“Ding, ding, ding…”

At dawn, the sound of bells rang out from Flooding Snow City, signaling the Northern Expeditionary Army’s departure.

The soldiers, arranged in neat formations, marched through Flooding Snow City’s wide streets toward the city gates, basking in the cheers of the civilians lining the roads.

Other than Lint, everyone believed their victory was a foregone conclusion.

The Northern Expeditionary Army had good reason to be confident. Every soldier in the Northern Expeditionary Army was a professional warrior, rigorously trained and equipped with top-notch gear.

In terms of combat experience, the Northern Expeditionary Army clashed annually with the various barbarian tribes of the Wilderness, and every soldier had seen bloodshed. On top of that, the army boasted several dozen knights and over a thousand quasi-knights.

Therefore, even if they faced a formidable foe like the cannibals, the soldiers of the Northern Expeditionary Army approached the battle with unwavering conviction.

Perhaps a proud soldier and fierce general were exactly what they needed. A proud soldier and fierce general were never meant to be derogatory terms; only a timid army could not achieve victory.

Marquis Wade rode at the head of the procession alongside several senior officers, all clad in simple yet heavy plate armor. At first glance, their suits appeared unremarkable, but closer inspection revealed their extraordinary protective capabilities.

The Golden Dragon Kingdom valued martial prowess, and the northern lands had the strongest martial traditions in the whole kingdom. As one of the noble families of the northern lands, nearly all the adult males of the Lancelot family served in the army. Aside from those needed to stay behind to guard the estate, all the adult Lancelot men were part of the expedition, including several of Linthe’s older brothers.

Linthe didn’t make a big deal of their departure, refusing to engage in any overly dramatic farewells. While there were no particularly violent struggles within the Lancelot family, there were nonetheless conflicts both open and veiled, a natural state of affairs for noble families. Sentimentality between relatives was not especially strong.

Standing atop the city gate, Linthe watched as Marquis Wade led his army slowly out of Flooding Snow City, his face grim. The cheering civilians eventually dispersed, and the clamor of their voices slowly faded to silence.

“Sander.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Is the Dark Rider Legion prepared?”

“At any time, we are ready to fight.”

“Very well.”

“Let us return to the Marquis Estate.”

A gentle breeze blew in from the east, heralding the arrival of spring, but Linthe felt colder than ever. As time passed, Linthe’s unease intensified. This feeling was not based on any evidence but was rather a gift bestowed upon him by birth, one that often allowed him to avoid danger and pursue opportunities. Yet now, for the first time, Linthe felt powerless.

May the Dark Rider Legion find no need to act.

“Reporting in, Archduke Richard,” said Creman.

In the city of Tie Mu, Richard inspected the cavalrymen dispatched by each clan. Creman Nade, the second son of Viscount Nade, possessed the strength of a quasi-knight, though slightly less so than the Hunter family’s representative.

Creman had led over a hundred and fifty cavalrymen from the Nade estate to Tie Mu City to report to Richard, in accordance with the terms of their alliance. Having demonstrated his strength the day before, none of the clans dared attempt any funny business, and all contributed their finest cavalrymen. Thus, Viscount Nade and three other barons brought three hundred riders to Tie Mu City to await orders.

After a brief address, Richard combined the six hundred riders, including the Hunter family’s, into ten squadrons, which he deployed throughout the ironwood forest and along the border of the Wilderness as scouts. Creman became the captain of one such squadron.

Richard’s decisions were not arbitrary; they were based solely on each individual’s capabilities. He cared little for rank or title, and thus spared no effort in sorting out these minor knights.

However, Richard’s impartiality earned him some respect from these newly arrived cavalrymen, alleviating their initial resistance.

After assigning patrol duties to each squadron, Richard turned to depart.

“Sir Creman, what about us?”

“Follow Archduke Richard’s orders, nothing more.”

“Yes sir.”

Creman couldn’t help but admit that this young man, who was still a few years younger than himself, possessed an air of authority that commanded respect.

Richard had no idea what was said after he left, and if he did, he would have likely dismissed it with a laugh.

One’s strategic vision and nobility of character are largely determined by one’s position. As the owner of a castle, Richard received loyalties from four knights every week, and naturally, his confidence grew, projecting an aura of command to those around him.

The reason for Richard’s haste was that he had more important affairs to attend to. A new week had begun, which meant new structures could be built, and the troops stationed at each camp had completed their training and awaited recruitment.

Upon opening Boulder Fortress’s construction menu, Richard saw that the Temple of the Crusaders, the Cloud City, and other advanced structures remained grayed out, as though they were locked behind some requirement.

After pondering slightly, Richard decided to upgrade Griffin Tower to an Advanced Griffin Tower, then took the opportunity to upgrade all the griffins in his army to Imperial Griffons.

After recruiting the newly available troops for the week, Richard’s army became:

Infantry (90), Archers (50), Imperial Griffons (29), Crusaders (14).

His forces grew stronger yet again.

Richard dispatched his griffon riders to scout the Wilderness near the Sixth War Zone. In his plans, scouting cavalry and griffons complemented each other, and if there truly was a group of cannibals heading north, he could respond immediately.

“Ah, save me!”

The pitiful cry was abruptly cut off by the spine-chilling sound of gnashing teeth.

Deep within the ironwood forest, a group of orcs were chasing down a party of half-elves. The orcs would kill any half-elf they caught instantly, as the vast disparity in power left the latter with no room to resist.

“Al, take the tribe to the humans’ territory.”

“What about you, elder?”

“I’ll hold them off. No one will get away otherwise.”

A desperate measure such as self-amputation was often the only way to escape when fleeing with one’s life on the line.

Though tears welled in Al’s eyes, he didn’t dare waste precious time and led the remaining dozen or so members of his tribe toward the edge of the ironwood forest.