, Resserit. I admire you and will honor your glory. You shall not be my vassal, but you have my everlasting friendship. Your name as a knight will be celebrated by me.”

A warm current surged in Resserit’s heart.

“Your Ladyship, it is my honor. But I would also like to introduce you to my squire, Carlo. Though young, he is the most knightly and divinely skilled commander I have ever known.”

Jeanne finally regarded Carlo earnestly on the battlefield. Despite his youth, his determined eyes and upright posture revealed his extraordinary nature.

Trusting Resserit’s judgment and honor, she believed the man he so highly praised must indeed be exceptional.

Perhaps what Resserit said was true?

Curiosity and intrigue stirred within Jeanne, and she laughed heartily:

“Ha ha, greetings, Carlo.

You must learn well from your knight, Resserit. He is an outstanding knight.

I heard your first impression was that I should be your lady, though I later learned that was a misunderstanding.

Be my knight instead.

But you are still too young to be officially knighted.

When you turn twenty-one, come to me, and I shall grant you the title of knight of the fief.”

Encouragement and expectation shone in Jeanne’s eyes as she lightly patted Carlo’s shoulder.

Carlo thought to himself that Countess Jeanne was truly generous and kind.

He knew this was no longer the early Middle Ages; titles and fiefs were not so easily granted.

Even if it wasn’t a misunderstanding, being a countess’s squire seemed far more promising than serving under Resserit.

Yet he was no longer naïve upon crossing into this world. He understood the era prized loyalty, and a knight’s squire was part of the feudal nobility.

If he were to propose becoming Jeanne’s squire, such a breach of protocol would not only fail but likely earn disdain.

Still, he grew excited again, knowing that a fief knight meant genuine noble status with hereditary lands.

Erbourg, a coastal county in Normandy, was quite prosperous.

Jeanne, so beautiful, elegant, generous, and resolutely committed to the battlefield, commanded deep respect.

He quickly knelt on one knee, saluting with reverence:

“Thank you, Your Ladyship. I shall fulfill the duties of a knight’s squire and strive to become a worthy knight as soon as possible.”

Resserit also expressed heartfelt gratitude:

“Your Ladyship, thank you. It is an honor for Carlo to be so esteemed by you, and an honor for me as well.”

Jeanne looked at the young, vibrant face of Carlo, a subtle ripple stirring within her.

She herself was somewhat puzzled why every time she saw this youth, an indescribable joy welled up inside her.

Perhaps it was his courage and intelligence shining on the battlefield, or the unique charm in his clear, resolute eyes.

She only knew that her attention to Carlo exceeded that given to others; every glance exchanged quickened her heartbeat slightly.

Yet these feelings were still vague in her heart; she simply thought Carlo was an exceptionally promising young man.

With that thought, a satisfied smile spread across her lips. She waved cheerfully:

“Ha ha, no thanks needed, Resserit. You are my friend, and your squire Carlo will surely be a promising protégé of mine.”

Having said this, Jeanne turned to begin organizing the troops to return to camp. As she walked, she instructed an attendant beside her:

“Go and carefully inventory the spoils of war. Set aside one thousand pounds and deliver it to Lord Resserit as recognition of his outstanding contribution in this battle.”

The bloody scent on the battlefield gradually faded, sunlight poured over the land that had just witnessed combat, and the lingering mist slowly dispersed.