The son of the God-Emperor in Warhammer Fantasy

Bertrand! The eyes of everyone in the tavern widened.

This famed archery master was well-known within Count Ryan's Glamorgan territory. Since surrendering to Count Ryan, Bertrand had made notable achievements on the battlefield, especially in the campaigns against the beastmen, where he often turned the tide of battle with his archery skills—his ability to snipe enemy leaders at crucial moments frequently secured victory for the human armies.

After his surrender, Bertrand was rapidly promoted by Ryan from a squad leader to a company commander, and then to deputy commander of the Charlon Forest Patrol Camp, with an annual salary of thirty gold kronor. Bertrand earned the respect of everyone in the territory with his own abilities, and even some knightly lords would occasionally chat with him.

Thus, Bertrand gradually earned the nickname "Green Arrow" Bertrand, signifying his preference for wearing green cloaks and tights, and his sharpshooting skills comparable to those of wood elves.

"Right away, anything else?" Matron Marty nodded eagerly, her smile almost servile: "It's an honor for someone of your stature to visit our humble establishment."

"Ha~ It's nothing, I'm used to it." Bertrand, sporting a long Fu Manchu mustache, tossed a silver coin onto the bar. The matron's hand, as quick as the slickest rogue, swept across the table, leaving no trace on the greasy surface.

Whispers filled the tavern until one of the drunks boldly spoke up.

"Bertrand! Are you going to be knighted?"

"Bertrand! Will you remember us mud-sloggers after you become a knight?"

"Can you buy me a drink, Bertrand? I'm out of money."

Faced with the barrage of questions, Bertrand laughed heartily: "Ha ha~ It's not that easy. What do you think being a knight is? Do you think just because the Lady of the Lake issues a decree, everyone gets a chance to become a knight? Wake up, there are only three spots a year! Better think about whether you can catch the eye of Count Ryan!"

"I'm not saying we can, I think you have a chance!" A bearded, disheveled drunk spoke up, slightly annoyed: "I say, just buy me a beer, that's all I ask."

"Hey, you old coot, you're just concerned about your emptying mug!" Bertrand cursed a few times, then sat next to Raymond.

The matron immediately came over and poured Bertrand a full mug of Empire black beer, almost overflowing.

Raymond was somewhat displeased that Bertrand had stolen his limelight, but he had nothing on Bertrand. Although the young man was unavoidably hot-headed, he knew he was just a soldier of the count, not even a freeman yet, so he could only bow his head and drown his sorrows in drink.

Drinks always go down fast. Unnoticed, Raymond's large wooden beer mug, capable of holding several hundred milliliters, was empty. The count's pikeman picked up his mug, then set it back down.

The matron immediately noticed Raymond's situation and walked up with a smile: "Sir, would you like a refill?"

"Um..." Raymond found himself in a dilemma. Drinking a large mug of Empire black beer was part of his plan, but a second one would mean spending another eighty copper coins. Although a pikeman's salary wasn't bad, he couldn't be reckless with money.

Having grown up poor and having struggled to escape with his mother and brother, Raymond knew the value of frugality, but his pride made it hard to let go. The matron meant either order another drink or prepare to leave—finishing your drink and lingering was against common courtesy.

Many patrons snickered quietly; this count's soldier was still too young and naive. For the regulars, it was common knowledge to leave about a quarter to a third of your drink untouched if you wanted to stay longer without ordering more.

Just as Raymond was wrestling with whether to spend another silver coin on a refill, Bertrand pulled out another silver coin. He pointed to Raymond beside him: "Marty, refill for this young man here!"

"Empire black beer again?" Marty perked up, indifferent to who paid, as long as someone did.

"Sure, Empire black beer."

Raymond's mug was refilled, and the young man always had the illusion that the refill seemed even fuller than the first.

"Why buy me this drink?" Unlike many drunks who would have drunk first and asked later, Raymond frowned: "I don't believe I know you... nor you me, Mr. Bertrand."

"You know me... and I know you. You're that one from the north who

 joined the count's Pike Camp," Bertrand gestured meaningfully.

The gesture clearly indicated: escaped serf.

Many serfs in Brittany had become fugitives, fleeing to the south. King Richard had originally planned to send people to investigate, but with the chaos invasion and the deaths of tens of thousands, the kingdom's focus shifted to resisting the barbarian invasion.

By the time Ryan had killed Egil and repelled the barbarians, the northern dukes could only grudgingly accept their losses, as the best time for investigation had passed, and after the heavy civilian casualties, many details had become muddled.

"So?" Raymond's tone carried a hint of displeasure.

"I've seen your training, witnessed your courage. I don't know what drives you, but I want to toast to you," Bertrand continued.

Raymond understood then.

During his initiation into the Pike Camp, he had faced one of the sternest tests.

The new recruits were ordered to don armor, take up pikes, and form ranks. After they had aligned, several fully armed ranger knights charged unexpectedly at the recruits.

Most recruits ran away in terror, but only two remained standing in their spots till the end, one of whom was Raymond. The knights halted their horses just two meters away from the recruits.

Thanks to this, Raymond was eventually made a regular.

"Alright, thank you, Mr. Bertrand, to your health," Raymond raised his mug.

"The same to you!" Bertrand lifted his own.

A few gulps of black beer later, the atmosphere warmed up. The matron brought over some roast meat and snacks. It was easy for men to bond over drinks, loudly discussing who among the potential candidates might be knighted and whom the count favored most.

After some discussion, the conversation turned to the stories of the only five serfs in Brittany's history who had been elevated to nobility over a thousand years.

This was of great interest to everyone; most serfs couldn't count, but they vaguely understood that the chances of becoming a knight had greatly increased.

From five in a thousand years to three a year—this was a qualitative leap!

"Bertrand, do you know the stories of those five serfs? We only know the story of Duchess Huameisi!" Some drunks shouted, drinking their inferior barley beer and bombarding Bertrand with questions: "I know you're well-read and literate, can you tell us? What did they do to be ennobled by His Majesty?"

"Well, that's no secret, since you want to hear, I'll tell you." Bertrand placed great importance on literacy; after surrendering to Ryan, he had repeatedly requested Ryan to arrange for someone to teach him to read. After over a year of cramming and some basic skills, Bertrand was considered well-educated among the serfs.

"Go on, tell us!" The drunks were excited; no need for a minstrel when they could listen to stories directly.

"Who should I start with... let's start with Hubard." Bertrand raised his large wooden mug: "The first person I'll tell you about is Hubard, because his story is the simplest."

"Hubard was an ordinary serf, a generational farmer with no particular skills, just very lucky."

"Like any other day, he went into the forest to try his luck at finding something to eat and happened to save a duke's legitimate daughter who was favored by the Lady. She was attacked by beastmen, her life hanging by a thread. Relying on his experience, Hubard risked his life to save the duke's daughter, and led her out of the forest. For his great merit, the king knighted him."

"Oh, heavens! Mr. Hubard was indeed a lucky dog!" A serf complained: "Why don't I ever have such luck… Continue, Bertrand, what happened to Hubard afterward?"

"Hubard's luck ended there. He died on the battlefield on the fifty-second day of his nobility, not surviving his first battle as a knight, likely due to his lack of skills."

"Heh heh~" Laughter filled the tavern; serfs weren't knightly lords, and without solid military training, hastily being knighted and sent into battle was a doomed outcome.

"And the second one?"

"The second man was called Vieye, from Lyonnesse. He was a bastard, a fervent young man plagued with intense emotions and visions. He always claimed to see visions of the Lady, which the villagers half-believed, half-doubted, so they decided to let him be a caretaker in the village's Grail Chapel." Bertrand began the second story of a serf's elevation to nobility: "One night, Vieye received a revelation from the Lady. Excited, he used the timber stacked in the chapel and scraps collected from elsewhere to build the first catapult—yes, the counterweight catapult now equipped by our kingdom. During a raid by northern barbarians

, Vieye used the catapult to hurl large stones, sinking many of the barbarians' dragon boats, forcing the barbarian scum to retreat."

"After the war, Vieye was brought before the king by the knights. His design was taken seriously by the kingdom. The king rewarded him with five goats, three large fat pigs, a cow, a copper coronet, and a large iron plate filled with gold kronor... it's said to be more wealth than Vieye could have ever imagined. Her Highness the Lake Witch ennobled him, and from then on, Vieye became a craftsman specializing in designing, maintaining, manufacturing, and improving catapults for the kingdom."

"Ah, to see visions of the Lady, to be inspired by her, we common folk just don't have such luck." The serfs again voiced their complaints: "Mr. Bertrand, you're not making this up, right?"

"Playacting is not lying, adaptation is not fabrication. How could I be making this up? This is what I was told by the knightly lords."

Alright, another path blocked.

"The third man is Baron Bomarche of Wintfort, Jacques."

"Strictly speaking, Jacques wasn't an ordinary serf. His father was a senior sergeant and the baron's jailer, his mother a renowned seamstress, best at sewing exquisite clothes for the lords, so Jacques grew up well-fed, tall, and had the opportunity to train with the knights' retinues."

"Jacques grew up under these circumstances into a strong and handsome young man, and at a young age, he became a shepherd."

"Wow, another lucky fellow." The patrons nodded; being a shepherd wasn't a lowly job, as serfs needed to own a flock to become shepherds.

"This young shepherd was naturally strong and also famously handsome, which garnered the favor of Baroness Isabelle, the baron's daughter. It's said that from that day, Miss Isabelle planned how to marry him."

"Opportunity came one day when Jacques was out herding sheep and encountered an attack by greenskins. Instead of running away, the young shepherd drew his weapon, shouted the Lady's name, and wiped out the group of greenskins cleanly."

"This incident alarmed the Lady, who verbally praised Jacques. The serfs regarded Jacques as a hero of the duchy, and Miss Isabelle took the opportunity to exceptionally grant Jacques the title of ranger knight, and the king agreed."

The serfs sighed again, wondering who could single-handedly defeat a group of greenskins.

"The story doesn't end there. Soon after, Isabelle's father, the previous Baron Bomarche, died in battle. Since the baron's legitimate heir was only a ranger knight (the baron's heir must possess a kingdom knight's title to inherit the barony), Miss Isabelle issued a quest for knighthood: whoever could slay a dragon would become the new baron."

"Jacques and the baron's legitimate heir, Aghavan, set out together. They crossed the mountains, found the dragon's lair, and after a tough battle, Aghavan slashed open the dragon's throat with his sword, and Jacques stabbed the dragon's heart."

"..." The serfs were speechless. To become a knightly lord, one not only needed to be able to wipe out a group of greenskins alone but also to slay a dragon?

"Jacques and Aghavan both deeply respected each other's bravery, each insisting the other was the dragonslayer. After their dispute remained unresolved, they returned to the domain to let Miss Isabelle decide. Citing that Jacques was the one who pierced the dragon's heart, Miss Isabelle declared Jacques the victor. Afterwards, Miss Isabelle married Jacques, and he became Baron Bomarche."

Raymond was speechless, feeling something shatter inside him.

That something was called a dream.

Becoming a knightly lord, for a serf, was exceedingly difficult.

"And the last one? Bertrand?"

"Great! It seems you all understand the gap now." Bertrand took a hefty swig of Empire black beer, ready to tell the last story.

"So, are you ready? I will tell you the last story of a serf becoming a knight, the most legendary of them all."

"That is the story of Pavar."

"From serf, to Holy Grail Knight."

Many of these stories I've embellished and modified somewhat.

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