The smoke outside Stone Bridge Town gradually dissipated, leaving the battlefield littered with the corpses of Orc Cavalry and warhorses. Northwest Legion soldiers were cleaning up the battlefield, with medics moving among them, carrying the wounded onto stretchers.
Paul led Schroeder, Hal Duke, and other generals into the makeshift command post in Stone Bridge Town. Although the town was ravaged by war, the garrison's flag still flew high atop the clock tower in the town center.
Major Hodgson, the resolute-faced garrison commander, strode forward with several men. His uniform was still stained with gunpowder and blood, indicating that he had been fighting not long ago.
" Lord Glaeman!" Hodgson stood at attention and saluted, his voice hoarse but strong. " The garrison of Stone Bridge Town reporting for duty!"
Paul stepped forward, returned the greeting respectfully, and then shook Hodgson's hand.
"Major, you and your soldiers held the fortress, buying precious time for our main force."
Paul's gaze swept over the weary yet resolute officers in the command post. "You are the role models for Northwest soldiers!"
Hodgson's Adam's apple bobbed, and this tough man on the battlefield was now somewhat choked up.
"We were just doing our duty, sir."
Schroeder stepped forward and patted Hodgson on the shoulder: "Duty? Indeed. And you did create a miracle. With a mere few thousand men, you held off the orcs' frenzied attack; that went beyond the scope of duty."
Paul looked around at the crowd and raised his voice to announce:
"To honor the bravery of all the soldiers who fought, I will commission the creation of the ' Stone Bridge Town Guardian' medal. Major Hodgson, you and your soldiers will be among the first to receive it."
A suppressed cheer erupted in the command post. The officers straightened their backs, their eyes gleaming with pride.
"In addition," Paul continued, "all soldiers who participated in the war will receive three months' extra pay, and the families of fallen soldiers will receive double compensation. Wounded soldiers can choose to retire and receive a plot of cleared land."
Duke Hal couldn't help but whisper, "My lord, wouldn't this be..."
"It was worth it," Paul interrupted him, his voice firm. "It was their sacrifice that brought us this victory. Aldor will never forget anyone who shed blood for her."
Major Hodgson saluted again, this time his hand trembling slightly: "On behalf of all the garrison, I thank you for your kindness, sir."
At this moment, a staff officer came in to report the battle losses.
"Our army suffered approximately 5,000 casualties, including 2,300 killed in action, 1,200 seriously wounded, and the rest slightly wounded."
The staff officer flipped through the report in his hand: " About 18,000 Orc Cavalry were annihilated, more than 7,000 were captured, 3,000 warhorses were seized, and countless weapons were captured."
Paul nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the orc prisoners being taken into custody in the distance. This victory was hard-won, but the price was equally heavy.
"Order the entire army to rest for three days, treat the wounded, and replenish ammunition," he said in a deep voice. "At the same time, send a letter to Lakeheart Town to conscript reserve soldiers and speed up the recruit training process. I don't know if my last order has arrived yet."
The staff officer quickly jotted down the orders, but hesitated for a moment, then looked up and asked, "Sir, should we wait for the king's reinforcements?"
Paul shook his head, his eyes resolute.
"Although the orcs have been defeated, their main force remains. Abar won't give us much time to breathe." He pointed to the east on the map. "We must press our advantage, expand our gains, and drive the orcs completely out of the Northwest border."
He paused, his voice low but full of determination.
"Messenger, set off immediately and tell the Political Affairs Council —we need more soldiers, more Cannons. This war must be fought with full force until the orcs are no longer able to touch Aldor."
...
Sunlight streamed into the classroom through the glass windows. Makarov stood in front of the blackboard, his chalk gently tapping against the wooden podium.
He was stocky with broad shoulders. Although he had been out of the military for many years, his back was still straight and his voice was loud and clear.
"Read after me—" he pointed to the words on the blackboard and said loudly, "Defending the country is the sacred duty of every citizen!"
Below the stage, a group of six- or seven-year-old children looked up and recited in their childish voices: "Defending the country is the sacred duty of every citizen!"
Makarov nodded in satisfaction. Most of these children came from ordinary farming families. In the past, such as when he was a child, they might never have had the opportunity to study and write.
But now, they sit in bright classrooms, learning to read and do arithmetic, and even to learn about history and geography—all thanks to the lord's educational reforms.
He was about to continue his lecture when the classroom door was suddenly pushed open.
The head of the North Lookout Town draft station—a middle-aged man also dressed in an old military uniform—was standing at the door, looking at him with a serious expression.
" Principal Makarov, excuse me," the stationmaster said in a deep voice, "I have an urgent letter for you!"
The classroom fell silent instantly, and the children blinked curiously at their principal.
Makarov frowned slightly and strode to the door. The stationmaster took a letter stamped with the Northwest Legion wax seal from his pocket and handed it to him.
"Reinstatement notice," the stationmaster whispered. "The lord wants to recall veterans to the ranks."
Makarov's fingers trembled slightly as he took the letter, removed the sealing wax, and quickly scanned the contents.
The letter explicitly required him to go to the designated reporting point nearby within a specified period and rejoin the army.
When Makarov retired, the army he served in was still called the Alda Army.
However, the king granted Glaeman the title of Marquis, giving Lakeheart Town the right to conscript soldiers from the entire Northwest Bay. Now, the army's manpower is no longer limited to Alda, but comes from all over the Northwest Bay, so it has been renamed the Northwest Legion.
Makarov's heart suddenly raced, and his blood seemed to boil again.
He knew the situation outside: the orcs' iron hooves were ravaging the kingdom's northeastern territory, and Lord Glaeman had already led his army to fight them.
"…Finally, it's here." He murmured to himself.
The stationmaster looked at him and asked, "Do you need a few days to arrange the handover?"
Makarov shook his head. "The teachers at our school are great; they can manage on their own."
He turned and went back to the classroom. The children remained seated quietly, but their eyes were full of confusion.
He took a deep breath, stood back at the podium, and spoke in a steady and firm voice:
"Students, the principal is about to go to war. He will give you a lesson when he comes back after the war."
"Read it after me again." He pointed to the words on the blackboard and read slowly:
"Defending the nation is the sacred duty of every citizen."
"Now, it's my turn, Principal, to fulfill this obligation."
The children seemed to understand, but a few of the brighter ones had already widened their eyes: "Is the headmaster going to fight the orcs?"
Makarov did not answer, but smiled slightly, then picked up the military cap on the podium—the old military cap he still treasured after his retirement—and put it on his head properly.
"get out of class dismissed!"