Infinity, The Arcade Age-Chapter 413: Qin Ming’s Divine Fork

Inside the town, as Qin Ming's soldiers hurriedly prepared supplies for the decisive battle against the Evil Duke's forces, an unexpected guest arrived outside the city walls.

It was the original protagonist of this world—the legendary Round Table Knights.

The thunder of hooves announced the approach of a formidable army, roughly five thousand strong.

They were the recently renowned—or at least once-renowned—Round Table Knights, each clad in uniform knight's armor with greatswords strapped to their backs, an imposing sight.

Leading them were several figures in resplendent armor, mounted on towering warhorses—all boss-level existences.

Most striking was the exceptionally heroic-looking man at the center, clad in heavy plate armor, gripping a uniquely crafted sword.

And that sword—it was faintly glowing.

The legendary Sword in the Stone.

A divine weapon only the Chosen King could draw, and its wielder was destined to be the hero who saved the world.

The elite force swiftly approached the city and, after a brief exchange with the militia guarding the gates, was granted entry.

Allowing an armed force into the city wasn't usually wise—after all, if they rioted, chaos would ensue.

But this wasn't a normal situation. Currently, the town housed forty-two mercenary groups composed entirely of peasants. If the Round Table Knights dared cause trouble, it was anyone's guess who'd end up dead.

Leading his personal guard through the streets toward the castle, King Arthur frowned as he observed the militia around him.

Villagers clustered in groups of hundreds, wearing mismatched gear—some with chopping boards strapped to their chests, others carrying iron pots or wooden buckets on their heads, gripping pitchforks and eyeing him with hostility.

His expression grave, Arthur leaned toward his companion and whispered,

"Lancelot... what do they remind you of?"

The peerlessly handsome Lancelot, foremost among the Round Table Knights, swept his gaze across the scene.

"Hmm. Not soldiers. Not farmers either."

"Then what?"

"Bandits. A pack of bandits eyeing their prey."

"So we agree. These people's eyes... they look like a mob that's forgotten how to work or farm, surviving only by ambushing travelers. What the hell happened to them?"

Arthur withdrew his gaze, deeply puzzled.

When he'd first heard tales of this "Righteous Duke," he'd assumed the man was like himself—someone skilled at playing the divine ch—ahem—a fellow Chosen One with a sacred mission.

And when reports spoke of his unstoppable momentum, Arthur had thought him a military genius like Lancelot.

But now, seeing the so-called Pitchfork Knights in the flesh, he realized his assumptions were very wrong.

This man didn't look like a king at all.

He looked like a bandit warlord who'd rallied a horde to pillage the countryside.

The only difference?

While most bandits preyed on the poor, this one specialized in robbing the rich—because he had the strength to get away with it.

After a hushed discussion with his knights, Arthur was finally granted an audience with Qin Ming.

With soldiers clearing the way, the two greatest rebel forces opposing the Evil Duke came face to face at last.

In the great hall, Qin Ming sat upon the throne, flanked by Tored, his daughter Toretia, Risako Marie (clutching a machine gun), and—randomly summoned—Mature, dressed in a secretary outfit.

Dozens of Pitchfork Knights in mismatched armor lined the walls, pitchforks in hand.

Arthur and his retinue studied the imposing figure of Qin Ming, their expressions solemn.

Two of the Round Table Knights, clad in full armor, gaped in disbelief.

One even rubbed his eyes, convinced he was hallucinating.

Because standing beside Qin Ming were Risako Marie—holding a machine gun—and Mature, whose modern secretary attire clashed violently with this medieval world.

As intermediate adventurers themselves, these two knights immediately recognized the women.

And if Qin Ming had otherworlders serving him...

That could only mean one thing.

This so-called "Pitchfork King"...

Was an adventurer too.

An adventurer who'd built an army of this scale in one month?!

What kind of joke was this?!

Wasn't the mission supposed to be joining the Round Table Knights?!

Since when did "found your own knightly order" become an option?!

Qin Ming ignored their shock, his focus entirely on Arthur and the legendary sword he carried.

[Name: King Arthur]

[Strength: 50]

[Constitution: 50]

[Agility: 50]

[Spirit: 50]

[Skills: Knight's Block (A-rank), Invincible Slash (B-rank), Knightly Combat Arts (B-rank), Sword of the King (S-rank)]

[Description: The prophesied king destined to lead his people to victory... probably.]

"So you're King Arthur? The so-called Chosen King?"

"Indeed."

"And your Chosen Sword?"

"This is it."

Arthur raised the Sword in the Stone, then countered with a question of his own.

"And you are the Pitchfork King? The so-called Divine Emissary?"

"Indeed."

"Then where is your Divine Pitchfork?"

"My pitchfo—Huh? Where is my Divine Pitchfork?!"

At Qin Ming's question, Tored and his daughter exchanged blank stares.

Divine Pitchfork? What Divine Pitchfork? Wasn't that just a rumor they'd made up? Where were they supposed to pull a godly pitchfork from on such short notice?!

For a moment, the three of them just stared at each other in mutual bewilderment. Fortunately, Risako Marie—well-practiced in covering for Qin Ming's improvisations—acted swiftly.

She quickly handed him a fork.

Not a farming pitchfork, mind you.

A dinner fork.

Qin Ming instinctively accepted it, then stared down at the tiny utensil in silence.

Risako had indeed saved the situation.

Just... not very well.

The silence wasn't limited to Qin Ming's side. Across from him, King Arthur and his knights were equally speechless.

Arthur's eyes widened as he scrutinized the fork.

"...This is the Divine Pitchfork?"

"Uh... Yes! This is the Divine Pitchfork!"

"You're certain you didn't grab the wrong item?"

"Absolutely not! This is the Divine Pitchfork! Only one chosen by the gods can wield it!"

"But that woman just handed it to you, so clearly she could also—"

"Details don't matter! I heard you came to propose an alliance against the Evil Duke? I accept! In fact, we'll launch our final assault on his capital tonight!"

Seeing his bluff on the verge of collapse, Qin Ming hastily changed the subject.

To his relief, Arthur—though clearly skeptical—nodded solemnly and dropped the issue. However unreliable this "Pitchfork King" seemed, his army's numbers were undeniable. If they were to defeat the Evil Duke, Qin Ming's forces were indispensable.

Fine. If he says a dinner fork is sacred, then it's sacred.

The two rulers swiftly finalized their alliance and announced the collaboration to their troops.

By afternoon, standing before their assembled armies, they commenced their pre-battle rally.

Arthur had brought 20,000 soldiers—5,000 of them elite knights.

Qin Ming, meanwhile, had mustered a staggering *150,000* militia.

Zero elites.

As for how Qin Ming planned to fulfill his promise of post-war food rewards to this horde?

He'd decided to gamble.

Bet everything on the Evil Duke's capital having enough stockpiled grain to feed them all.

If he won? He'd be the King of Kings, crowned in triumph.

If he lost? He'd end up a laughingstock—exposed as a fraud and torn apart by the mob.

This battle would decide whether Qin Ming became a true Chosen One...

Or just another dead conman.

Gazing at the sea of soldiers below—more than Arthur had ever commanded—even the legendary king felt a surge of adrenaline.

Standing atop the castle ramparts, he dramatically unsheathed the Sword in the Stone and began his rousing speech.

This was his tried-and-true method. The sword's legendary aura and his kingly charisma always ignited roaring cheers. After years under the Evil Duke's tyranny, the people craved a hero.

But this time—

Silence.

Aside from his own knights, the militia barely reacted.

Arthur, to his credit, didn't falter. Finishing his speech with practiced dignity, he stepped aside to let Qin Ming take the stage.

Let's see how this "Divine Emissary" inspires troops with a dinner fork.

Under the Round Table Knights' skeptical gazes, Qin Ming stiffly ascended the platform, still clutching the tiny utensil.

He wanted to swap it for something more impressive, but with Arthur watching, that would mean admitting the farce.

The moment Qin Ming appeared, the 150,000 militia erupted in cheers. It took him minutes of frantic hand-waving to quiet them.

Then, before the expectant crowd, Qin Ming suddenly raised the dinner fork high and bellowed:

"By the Divine Pitchfork! Soldiers! Victory and freedom shall be ours!"

Silence.

The militia craned their necks, squinting in confusion.

"His Majesty's showing the Divine Pitchfork? Where? I don't see it!"

"He's holding it right there!"

"Where? All I see is—wait. Is that a... fork?"

As realization dawned, the crowd's shock was palpable.

Then—

"FREEDOM!!!"

With a roar, countless militia members stowed their farming pitchforks and whipped out their own eating utensils—forks, knives, even soup spoons—raising them skyward in unison.

The thunderous cry shook the heavens. Sunlight glinted off a forest of upraised cutlery.

Arthur and his knights stood frozen, utterly baffled.

They'd misunderstood Qin Ming's influence entirely.

Arthur was revered because of the Sword in the Stone.

But Qin Ming's militia revered the "Divine Pitchfork" because it was Qin Ming's.

Arthur became king by drawing the sword.

Qin Ming made the pitchfork divine by being the king.

To the militia, the fork's size didn't matter. It didn't even need to be a fork.

If Qin Ming declared a soup ladle was the Divine Ladle, they'd believe it.

If he brandished a toilet plunger and called it the Sacred Plunger of Justice?

As long as his myth held, they'd follow it into battle.

The Allied Liberation Army marched forth—their target: the Stronghold of Evil!

(End of Chapter)