The Path to Lordship Begins in the North

In the camp in Fassen, carrier pigeons and scouts constantly moved in and out of the tents, allowing Lind to keep abreast of the latest movements of the Wesker coalition forces.

"A coalition of 50,000 men, without dividing their forces, are heading straight for us?"

As a top student who graduated from the Royal Capital Academy, Isa repeatedly checked the information in her hands.

This was so illogical that Isa always felt there must be something fishy going on.

"This is normal."

Jefferson, standing to the side, kept wiping the sweat from his brow, regretting his decision to sit on the fence. He also explained to Isa, "The Allied forces don't actually number 50,000. The real number is at most 20,000 to 30,000, and among them are many of their relatives, followers, and even cooks."

"Not to mention that the cooks also have to lead a bunch of logistics staff. The servants used to maintain the dignity of these nobles probably make up about a third of the team. With such a cumbersome force, it would be difficult to command a split attack."

Upon hearing this explanation, Isa exclaimed in surprise, "Is this how you nobles fight? No wonder the border regions are in such a state of chaos."

"No, madam, we nobles are far more extravagant than you imagine."

After saying that, Jefferson took out a plan and placed it on the table.

After reading it, Isa remained silent for a long time. The plan detailed how, after surrounding the Gray and White Collars, each noble would hold a position, essentially placing a bet on where the Gray and White Collars would break out.

Of course, there are also those who bet on the gray-collar workers surrendering, but the odds are very low, far less exciting than betting on a position.

"To prevent anyone from getting ahead and taking up a better position, the entire coalition forces are under unified management, and it is impossible to divide the troops."

Jefferson, who had changed his handkerchief and was wiping his sweat again, continued to explain that he had been sweating so much these past few days that he was almost dehydrated, especially as the Allied forces were getting closer.

"This is... way too exaggerated."

Isa had imagined the limits of the nobility, but the nobles proved with their actions: My limits are beyond your imagination.

Linde put away the new intelligence, looked at the map and said, "Don't underestimate the enemy, but don't be too nervous either. Just follow the plan."

Including the three hundred soldiers equipped with individual combat backpacks, as well as Lena's knights and nuns, the two sides were indeed evenly matched in terms of professionals. If the opposing army could not put up a frontal stand, it would be more like a paper tiger. In the chaos, those ordinary people who had only come to fight because they were conscripted by the lord were actually a burden.

The closer the other person got, the calmer Linde felt.

At that moment, Lena walked in wearing enormous armor that was completely disproportionate to her size.

"How about it, bro? Do you look like my grandpa?"

Although it was more cumbersome, Lena, as a sixth-tier professional, could still use it with ease.

Lena shed her previous melancholy and became even more excited as the war drew near, as if Lars's war bloodline was constantly awakening.

Lind, who had never met Grand Duke Lars, didn't know how to respond, so he could only say, "Remember, don't get entangled in the fight. This isn't our only chance. If we're exposed, we'll run into the minefield. Understand? Your safety is more important than anything else."

"Don't worry, brother, no one in the entire North is my match."

After speaking, Lena, dressed in enormous armor, struck a pose showing off her muscles, though it was still impossible to discern anything.

Seeing that Lena was starting to go off the rails again, Lind could only say to Susan, who was standing next to Lena, "Protect your young lady, understand?"

"We swear to protect them to the death!"

At this moment, a servant came in and reported: "Sir, the artillery positions in the forest area are ready."

Upon hearing the report, Lena immediately put on her helmet.

"Alright, brother, I'm off!"

Meanwhile, most of Wesker's coalition forces had already entered the valley, while Wesker, at the head of the coalition, was leading his entourage out of the valley.

"Lord Evans, are we really going to walk out of the valley like this?"

Watching the endless column of troops slowly advance through the valley behind them, the royal envoy was extremely worried. Even an envoy who knew nothing about military affairs could see that if there were people lying in ambush in the valley, they could split the allied forces in two in an instant.

But Wesker, who had drunk a little wine, blushed and said, "Your Excellency, have you heard of Lars's joke?"

The envoy shook his head; indeed, the envoy from the capital was not very familiar with the northern border.

"Once, the knights of the Lars family were chasing two or three demons on the other side of the river. Because the river was too deep and there was no bridge, the knights had to take out their bows and arrows to shoot. But little did they know that the demons' bloodline magic was specifically designed to counter bows and arrows. A group of knights could only scratch their heads through their helmets at the two or three demons on the other side of the river."

"Hahahaha, these knights don't even know a little bit of ranged magic?"

The royal envoy laughed heartily upon hearing this, feeling much more at ease. Although the story was probably fabricated, the knights of the Lars family were indeed severely lacking in ranged attack methods.

"Not only that, these tortoise-shell-like knights are also not good at killing. Often, a dozen or so of them die in a battle, which has become a laughing stock in the North."

Wesker added, “If our opponents were a group of spellcasters, we would have suffered heavy losses going through this valley, but our opponents are a group of Lars family knights, hahahahaha, I’m already laughing.”

The royal envoy also flattered, "Lord Evans is indeed a master strategist. He has already studied the enemy thoroughly. It's a pity that we have a traitor among us, Jefferson. Otherwise, the remnants of Old Lars would never have imagined that we would go directly to Gray Collar from here."

"It doesn't matter."

Wesker said nonchalantly, "I have to thank Jefferson, otherwise this battle, as the starting point of my epic, would have been far too boring."

Lucanus, standing nearby, chimed in, "Exactly! A great epic is one filled with dramatic betrayals and the unknown."

“Not bad, not bad, Xiao Lu, I just thought of two lines of poetry that can serve as the beginning of my epic story. What do you think?”

Just as Lucanus was about to spur his horse forward, a deep, muffled thud came from ahead.

Perhaps because he had been drinking, Wesker clearly heard the sound amidst the surrounding noise.

Did it start thundering as soon as I left the valley?

Wesker frowned. This was not a good sign. If it rained, the nobles in the back of the procession would definitely complain. Being soaked in water would ruin any semblance of nobility and dignity.

As for marching in the rain?

Shouldn't we enjoy camping and the scenery on a rainy day?

With that in mind, Wesker looked up at the valley behind him, trying to find a good spot for a view.

Then, just as Wesker looked up, another muffled sound came, and this time it was very close, right above him. Wesker could clearly see something rapidly approaching from the sky.

A massive shell hurtled through the air, crashing down on Wesker's surroundings with destructive force. It exploded on the ground, violently kicking up dirt and debris, creating a barrier of black smoke and dust.

Wesker's armor displayed magnificent runes, but then more shells rained down, bringing a series of explosions.

Even though he was wearing enchanted armor, Wesker still felt as if he had been hit in the chest with a hammer. A sweet taste rose in his throat, and he spat out a mouthful of blood. The impact caused him to lose his balance and fall off his horse.

But the explosions did not stop, as if hundreds of spellcasters were continuously unleashing a rain of destruction, with thunder as a harbinger of the rain.

Not only Wesker's vanguard was attacked, but the same muffled sounds also echoed in the valley behind them, throwing the entire coalition into chaos.

The entire valley was filled with firelight and smoke, with wreckage and screams echoing through the air. Enchanted lights flashed everywhere, but more often, ordinary soldiers and horses, already out of control, charged at their comrades in the chaos.

The vanguard was in no better shape; the large number of ordinary soldiers quickly descended into chaos, with some trying to escape into the valley and others scattering and fleeing out of the valley.

Expensive enchantments helped Wesker survive the explosion, and his loyal squires formed a circle around him in the chaos, preventing him from being trampled.

Enemy attack? But why didn't the spellcasters at the front detect any magical reaction? When did the Lars family acquire such terrifying long-range attack capabilities?

Wesker's mind and armor were buzzing. Could it be that the Lars from Winterhold had come to reinforce him?

Just as the explosions were subsiding and Wesker thought he could finally breathe a sigh of relief, an army carrying a fire poker and a strange backpack appeared in front of him.

Before the allied forces at the front could react, a rain of molten fire rays began to reap the lives of the front-line allied soldiers like the scythe of death.

Especially those troops bearing conspicuous noble banners—before Wesker could even get up, his entourage was pierced through by molten lava rays.

Wesker, who had fallen to the ground again, saw Lucanus not far away and immediately roared:

"Lucanus! Help me out!"

Wesker kept shouting amidst the explosions, but Lucanus seemed not to hear him, staring blankly at the sky full of artillery fire through his blindfold, a strange, amused smile on his face.

"Lucanus! Are you deaf?! I asked you to help me up!"

Wesker, who was being constantly pushed by the crowd, shouted angrily, but probably because Lucanus's costume was too conspicuous among the soldiers, Lucanus, who was still in a daze, was immediately hit by several rays and then hit head-on by a cannonball.

Wesker, who was blown away, witnessed Lucanus being torn to pieces.