Infinity, The Arcade Age-Chapter 409: The Pitchfork Knights

The soldiers under Qin Ming weren't just conjured out of thin air—they had families in this world, and they had their pasts too.

If they hadn't truly run out of options, how could a group of farmers, who didn't even have a piece of leather armor and were armed with nothing but farm tools, dare to gather and rise in rebellion?

This so-called hundred-man unit was, at its core, merely a pack of desperate beasts forced together for a last-ditch struggle for survival.

The typical outcome should have been a failed raid for food, followed by the entire group being casually wiped out by the regular army.

The elderly, women, and children waiting on them to bring back food would've starved alongside them.

Refugee villages and roaming bands like these were a common sight in these chaotic times.

But this time, their all-or-nothing gamble had, surprisingly, paid off.

As the wagons stopped, the militiamen looked at their approaching families across the way but didn't dare rush forward.

They only cautiously looked up at Qin Ming, waiting until he, seated on his tall warhorse, gave a slight nod. Only then did the crowd erupt in cheers and rush to unload food from the wagons and begin distributing it.

They lit fires, boiled water, and cooked on the spot.

A few of the more starved refugees even started gnawing directly on the deadly-hard black bread.

This so-called black bread was really just baked dough made from wheat and wild vegetables. To make it heavier, the bakers had even mixed in sand and sawdust.

One could easily imagine how terrible it tasted. But at this point, people were so close to starvation that they'd chew on tree bark, let alone this.

Watching the crowd around him devouring food like madmen, Qin Ming dismounted, crossed his arms, and leaned against a wall, his brow furrowed deeply.

Just then, footsteps approached. The current village leader—none other than the burly man who'd fought the hardest earlier—stepped up to him.

He looked at Qin Ming, then quickly took a plate from his daughter and respectfully held it out.

"Sir Knight, your meal."

Qin Ming looked down at the plate piled with salted meat and a rare mug of malt ale. He raised an eyebrow.

"You eat it. I'm not hungry."

"But..."

"After you're done eating, gather all the able-bodied. We're holding a meeting to discuss what happens next."

"What happens next?"

The middle-aged man looked puzzled.

Qin Ming rolled his eyes. "The food was stolen by a bunch of refugees. Do you seriously think the other side is just going to let that slide? If you don't plan how to deal with them now, are you going to wait around to be slaughtered?"

"Oh! I'll go gather everyone now! Right away!"

Realizing the danger, the village head dropped the food and scrambled off, shouting as he ran into the crowd.

A few minutes later, the hundred-man unit was gathered once again.

Facing the dark mass of soldiers gripping their farm tools and looking at him, Qin Ming stood with his arms crossed.

"Everyone here?"

"All here!"

"Good. Let's get down to business. The enemy's troops will be coming soon. You have two choices: one, abandon the food and run. Two, fight to the death to keep it. Choose one."

His words dropped, and the militia looked at each other in hesitation.

After a few seconds of silence, the burly leader cautiously raised his voice.

"Sir Knight... can't we run with the food?"

"We can—but the wagons have to use the main roads. You'd better pray they don't catch up. Otherwise, with all the old and weak dragging us down, we'll get picked off one by one."

"This..."

They looked at the food they'd just obtained and wore deeply conflicted expressions.

They didn't dare fight the regular army, but they were equally unwilling to give up the food.

Finally, the burly man looked up at Qin Ming and gritted his teeth.

"Sir Knight! We'll follow your lead!"

Though they hadn't known Qin Ming for long—in fact, they'd just met—they had no real trust or bond with him. They'd simply chosen to follow a passing knight in rebellion because they had no better choice.

But Qin Ming's combat prowess and those strange, powerful enhancement spells had left them stunned.

Now, uncertain what to do, they instinctively chose to follow him.

And this was exactly what Qin Ming was waiting for.

Nodding firmly, he said sternly, "Good! Then I'll take command. Let me be clear—if anyone disobeys, I will kill you myself!"

"Understood!"

"Gather every able-bodied fighter in the village. The rest—take some food and hide in the mountains. And send people to collect anything that can remotely be called a weapon in the village—bring it all to me! Got it? All of it!"

"Yes, sir!"

"And those spoils from earlier—the armor you stripped off the enemy corpses—bring me all of that too!"

At Qin Ming's loud command, the soldiers scattered, and the elderly, women, and children who had eaten their fill began to carry food up the mountain.

Minutes later, the militiamen regrouped, and in front of Qin Ming was a large pile of makeshift weapons that could hardly be called weapons at all.

There was a massive heap of broken farming tools, some so damaged they couldn't be used.

Among them were iron pots, iron hooks, and even some iron objects dismantled from buildings.

The militia had truly brought everything they could consider a weapon. It was clear they were determined to keep the food they had just obtained.

After rummaging through the pile of junk for a while, Qin Ming found a few pieces of gear that had been recognized by the space but couldn't be brought out of this world. He began to combine them one by one.

While he combined, he handed out weapons and gear to the soldiers.

"Can you use a sword?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"How about a bow?"

They shook their heads again.

"A knife, at least?"

They continued shaking their heads.

"Then what can you use?!"

The militiamen exchanged glances before they all raised their farming tools.

Seeing this, Qin Ming's face collapsed in despair. He was too tired to say anything further. He began enhancing the pitchforks and armor in bulk.

If there was iron armor, he enhanced the iron armor; if not, he enhanced the leather armor.

If they didn't even have leather armor, he enhanced cloth armor.

After a lot of resource management and scavenging through the entire village, Qin Ming finally managed to arm his makeshift unit, though barely.

Thanks to his modifications and enhancements, the hundred-man militia now looked even worse than they did at the beginning.

One soldier wore tattered leather armor and carried a pitchfork, his head bizarrely topped with a wooden bucket.

Another wore cloth armor, but had two chopping boards tied around his chest with ropes.

One soldier's getup was even more outlandish, as he was carrying a large iron pot on his back!

The leader of the hundred-man group, the middle-aged man, wore the cow-horn armor stripped from a Cow Horn Knight. His outfit looked somewhat decent, but he still held a pitchfork in hand, with just one shield added for protection.

After all, these people had spent their lives working the land and weren't exactly trained in weaponry. Expecting them to wield swords and knives in such a short time was asking too much.

So Qin Ming just let them use pitchforks—after all, they were familiar with them.

The leader adjusted his oversized and severely deformed cow-horn helmet and nervously looked at Qin Ming.

"Sir, what should we do next?"

Qin Ming's eyes flickered.

"Wait!"

"Wait?"

"Yes! Wait here and ambush them! Kill their men! Strip their armor! Arm ourselves!"

He scanned the crowd before speaking coldly.

"You're all starving and can't even afford food because you don't have swords! You don't have armor! If you were all clad in full armor, riding fine horses, do you think they'd dare to come burn your village and steal your food? And accuse you of being part of the Round Table Knights, using you as scapegoats?"

Hearing Qin Ming's words, the militiamen lowered their heads and remained silent.

Qin Ming, holding a pitchfork in hand, shouted.

"Not having a sword in your hand is one thing! Not knowing how to use a sword is another! Weakness means getting beaten down! They can steal our food! Why can't we steal theirs? We're going to take their food! We'll take their weapons! We'll take their land! We'll live in their castles! And we'll hang them from the trees, just like they did to us!"

Upon hearing Qin Ming's roar, the militiamen exchanged glances. The leader of the group cautiously spoke up.

"But they have armies, knights, and even magic. Can we really beat them?"

Qin Ming suddenly lowered his head, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the man.

"What? Are you afraid of dying?"

"I..."

"Being afraid of death is normal. Every human fears death. But right now, you can't even afford food—you only have your miserable lives left. What are you afraid of? Whether you die of hunger or die in battle, it's still death! Why should you be scared? Even if it's not for yourselves, at least for your families—don't you dare take a gamble? If I'm not afraid, why should you be afraid?"

His words caused the militiamen to snap to attention, and they raised their heads.

The village had been burned, their land taken, and they'd been falsely labeled as a rebellious village. The nearby noble had used them to gain favor with the higher-ups, leading them to be treated as nothing more than common rabble. It seemed like there was nothing left for them to fear.

Murmurs spread through the crowd before someone suddenly shouted.

"Let's do it! Rebel!"

"Rebel against them! Take their castle!"

"Hang those knights from the city gates! Hang them!"

The shouts grew louder, and the crowd's excitement swelled as more and more voices joined in.

Seeing this, Qin Ming nodded in satisfaction. He suddenly raised his pitchfork high and shouted.

"From today on, the Pitchfork Knights are officially formed! Everyone here is a knight! A knight who fights for their family! Our slogan from now on is: fight back to the end! Divide the food and land!"

"Divide the food and land!!!"

(End of Chapter)