Derrick's cavalry squad rendezvoused with the Royal Army from Crystal Radiance, and they will now act as guides to lead the Crystal Radiance forces to meet up with the main force of the Northwest Legion.
After traveling for another half day, the officers and soldiers were exhausted, and Harrison ordered them to rest.
Derrick saw several ornate tents being erected again, and several servants busily carrying barrels of wine inside. He narrowed his eyes, suppressing the rising discontent within him.
"General, forgive my bluntness," Derrick whispered to Harrison, who was walking beside him, "the soldiers on the front are risking their lives to buy time, while some people seem to be treating this like a picnic."
Harrison gave a wry smile and did not refute. Coming from a prominent family, he understood the behavior of these aristocratic scions better than anyone. However, the complex relationships within the royal family forced him to remain restrained.
"We'll keep going, whether they've rested well or not, and whether they have time to pack up," Harrison said firmly.
Derrick nodded, knowing that this was the maximum promise the other party could make.
He had learned from the casual conversations along the way that the leader of the Guardian Knight Order was none other than the current king's brother, Yuriko Rodney.
After a brief rest, Harrison Abbott stood at the front of the ranks, his serious gaze sweeping over the assembled Royal Soldiers.
He raised his arm high, his voice booming throughout the army: "All troops, listen to my command—set off immediately, full speed ahead!"
The order was quickly relayed, and the soldiers soon formed ranks. The supply wagons creaked and the warhorses neighed as the massive column began to move slowly.
However, at that moment, a servant in a magnificent uniform rushed over and blocked Harrison's path.
"General! Please wait a moment!" the attendant said breathlessly. " Prince Yuriko and Lord Wilder's tents are not yet packed up, and the Knights' equipment also needs to be reloaded. Please wait another hour!"
Harrison's eyes suddenly turned cold. It wouldn't have mattered before, but now Derrick was watching closely, and he didn't want to lose face and be seen as someone who blindly obeyed the powerful.
He stared at the attendant, his voice low and sharp: "The situation at the front is urgent. The Northwest Legion is awaiting reinforcements. We have no time to waste."
The attendant looked troubled: "But His Highness said—"
"Tell your master," Harrison interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for argument, "that the Royal Army will not be delayed by a few tents. If they pack up quickly enough, they will catch up; if not—" he coughed heavily, "then proceed slowly, but don't expect us to wait."
Having said that, he ignored his attendants, mounted his horse, and said to his adjutant, "Let's go!"
The Crystal Radiance army began to accelerate its march. The soldiers marched in unison, their warhorses kicking up dust, their supply wagons creaking, and the entire force surged northward like an unstoppable torrent of steel.
Meanwhile, in the distance, Yuriko's tent had just begun to be dismantled, and several members of the Knights were scrambling to pack up the wine vessels and cushions, clearly not expecting Harrison to be so forceful.
Commander Ed Chambers rode up to Harrison and whispered, "General, won't this offend His Highness?"
Harrison looked at him, his voice calm: "Do you know that while you were fighting the Giles in the south, Yuriko asked His Majesty the King to let him replace one of you and become the new legion commander?"
"What?" Chambers exclaimed in surprise, at a guy who couldn't even march properly, even though he was a prince.
Harrison continued, "If he really wants to be a general, he should learn what military orders are."
Chambers said nothing more, only nodding silently. The procession continued forward, leaving the chaos of the Guardian Knight Order far behind.
Levin spurred his horse forward, a sneer playing on his lips: "Looks like some people think this is a hunting trip, not a war."
Harrison didn't respond, but his eyes conveyed his approval of the regimental commander.
...
Abar stood alone outside the tent, gazing at the blood-red setting sun.
The howling north wind, carrying the stench of blood, brushed against his face, while in the distance came the groans of wounded soldiers and the mournful cries of warhorses.
The Otasi shaman approached, leaning on his bone staff, his voice hoarse: " Great Chieftain, the count is complete... We have lost thirty-two thousand warriors."
Abar clenched his fist tightly, his bronze knuckles turning white from the force.
Thirty-two thousand men—this is not just a cold number, but thirty-two thousand of the bravest warriors on the grasslands, the elite force that Royal Tent had accumulated over more than a decade.
" We lost the battle at Stone Bridge Town," Otasi said in a low voice, a rare look of worry flashing in his cloudy eyes.
Abar did not answer. His gaze swept across the camp—by the campfire, the surviving warriors silently bandaged their wounds, their once-heroic battle songs gone; his son, Aijile, was directing his personal guard to gather the scattered soldiers, his face etched with exhaustion; further away, several warhorses, having lost their masters, wandered about, occasionally letting out mournful neighs.
"No, we have not been defeated." Abar suddenly spoke, his voice deep and thunderous. "Wolves on the grasslands will retreat temporarily when they are injured, but they will never give up the hunt."
He turned and walked toward the tent, lifting the curtain to take one last look at the southern horizon—humanity's flags must be gathering in the distance.
Inside the tent, the firelight flickered, casting the tall shadows of the generals on the animal-hide carpet.
Abar stood in the center, his bronze face appearing particularly hard and cold in the firelight. Before him stood his trusted generals, including Kalem and Aijile, each bearing the somber gloom of defeat.
"Is the messenger ready?" Abar's voice was low and hoarse.
"Fifty of the fastest riders are ready to set off at any time." Aijile stepped forward, his young face showing reluctance. "They will carry your orders and travel to every tribe."
Abar nodded, his gaze sweeping over the crowd: "Tell the tribal leaders— the Royal Tent needs new warriors, more and braver than last time. All tribes that respond to the call will receive double the land and spoils after the war."
The generals' breathing became heavy, and their eyes rekindled their fighting spirit.
"And those human lords who rely on our protection!" Abar continued, his voice urgent. "Mobilize them all. Get them to requisition grain, conscript men, and manufacture siege weapons—since they've chosen to stand with the Royal Tent, they must prove their worth."
Aijile suddenly smiled sinisterly: "We need to remind them of the price of betraying the Royal Tent... like that Lord Ferson who deserted in the face of battle?"
A bloodthirsty chuckle echoed from inside the tent.
Three days ago, a human lord attempted to desert with his troops, but was caught by Orc Cavalry and executed on the spot. His body was hung at the entrance of the camp.