“Forget it.”

Robert Bennett had no interest in arguing with such underlings.

“Consider yourself lucky.” George Foster said regretfully, “Otherwise, I would have chopped off your head to show those who look down on young master.”

Feeling as if he had escaped death, Richard Howard looked up, tears and snot streaming down his face. “Thank you, Master Mao-cai, thank you, Master Mao-cai…”

No one took Robert Bennett’s words as empty talk… Just look at David Brooks’s attitude toward Robert Bennett. For James Bennett to kill a criminal, for the recently meritorious Little David, it really was nothing at all!

Robert Bennett gazed at the ruined village, pondering for a long time.

“Young master, I’m afraid the family property has all been looted by the Ye clan.” George Foster said through gritted teeth.

“It’s just been moved elsewhere for now.” At this moment, Robert Bennett wasn’t thinking about family assets, but about how to maximize future benefits.

It was obvious at a glance that Chris Bolton’s subordinates were not elite troops. If they were to fight the Wokou head-on in open battle, Robert Bennett had no confidence in victory at all.

Only a surprise attack would do.

The Wokou relied on ships for movement, and their main base was also on ships.

First, they would send out scouts, or contact Ming traitors on shore to determine the target for plundering—only then would the Wokou land.

How to lure the Wokou ashore…

Robert Bennett stood under the eaves, his pale face illuminated by sunlight, giving him a sickly yet handsome appearance. A passing village woman couldn’t help but praise, “What a beautiful, sickly young man.”

Robert Bennett couldn’t help but want to roll his eyes.

Handsome young man is fine, but what’s with the “sickly” part?

He took a deep breath and patted George Foster on the shoulder. “Stone.”

“Young master.” George Foster, tall and sturdy, bent down after being patted, making it easier for the young master.

“What do you want to do in the future?” Robert Bennett asked.

“Me?” George Foster scratched his head, looking rather simple and honest. “I don’t know—oh! I know now.”

Robert Bennett smiled.

“To follow young master.” George Foster said, “I’ll just follow young master for my whole life.”

The simplest people are the happiest… Robert Bennett saw Brian Walker hurrying over, sweat all over his face, and couldn’t help but sneer inwardly.

People!

For fame and fortune, there’s nothing they won’t do.

“My troops are assembled, Mao-cai…” Brian Walker came to report.

“Let’s move out!”

Robert Bennett left the village. Chris Bolton had prepared a gentle horse for him to ride. After mounting, Robert Bennett looked back at the village.

Chris Bolton smiled and asked, “What is James Bennett thinking about?”

Robert Bennett replied, “I’m thinking, how many Wokou must I kill before the souls of the slain villagers can rest in peace?”

Was this just something the youth said casually?

Chris Bolton pretended to glance over carelessly, only to see the youth was extremely serious. His heart trembled, and he quickly changed the subject, “If those Wokou who escaped manage to report the defeat, will the main force flee?”

Robert Bennett shook his head. “No.”

“Please enlighten us.” Brian Walker cupped his hands.

Robert Bennett glanced at him and said coolly, “The Wokou have ravaged the south for years, especially in recent times. Have the government troops ever taken the initiative to attack?”

At this time, the Wokou were not yet at their most rampant. In a few years, they would sweep across the southeast coast, becoming the greatest threat to Ming.

And though the Ming army was weak now, in the eyes of the emperor and ministers, it was still salvageable. Only after being utterly routed by the Wokou, leaving the court dumbfounded, did they realize that the Ming army they thought could still be saved was already beyond hope.

And all of this, only Robert Bennett knew at this moment.

Chris Bolton and Brian Walker exchanged glances.

After traveling less than three li, a group of scouts galloped back. One of them had a prisoner tied to the front of his saddle. “Commander, we’ve caught a live one.”

The scouts were elated.

“Oh!” Chris Bolton was overjoyed. “Interrogate him.”

This Wokou was a Ming native, and after a few blows, he started talking.

“There are more than a hundred people on the ship.”

“How many real Wokou?” Robert Bennett asked.

Why was a youth asking the questions?

The Wokou glanced at Chris Bolton.

“Speak!” Chris Bolton barked.

This youth actually seemed to be in charge… Not wanting to be tortured, the Wokou quickly forced a smile at Robert Bennett, “There are more than forty real Japanese.”

“More than forty.” Chris Bolton gasped. Robert Bennett glanced at him, and Chris Bolton said awkwardly, “I’ve heard that the real Japanese are all skilled in swordsmanship…”

“Passed down from the former Tang dynasty.” Robert Bennett said coolly.

The former Tang had given their all to foreign lands, pulling the barbaric state of Japan out of a pit. Unfortunately, later generations were disappointing and ended up being beaten by their own students.

Peter Allen challenged Shaolin Temple, George Washington drilled the Zhejiang troops—these two seemingly different actions briefly revived the martial spirit of Ming.

Sadly, the gentle breeze soon intoxicated the world, and the scholar-officials took control of Ming’s fate. Warriors became slaves, and martial skills… were no match for a single essay.

The higher the status of the scholar-officials, the more tragic the consequences… When the Manchu Qing entered, heads rolled. At that time, essays were of no use at all.

And the Central Plains, having lost its martial spirit, fell into decline.

Chris Bolton asked, “If those Wokou learn of your defeat, will they retreat?”

A group of officers held their breath, staring at the prisoner… If Chris Bolton was in trouble, they wouldn’t fare any better either.