Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 302 - 8: Roman Assassination, Faceless Death Soldier

Chapter 302: Chapter 8: Roman Assassination, Faceless Death Soldier

Roman was wrestling with the food problem.

Recruiting soldiers was essentially recruiting non-producers—those who couldn’t contribute to production but only consumed resources.

Two thousand new recruits wasn’t a minor number, yet recruitment was necessary.

Theoretically, five thousand troops should be sufficient to handle the current crises.

But when it came to military force, more was always better.

If there was to be a fight, it should be an overwhelming victory!

Qualified youths underwent multiple screenings including physical fitness, height, and health, ultimately sending the finest soldiers into the barracks.

Roman also supervised the recruitment process.

On August 12th, Roman looked around at the chaotic scene before him, thousands of youths lined up to register.

Suddenly, he slightly furrowed his brow.

Something was off.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He was a descendant of Riptide, possessing startlingly sharp intuition. Every Shattered Archer possessed this ability.

Once targeted by sharp weapons, they would instinctively feel uneasy, a sort of special sixth sense.

Then, before Roman could figure out what was wrong, that uneasy premonition escalated rapidly to a critical level.

He didn’t hesitate to grab a steward beside him and pulled him toward himself.

The steward stumbled, half his body crashing into Roman before he could react and feeling slight prickles across his body as he was hit by a blow dart, losing consciousness within a few seconds.

Using the steward’s body as a shield, Roman retreated toward the crowd.

Seeing this, more than ten assassins sprang out and rushed toward Roman.

Their movements were swift yet somehow eerie, much faster than Roman.

However, once Roman merged into the crowd, he continuously pushed people behind him to create barriers.

Yelling about assassins at that moment was useless; whether the mindless fools around him could grasp the concept was another matter.

He charged unpredictably, making it impossible to anticipate his path, frantically yet calmly searching for a way out.

Behind him, the assassins drew their thin swords, spreading out to encircle and attack Roman.

Realizing this, Roman no longer charged blindly and escaped toward a specific direction.

An assassin encountered Roman, their Holy Light Swordsmanship swift and dangerous, in some ways more terrifying than that of Jet.

Jet’s Holy Light Swordsmanship combined offense with defense, steadily cornering the enemy.

But this enemy was different, purely offensive, completely abandoning defense.

Roman drew his short sword to confront the attacker.

He instantly realized that this assassin was likely a Third Rank, leaning towards agility with insufficient strength, but the attack speed and sword technique were truly frightening.

After briefly clashing with the assassin for two rounds, Roman used his short sword to slash the assassin’s throat.

The assassin’s gaze was cold and ruthless, but he died with a trace of shock, likely not expecting Roman to have such extensive combat experience.

This was a fight to the death, unlike any practice session. Any mistake could prove fatal.

Clearly, the assassin was the one who died.

These assassins were perhaps selected from an early age, forced to compete murderously with each other, honing their skills in dark dungeons, regularly sent to kill and even dissect their victims, making them experienced and ruthlessly efficient.

"Only a fool who strays from the right path of swordsmanship dares to compete with someone like me who’s undefeated in a thousand battles," Roman cursed loudly.

After killing the man, Roman sprinted out of the crowd and the plaza, spotted a meandering river ahead, and without hesitation, jumped into it.

Splash!

Ten seconds later.

The assassins stood by the riverbank, completely losing track of their target, exchanged glances, and quickly retreated.

...

Four minutes later.

Roman, soaked to the skin, rode back to the manor.

Most of the witches had gone to the military camp to train with the army, leaving Edith at the manor. When she saw Roman’s bedraggled appearance, she first froze, then a chill inexplicably came over her.

One minute later.

The Beast Witch’s giant eagle carried Margaret and Shasta away from the manor.

Bird’s eye view, wide-area search.

Twenty minutes later.

Roman changed his clothes, and fifteen corpses lay on the ground.

They were all well-trained, but unfortunately, they couldn’t escape the joint pursuit and killing of Margaret and Shasta.

"They are faceless assassins bred by the Church Court," Shasta said.

She tore off the face of one of the dead assassins. The skin was loose and saggy, soaked in a special solution that allowed them to change their appearance while alive. However, it became ineffective after death.

Their disguised identities were also identified, hidden among the last batch of slaves brought by the pirates.

They were assassins who could infiltrate anywhere.

They had once turned the Supreme Temple into a river of blood with these dead assassins, but they had not been eradicated. The Pope could still send them on missions, albeit in smaller numbers.

Just as those familiar with witches must belong to the Church Court, those familiar with the Church Court must be witches.

The fifteen faceless dead assassins met Shasta and Margaret like mice encountering a cat.

Yet Roman felt a rage as if his life was under threat.

He had resolved long ago.

To smash this era to pieces!

Now that resolution grew even stronger!

"He will regret it, he shouldn’t have sent so few people," Roman said, both calm and furious, "I will make him regret it!"

The witches also felt regret.

Had Roman not reacted swiftly, had his fighting skill not been superior, any slower or a wrong step would have ended in immediate death.

Then all grand strategy would dissipate like smoke.

This incident served as a wake-up call for them.

Roman first locked down the news, minimizing the impact of the incident, arranged for guards, and began to slowly investigate potential threats within Origin City.

The Church Court’s vast army was unsettling many, and news of his assassination attempt once leaked, would only exacerbate social unrest. How could development proceed then?

On the contrary, as long as he remained unharmed, even if the Church Court amassed a hundred thousand troops, Origin City could remain unshakable.

"Your Highness, let me and Margaret protect your safety," Shasta said, feeling terrified by the incident.

Roman had always given off a special vibe.

To put it this way, when this figure stood on this land, it was hard to imagine any harm coming his way. His confidence and strength radiated through his actions.

His movements were usual very composed, without tension, and the occasionally revealed mindset was like that of nature’s apex predator, seemingly under no threat, his demeanor comparable to Lv Bu from the Three Kingdoms.

Because of this, everyone subconsciously overlooked certain things.

Now they were scared. Such an incident could not happen a second time.

"You have given us the role of chamberlains, we must fulfill our duty."

Shasta’s face was aloof, her demeanor dignified, stunningly beautiful. Since Nillie left, aside from the ever-disheveled and taciturn Margaret, the Nightmare Witch stood out as supremely capable.

"Alright! From now on, you two follow me," Roman nodded.

They could not accept the consequences of losing him.

Roman believed the same; he could not accept the consequences of losing himself.

To speak bluntly, even if every person in Origin City died, he could not—his life was more important than everyone here combined.