Ch. 64 – Journey and Scorn
Eisenwald had departed from its fortress, the road to Marquis Helbrecht's residence stretching far ahead. The narrow path through forests and marshes was now filled with 3,500 soldiers moving in perfect formation under Fenrir's command. The crisp morning air, tinged with light mist, gave the journey a sense of calm, yet an invisible tension lingered in the atmosphere.
Fenrir rode at the forefront on his black steed, his crimson lava aura blazing around him. Each step seemed to energize the troops, instilling courage, but also causing some passing vassal forces to whisper among themselves: "This young baron… and that aura… burning like blood in the morning sun."
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Fenrir surveyed the road, marshlands, and hills. Memories of ancient strategies he had learned in his previous life guided him:
Layered Column Formation – infantry placed at the front with staggered spacing to maximize defense and mobility.
Flanking Cavalry – cavalry positioned on both wings, ready for sudden strikes.
Long-range Artillery – deployed on high ground to pierce enemy concentrations at distance.
Scouts and Assassins – moving through the forest flanks, ensuring no ambush, while scouting enemy positions.
Fenrir was not merely leading; he was assessing his troops' condition, reading the terrain, and predicting enemy movements. Every minor detail could become a decisive advantage.
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As Eisenwald's column passed through checkpoints and other vassal territories, whispers and sneers followed. 3,500 soldiers compared to the tens of thousands of other Counts' and Viscounts' forces seemed laughably small.
"Look, only 3,500! Is that all the Eisenwald troops?" a Viscount's subordinate mocked loudly.
"This young baron should stay home and study maps, not command an army," sneered an older commander, his tone dripping with derision.
Laughter echoed, but Fenrir remained calm. His crimson lava aura shimmered faintly through the mist, and without a word, the entire Eisenwald force felt the tension and strength of their leader. Some even slightly bowed their heads in respect—though young, this baron was no ordinary leader.
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Fenrir used the ridicule as a test for his troops' morale. He rode along the formation, checking spacing, correcting minor flaws, and issuing commands:
"Infantry, maintain your lines. Archers, do not let your ranks break. Cavalry, hold your speed until the right moment. Coordination is our strength."
Viktor Redmane, infantry commander, nodded. "Lines are solid, Baron. Soldiers follow you completely."
Selene Aestra added, "Archers ready to strike moving targets, Baron."
Garrik Stormhoof rode on the right flank, "Cavalry awaiting the perfect moment to charge."
Lyra Nightshade reported from the forest, "Scouts detect no immediate threats nearby, Baron."
Roland Ironarm adjusted the ballista, "Artillery prepared for long-range targets."
Fenrir gave a faint smile, the crimson lava aura igniting determination among the troops. "Good. Today, we don't just march to Helbrecht. We prove our discipline and unity."
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The terrain was unforgiving. Swamps, thick trees, and small rivers slowed the march. Many observers doubted Eisenwald's ability to maintain formation, yet Fenrir orchestrated every movement with precision:
Infantry crossed marshes in triangular formations, spears ready against wild animals or possible ambushes.
Archers occupied small hills to cover potential targets.
Cavalry adjusted their pace, careful of muddy ground.
Scouts/Assassins marked safe routes and monitored enemy movement.
Artillery moved cautiously, avoiding getting stuck in the mud.
Each maneuver proved that the strategies from his past life were being flawlessly applied in the field.
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As the sun rose higher, the mist dissipated, revealing the main road toward Marquis Helbrecht's estate. Larger forces already stationed along the path began observing Eisenwald seriously. There was no mockery this time, only curious and calculating eyes.
Fenrir rode ahead, ensuring every unit maintained formation. His crimson lava aura now blazed more brightly—a symbol of courage, resolve, and readiness for battle. He knew the real test had yet to begin, but this journey had already taught his troops discipline, cohesion, and mental fortitude.
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Fenrir drew a deep breath. Looking at his surrounding troops, he realized that though they were outnumbered, strategy, discipline, and coordination would be their greatest weapons.
"Do not let them judge us by numbers alone. Show them what 3,500 disciplined soldiers can achieve!" he thought.
The soldiers responded with low roars of affirmation, the crimson lava aura radiating further. Every step toward Helbrecht was no longer merely a physical march—it was a training of mind, spirit, and tactical awareness, marking the beginning of a political and military confrontation that would define the Crimson Wolf.
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Eisenwald's column pressed on, moving through forests, swamps, and valleys. In the distance, the towers of Marquis Helbrecht's estate appeared. Fenrir lowered his head briefly, signaling to his commanders:
"We will show that strength is not just in numbers. Prepare yourselves. What awaits is not just physical combat, but a war of strategy."
Despite being the smallest contingent among the vassals, the Eisenwald troops marched forward with unwavering confidence, marking the first step toward proving the Crimson Wolf's legacy.
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