We meet again, Commander Tankred.

The next day, Tancred went to the castle to find the steward Marcus and signed the commission contract.

"Commander Tanker, it seems some of your mercenaries don't have properly fitting armor yet?"

Marcus blew on the still-wet ink on the contract and said expressionlessly.

"Lord Marcus, they are all new recruits, and haven't even had time to assemble their own set of armor yet," Tankred replied truthfully.

Marcus nodded without saying a word, and Tankred also took his leave.

However, as soon as he returned to the camp, he saw an unfamiliar supply wagon.

"They said it was a gift from Lord Marcus, a whole seven sets of armor plates! Even though they're all old stuff that's been sitting around for a long time, they're still worth several silver coins!"

Bashir said this while registering without looking up.

Tankred's fingers brushed over the lining armor; the leather was stiff, the edges of the iron plates were rusted, and several tears were barely stitched together with coarse thread.

They were indeed outdated, but giving them away for free to a newly contracted mercenary group was an overly generous gesture.

The new recruits swarmed around, their faces full of anticipation as they had never worn armor before.

Tankred and Old John in the distance exchanged a glance, both seeing a deeper suspicion in each other's eyes.

"Fine, it's free anyway, might as well take it. Let's get the benefits first!"

After a period of chaotic packing, Old John led the mercenary group to set off. The initial seven members of the mercenary group were each assigned a new recruit as a squire. Old John decided to train these recruits as they marched, gradually helping them adapt to mercenary life through the mundane tasks they performed.

"Teach them how to carry luggage, tend horses, and maintain weapons! Train and take care of them properly, instead of letting you act like masters!" Old John said to the few grinning old mercenaries.

The march began early the next morning, with the column winding north along an old Roman road.

"Maintain distance and watch your step! When marching, don't just focus on what's in front of you; also keep an eye on your flanks!"

During the day, old John's commands and reprimands were almost constant.

When they went to camp at night, the new recruits were pulled aside by the veterans to learn how to clean their weapons and distinguish between different whistles.

These recruits were all honest farmers who had no habit of riding horses or shooting arrows since childhood, and they were already a bit too old for Old John to develop into riders and archers.

"This is truly the worst class I've ever led!" Old John, who had led many classes of mercenaries, said. "In my many years of experience, Lombards are still more suited to spearmen or crossbowmen, which are less demanding in terms of training."

Tancred thought of the Genoese crossbowmen who later became famous in history.

The crossbow was heavy and had a slow rate of fire, but without years of training, even a farmer could learn in a short time to use it to threaten armored soldiers dozens of paces away.

However... the crossbows and large shields of the Genoese crossbowmen are a huge expense, and Tankred can't afford them right now.

"Being short of money is really frustrating!" Tancred could only sigh helplessly.

After several days of marching, the mercenary group finally arrived at the outskirts of Benevento. After a series of simple training sessions, the recruits could at least understand basic military orders and no longer swarmed forward like before when it was time to eat.

Soon, Tanker made contact with the caravan they were escorting.

During the Middle Ages, due to rampant banditry, commoners often relied on escorted caravans to travel between cities and villages. By paying the caravan a certain amount of copper coins, the caravan would tacitly allow them to accompany them and provide protection.

It was precisely because of the gathering of these commoners that the caravan was larger than expected. There were more than twenty packhorses, seven or eight wagons, and dozens of people. Ten caravan guards, wearing worn chainmail and longswords at their waists, silently spread out around the caravan's perimeter.

The most eye-catching item in the procession was a magnificent carriage, but its owner remained elusive.

The guard leader was a short, stocky Norman with an old scar across his nose. He came over to meet Tancred and Old John, spread out a rough map, and, tracing lines on it with his fingers, discussed in a hoarse voice the order of their shifts.

"He's a very experienced veteran, he must have been a mercenary before, I know that feeling about him!" Old John secretly explained to Tankred during a break in the discussion.

Just as all the details were about to be finalized, a familiar voice caught their attention.

"Oh! Look who's here! Commander Tancred! And our old John! Fate is truly wondrous, bringing us together again in this desolate wilderness!"

The merchant Isaac strode over from the most ornate carriage, his round face plastered with an unpleasant smile, his silk coat gleaming faintly in the dappled light of the woodland.

His gaze swept across Tankred's ranks, and even though Anna had changed into old leather armor and tied her hair up, the old shrewd merchant still recognized her.

"Oh? It seems our little tank Red isn't alone on his journey? Has this young lady decided to follow our promising young captain all the way?"

The caravan was filled with a cheerful atmosphere, but Old John and Tancred's hearts skipped a beat.

The two exchanged a quick glance, which contained no joy of a long-awaited reunion, only tense vigilance and chill.

If it weren't for the penalty clause in the contract that he absolutely couldn't afford to pay, Tankred would have almost immediately ordered everyone to turn around and escape this escort mission.

Without a doubt, the moment Tancred saw Isaac, he was absolutely certain that he had been tricked!

From the moment Marcus appeared, a net had already been silently cast, just waiting for him to fall.

I never expected that all the officials that Count Richard trusted would betray him.

"Mr. Isaac, it's a pleasure to meet you. I didn't expect you to be the customer this time. It seems you have very close business ties with the Earl!"

Tankred suppressed the surging anger and vigilance in his chest, trying his best to maintain a calm expression and forcing out a polite smile.

Isaac, seemingly oblivious to anything amiss, patted his arm affectionately.

"We're just doing our jobs for those noble lords, trying to make a living. But with you and your valiant men escorting us, I can finally relax! So, is everything ready, shall we continue the march as planned?"

He looked at the leader of the guards, who nodded silently.

The caravan slowly set off, with Tankred walking in the middle, his gaze sweeping over the ornate canopy of Isaac's wagon ahead.

An uneasy cloud hung over him, but he knew he had no way out.

"Then take this, Mediterranean Silver Fox!"

"My sword has never been ineffective!"