North of Golden Gallon Port.
Across a barren expanse of red earth, a massive force advanced toward Golden Gallon Port amid rolling clouds of dust.
They had trucks, motorcycles, and three-wheeled vehicles, all painted in desert camouflage and clustered around column after column of soldiers.
There were also several wasteland-style open-top off-road vehicles, along with towed artillery dragged behind the trucks.
Objectively speaking, both their firepower and mobility far surpassed the city defense force, which only had a few 100mm guns, and their soldiers looked far better trained as well.
But compared with the Tooth clan of the Bonechewer Tribe, which had once been thoroughly beaten by the Alliance, they were probably evenly matched at best. They even had fewer tanks than the latter.
Still, tanks were not really useful here.
Although Boro Province was mostly plains, it had few decent roads. The area around Golden Gallon Port in particular was an alluvial plain plagued by frequent floods.
Even these light vehicles were having a hard time moving forward. If they actually brought tanks here, they would probably break down before getting very far.
The survivors around them, carrying baskets on their backs and earthen baskets on their arms, quickly stepped aside and gazed reverently at the fluttering crossed-blades banner and gray wolf banner.
"It's the Gray Wolf Army!"
"His Majesty has finally acted."
"I wonder which is stronger, them or the Iron Men."
Some impoverished Wolffolk prostrated themselves on the ground and prayed, looking up at the pride of their people as they chanted in deep, hoarse voices.
"...The Gray Wolves, undefeated upon the wasteland, travel in packs like sweeping sandstorms, bringing death upon their enemies."
Others had greedy green glints in their eyes.
Whenever there was war, people died.
When the time came, they could strip a couple