The Snail Advances

"What a fine way to put it—no losses suffered!

The army the Holy Church spent so dearly to build was meant to conquer the world, yet you threw every last man into the grave.

Even the Blood Moon Horn was exposed ahead of time, and you still had the nerve to claim that no losses were suffered?

High Priest, what exactly counts as a loss in your eyes?

Must the enemy come and wipe us all out before it counts as a loss?

Or perhaps..."

Before Iman could finish, the masked man raised a hand to stop him. "Enough. Let us leave the matter at that. I believe the High Priest's mistake this time was unintentional, but it would be best if such an error did not happen a second time.

Compared with the nobles who have ruled this land for countless years, the Skull Society's foundations are simply too thin. We cannot withstand such waste.

We gathered here from every corner of the land to overthrow the nobles' rule, to stand beneath the sun from now on, so that our descendants would no longer have to live like rats.

Now, the opportunity has come. The enemy has abandoned their advantageous cities and chosen to fight us in the field. As long as we defeat this Noble Allied Forces army, the Southeast Province will be ours.

Once we seize the Southeast Province, the Alpha Kingdom will surely be shaken. Those ambitious souls who have long suffered under the nobles will rise up in response.

Using the Alpha Kingdom as our foundation, we will ignite a wave of resistance across the entire continent, just as we did three hundred years ago, sweeping over the whole continent.

Victory will belong to us!"

"Victory will belong to us!"

"Victory will belong to us!"

As though they had been injected with stimulants, everyone joined the masked man in shouting. It was clear that their agreement came from the heart.

Although the mysterious "Holy Lord's" rousing words were logically utter nonsense and utterly unconvincing, with magic backing them, anything was possible.

After all, they were nothing more than a disgraceful cult. No matter how beautifully they dressed up their words, it could not change their evil core.

Once morale had been raised, the Skull Society immediately transformed into a weapon of war and began operating at full force.

The first wave of devout believers had all gone to the battlefield as cannon fodder, so the subsequent recruitment efforts naturally did not go smoothly.

But this did not stump the Skull Society. Anyone unwilling to enlist would simply be press-ganged. In any case, once they entered the army, they would first be forced down a bowl of Courage Potion, then subjected to mental brainwashing. Thus, brave and fearless soldiers were produced.

Everything had two sides. These artificially ripened "warriors" usually suffered a severe drop in intelligence, and the more bloodthirsty they became, the more brainless they were.

They were fine as expendable supplies, but training them into true elites was utterly impossible.

Looking at the disorderly ranks, Count Pierce, who had just been full of lofty rhetoric, wore a terrifyingly grim expression.

He had known that the Noble Allied Forces were a mixed bag, but he had not expected them to be rotten to this extent. It was only the first day of departure, yet the serf soldiers below had already fallen into chaos.

As everyone knew, the marching speed of an army was determined not by its best troops, but by its worst.

Generally speaking, the larger the army, the more deadweight it contained, and the slower it marched. Small units, on the other hand, were more efficient.

On the very first day, soldiers had already wandered into the wrong units and could not find their way back, creating a farce. Watching the noble lords running about in search of their own soldiers, Count Pierce was beside himself with anger.

Talk of swift military action had become a complete joke at this moment. Not only had the first four armies fallen into confusion, but the Fifth Army, responsible for transporting supplies, had taken dragging everyone down to the extreme.

No matter how far the troops ahead ran, the Fifth Army advanced only a little over twenty li. Even that was the result of Count Pierce repeatedly sending people to urge them onward; otherwise, they would have moved even slower.

Hudson, who was at the very rear of the column, had the most to say on this matter. It was not that he was deliberately causing trouble; an army of tens of thousands was naturally a long, winding column.

By an optimistic estimate, with four men abreast and one meter between each rank, a formation of twenty thousand troops would stretch for ten li.

Hudson did not know the exact strength of the allied army. In any case, more than three hours after the order to march had been issued, his Tenth Regiment finally began moving.

Because of the shortage of draft animals, the soldiers had to work alongside hired laborers, pushing the grain carts forward.

Having serf soldiers push carts was certainly suited to their profession, but there was no expecting much efficiency from them.

Three hours had already been wasted at the start. After subtracting another two or three hours for rests along the way, cooking meals, and setting up camp, their actual marching time was only five or six hours.

Under such circumstances, the Fifth Army had truly done its best to maintain a daily march of twenty li.

Unfortunately, no one saw that effort. Count Pierce, furious and embarrassed, ignored the fact that everyone had spent the entire day marching and summoned an expanded regimental-level military conference that very night.

Gathered around a cluster of bonfires, Hudson could vaguely make out Count Pierce's grim face by the flickering firelight.

"Count, the slow marching speed is mainly due to the Fifth Army holding us back. If not for the restrictions imposed by the supply train, marching fifty li a day would be no challenge for us."

The one boasting was Viscount Oran, commander of the Second Army.

Without the serf soldiers, Hudson would not have found it strange even if they marched a hundred li a day. But with those people dragging them down, fifty li a day was simply a joke.

It was not as if he had never tried it. On the way here, he had once attempted to march sixty li in a day, and the result was too miserable to mention.

It only proved that the old ancestors had been right in their military texts—"Those who rush a hundred li for advantage lose their commanding general; those who rush fifty li for advantage see only half their army arrive."

If they truly forced the troops to march fifty li a day, they could only cry when they encountered the Rebel Army. The exhausted soldiers would show them through their actions what it meant to completely give up.

"Count, it is not that our Fifth Army is unwilling to work hard. The roads are simply too winding, and we lack enough draft animals to pull the carts. We can only rely on manpower, so there is no way to move faster!

Besides, this was the first day of operations, and we set out three hours later than everyone else. Being able to march twenty li in a day already took everyone's utmost effort.

If everyone still has strength to spare, I suggest distributing the supplies among the regiments so that we can share the burden of logistical transport. The marching speed should improve considerably that way."

Knight Chels forced himself to explain.

No matter what, the Fifth Army could not take the blame for slowing the march.

The first four armies had all set out lightly equipped; only the Fifth Army was marching under heavy loads. Demanding that everyone maintain the same marching speed was plainly absurd.

"Knight Chels, it seems your military competence still needs improvement! Handing out the supplies—how could you even suggest that? Don't you know the main force needs to conserve its strength so it can face the enemy at any time?"

Chris, commander of the Third Army, mocked him.

Shirking responsibility and passing the buck was one thing. Taking on the miserable task of transporting supplies was another matter entirely.

They knew their own capabilities best. Even a normal march could descend into chaos. If they added the burden of supplies, the consequences would be too dreadful to imagine.