Northern City of Brambleford

Below the city walls, a group of over thirty reaver cavalrymen pointed at the city gate, laughing mockingly.

To the steppe reavers, the soldiers of the Central Plains were weak and cowardly, afraid to leave the safety of their city when faced with them.

On the city walls, three hundred soldiers stood at the ready. Twenty archers had their longbows fully drawn, prepared to shoot at the reaver riders lingering outside the city.

"Captain Lancelot, the prince has arrived."

At the center of the city gate, a tall, seven-foot, black-faced man clad in scale armor was watching the barbarians warily.

This was Lancelot, the Captain of Brambleford, responsible for leading the troops.

"The prince?" Lancelot’s voice boomed like thunder. "What’s he doing here? He’s just going to cause trouble."

Turning around, he spotted Simon ascending the city tower.

The reaver cavalry outside noticed Simon’s luxurious attire and immediately caused a stir; this was clearly an important figure.

One of the barbarians pulled his reins, drew his bow, and loosed an arrow at Simon.

[Arrow range: Harmless]

With a sharp whoosh, the arrow landed harmlessly on the city wall. The distance was too great; the shot lacked the range to be a real threat. It was merely meant to intimidate.

Simon, however, remained unshaken. The system in his mind contained vast knowledge. He knew the exact range of ancient bows and arrows, so he hadn’t even bothered to dodge.

Lancelot’s expression became strange; something seemed different about the prince today.

"My Lord." Lancelot bowed.

"Enough with the formalities. What’s going on?" Simon asked.

This domain belonged to him; not only was he the King, but he also held the title of Grand Governor of Six Provinces, a position equivalent to supreme commander. Lancelot, as a mere Captain of Brambleford, was under his jurisdiction.

"My Lord, so far, only a single squad of thirty barbarian cavalry has been lingering outside the city, refusing to leave," Lancelot reported.

Simon glanced out. The reaver cavalry wore fine scale armor, wielded recurve bows, and sat atop strong, towering warhorses. They looked like elite troops.

In contrast, his own soldiers wore tattered armor, their weapons rusted and dull. Only Lancelot’s scale armor was of decent quality.

"No word from Dunmere?" Simon began analyzing the situation using his vast knowledge.

"Dunmere is secure."

"Strange. If Dunmere hasn’t fallen, how did these cavalrymen end up here?"

"I find it odd as well," Lancelot admitted. "Dunmere’s terrain is treacherous; it’s the only pass through the Solas Peaks. If the reavers were invading, they would have to take Dunmere first..."

As he spoke, he found it peculiar; normally, the King never concerned himself with military matters, yet with just a few words, he had identified the key issue.

Simon had noticed Lancelot’s dismissive attitude toward him the moment he stepped onto the city wall. It irritated him.

In this entire domain, only Roland treated him like a prince. Everyone else barely acknowledged him.

Deliberately, he said. "If that’s the case, Captain Lancelot, why don’t you lead the soldiers out to capture them and get some answers?"

Lancelot’s face turned green. He was impulsive, but not brainless. "My Lord, we only have about thirty cavalries in total. While our numbers match, we are no match for the reavers in mounted archery. Leaving the city would be suicide."

"Are you afraid, Captain Lancelot? If we don’t capture them, how will we find out how they got here?" Simon said casually.

Lancelot’s face turned from green to red. "It’s not that I don’t dare, Your Highness, it would simply be a futile effort..." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Simon had made his point. He had only wanted to put Lancelot in his place. "Oh? Perhaps not."

"My Lord, this is no game." Lancelot protested, thinking the prince had gone mad.

[Searching for possible outcomes.]

[Infantry Unit: Iron Caltrops]

The reavers below seemed in no hurry to leave. Seeing them dismount and sit leisurely by their horses, Simon said. "Summon the Armory Officer."

Lancelot dared not disobey; otherwise, this erratic prince might actually force him to attack. That would be a death sentence.

Shortly, a thin man dressed in a dull old robe appeared on the city wall.

"Do we have iron caltrops?"

The Armory Officer was in charge of weaponry and supplies. The best way to deal with cavalry was to turn them into infantry.

Iron caltrops were specifically designed to hinder mounted troops.

Bjorn hesitated. "We do, My Lord, but not many, only about thirty pieces."

"Thirty pieces?! What have you been doing all this time?" Simon snapped.

Bjorn gave a bitter smile. "It’s not negligence, My Lord. But even the most skilled craftsman can’t work without materials. The Armory lacks refined iron and coal for making and repairing weapons."

Damn, we’re broke. Simon nearly lost his mind. "Then gather all the blacksmiths in the city!"

Turning to Roland, he ordered. "Bring out all the iron and bronze from the royal castle and deliver them to the Armory."

"What?!" Roland’s face twitched in agony.

Lancelot opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated.

"Captain Lancelot, keep an eye on those reavers. Looks like they plan to have a meal under our walls before leaving." Simon glanced at the cavalry, now sitting comfortably on the ground.

These reavers were utterly disrespecting them. It was an insult.

Though pained, Roland still followed orders, gathering the bronze cauldrons and ironware from the castle.

Soon, all twelve blacksmiths in the city arrived at the Armory. Laborers had already begun stoking fires to melt the metals.

"My Lord, everyone is here, but many of the civilian smiths don’t know what iron caltrops are or how to forge them," Bjorn said cautiously.

"No matter. I’ll teach them myself." Simon said with a sly grin.

Faced with a dire situation, at least he had a system and knowledge transfer was one of the perks.

This transfer process was akin to magic, enlightenment, like a sudden revelation.

Simply put, the system embedded in his consciousness could link to other people’s minds, subtly imparting the selected knowledge to them.

At this moment, Simon was like a central computer. His consciousness was a data cable, transferring knowledge into other ’computers,’ people.

But what to transfer, how much to transfer, that was entirely under his control.

[Knowledge transfer for crafting iron caltrops has begun...]

[Knowledge transfer for crafting iron caltrops complete.]

Bjorn was astonished as he watched Simon pull seven blacksmiths aside for a brief talk. When they returned, they immediately started forging.

To his shock, the iron caltrops they made were even more precise and sharper than those crafted by the Armory’s professional smiths.

"Is this really the same Prince?"

In Bjorn’s eyes, the King had always been a joke. But something was different now.

Simon smirked, pleased with himself. He had succeeded. By disguising the knowledge transfer as mere verbal instruction, the craftsmen believed they had simply learned to forge caltrops through their own understanding.

Not that caltrops were particularly complex, they had existed since the Warring States period. They were simply spiked iron contraptions shaped like small tetrahedra.