The War of Founding a Nation

Along the Mississippi River, paladins mounted on uniformly white warhorses, their robes embroidered with the Saint George slaying the dragon emblem, rode through the camp.

Nearly all the clergy from the southern states had been summoned, over a thousand of them, sprinkling Holy Water over the soldiers and raising their morale.

Choirs sang solemn hymns, while sacred prayers echoed everywhere.

This was an unprecedented Grand Mass in America. Its scale was so immense that most English soldiers were seeing such a spectacle for the first time in their lives.

At the harbor, a brand-new battleship sailed in like a giant whale. Its vast escort fleet belched thick smoke as it approached with the setting sun behind it.

Aboard the London.

Escorted by guards, Marshal Julian went straight to the command room. Everything had been put in perfect order, and General George's personal belongings had already been packed away.

"General George, I will be taking over your position and assuming command of all expeditionary affairs."

General George was not surprised by the news. "Can I return to the homeland now?"

"I'm afraid not. You will remain as my deputy."

The stern-faced middle-aged general spoke coldly. "I have no intention of criticizing your previous decisions, nor do I intend to pursue anyone's mistakes. Our only and most important goal now is to win this war."

General George gave a bitter laugh. He understood the unspoken meaning behind this new marshal named Julian.

Whether his merits and faults would cancel each other out and restore his reputation, or whether he would be held accountable afterward, depended on the outcome of this battle.

"Sir, I accept your command."

General George paused, then continued, "Before I explain the current situation, I would like to ask you a question. How many reinforcements have you brought this