Paul stood on the towering walls of Laois, his fingers lightly tapping the stone bricks of the crenellations.
In the morning light, rows of heavy cannons were lined up on the city wall, their dark barrels gleaming with a cold metallic luster. He reached out and stroked the cool barrel of one of the Cannons, a confident smile playing on his lips.
"Are our Cannons ready?" he asked without turning his head.
"All the cannons are in place, sir."
Schroeder, standing tall beside him, replied, "Ammunition is plentiful, and the gunners are all experienced veterans."
Paul nodded in satisfaction, his gaze sweeping over the meticulously constructed defenses outside the city: three jagged trenches, anti-cavalry obstacles covered with spikes, and seemingly random but actually deliberate pits—all death traps prepared for the Orc Cavalry.
In the distance, reconnaissance balloons have already risen, standing out prominently against the azure sky.
"Very good." Paul took the binoculars, his calm eyes reflected in the lenses. "Based on the enemy's departure time, they are about a day's journey from here. Let the soldiers rest well, and when the enemy arrives…" His fingers traced the cannon barrel, "we will give them a good reception with these 'salutes'."
On the city wall, soldiers were inspecting their rifles. The clanging of metal, the sound of loading, and the occasional laughter mingled together, conveying the tension and anticipation before the great battle.
Paul took a deep breath; the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and grease—the scent of war that belonged to him.
He turned to his men and said, "I'm going to make Abar suffer a terrible defeat here, hahaha!"
Marquis Paul Greiman could be described as full of ambition.
Despite having absolute confidence in their own combat strength, the Northwest Legion is currently primarily composed of infantry, making them far less mobile than the orcish army, which is mainly composed of cavalry.
According to intelligence, Abar and his generals preferred to make full use of the high speed of cavalry to avoid the enemy's strength and strike their weaknesses. Their steppe warhorses had super endurance, and Orc Cavalry often had one person riding multiple horses, taking turns to ride them, and launching raids day and night to find the enemy's weak points and launch fatal attacks.
To actively capture the elusive main force of the orcs, one must disperse troops for a sweeping search, but this will also give the enemy an opportunity to defeat them one by one.
So Paul came up with an idea: to wait for the orcs to come to him.
Thus came the letter to Viscount Acosta, the illegitimate son of Great Duke Bradley.
When the men sent by Great Duke Bradley returned, he smugly assured Paul that the fool Abar had believed the letter and had decided to personally lead a large army to attack the "weakly defended" Laois.
Paul was naturally very happy, and that's how the current situation came about.
He took out his pocket watch and looked at it again and again, eager to get through the day so he could see for himself whether the legendary orc Great Chieftain had two heads and four arms.
Another half day passed...
A staff officer hurried up the city wall, his boots making rapid footsteps on the stone steps. Beads of sweat hung on his forehead, and the corners of the reconnaissance report he clutched in his hand were soaked with sweat.
"Sir!" The staff officer stood at attention and saluted. "Urgent report from the scouts: the orc army has suddenly turned around in the Green Dragon Forest, and the main force is moving at full speed toward Stone Bridge Town!"
Paul paused slightly with his binoculars, not responding immediately, but staring blankly at the open fields outside the city.
"confirm?"
"confirm!"
"Understood." The Marquis's voice was so calm that no emotion could be detected. He put down the binoculars and tapped the cold metal tube twice with his fingertips.
The staff officer hesitated, then simply remained standing at attention.
Schroeder broke the silence first, " Lord Glaeman, we need to adjust our strategy immediately!"
Bang!
The brass telescope shattered on the city bricks, and the flying shards of glass reflected Paul's ashen face.
"Bring Bradley up!" His voice was like ice.
Moments later, the bewildered Great Duke Bradley was escorted to the city wall by two guards.
The old nobleman staggered to his feet, his cloudy eyes filled with confusion: " Lord Glaeman, what is this...?"
"I'd like to ask you, was this something your son did?"
Paul grabbed the Grand Duke by the collar, dragged him to the city wall, and shouted, pointing south, "Why has the entire orc army turned towards Stone Bridge Town!"
Bradley's face turned deathly pale: "Impossible... Abar clearly believed the contents of that letter, and Acosta replied that..."
"Reply to what?" Paul's fingers tightened suddenly. "Reply to cooperate with your charade? Or reply to sell the real military deployment to the orcs?"
He slammed the Grand Duke against the battlements. "I should have known better. A family of traitors who sided with the orcs—betrayal flows in their veins from head to toe!"
Bradley gripped the edge of the city wall, trembling, the rubble digging into his palms until they bled. " Lord Glaeman, you must understand! I made sure my confidant told Acosta that the letter was false information meant to lure Abar!"
Paul sneered and released his grip: "Then explain yourself, why would Abar know that Stone Bridge Town is our real weakness?"
"Perhaps…perhaps…" The Duke suddenly grasped at a straw: " Abar believed what was written there. He desperately wanted to fight your main army, so he went to Stone Bridge Town! That must be it!"
"Wow!" Paul scoffed. "An orc who's been a master of warfare and cunning for half his life has suddenly changed his ways and wants to tackle the toughest challenge right away!"
The old duke, in despair, collapsed to the ground, letting out a heart-wrenching wail: "That wicked son! He betrayed his own father!"
The soldiers on the city wall silently turned their faces away.
Paul turned to look in the direction of Stone Bridge Town, his fist striking the crenellations of the city wall, drawing blood.
The meticulously planned game was ruined by a cowardly traitor.
But most importantly, Stone Bridge Town, including Militia, only had a little over 5,000 men, and with their weak forces, they were about to be attacked by the main force of the orcs.
Schroeder reminded him again, " Lord Glaeman, we need to adjust our strategy immediately!" Old Knight's voice was urgent.
Paul slammed his fist into the battlement again, oblivious to the blood seeping from his knuckles.
A cold voice rang out: "Order the entire army! Set off immediately! I'm heading south to fight Abar!"
Schroeder reminded him: "Sir, I suggest leaving two regiments at Laois to prevent the enemy from using their speed advantage to turn their attack here again. Abar is likely trying to mislead us, trying to lead us by the nose and keep our army busy running between the two places."
Paul nodded. "Then leave two regiments for defense!"
He reached for his waist, and his sword clattered as it was drawn from its sheath. The tip of the sword traced a straight line across the map from Laois to Stone Bridge Town: "Inform Lakeheart Town that I need to recruit five more infantry regiments and two artillery battalions within three months."
"Never again will we resort to any more tricks!" Paul's sword slammed heavily into Yellow Earth Land. "Our army will be larger, large enough to crush the enemy on every front, advancing in unison, leaving no gaps, like a steamroller!"
Beneath the city wall, the messenger's horn rang out urgently, and the soldiers hurriedly packed their belongings, the clanging of metal echoing throughout the air.
Since conspiracies and tricks are unreliable, let's pave the way with steel and gunpowder. In the face of absolute power, any tactic is futile.