"My lord! My lord! The center has broken through! Completely broken through! Harald is finished!"
Brendan's voice, usually as steady as a mountain, had become hoarse and trembling from overwhelming excitement and immense relief, even cracking slightly.
He practically stumbled as he rushed to Carl's side, pointing toward the center, where dust billowed, battle cries shook the heavens, and a blue tide was sweeping away everything in its path. His eyes shone with almost fanatical light.
As an old general who had followed Carl for many years, he had witnessed Carnford rise from nothing, from weakness to strength. But now, he was witnessing the arrival of an epic victory that would decide the fate of the Northern Territory!
Carl abruptly lowered the Monocular Telescope he had held tightly in his hand, one he had scarcely ever put down. The cold metal tube seemed still to carry the smoke and stench of blood from the distant battlefield.
He drew a deep breath, as though he meant to expel all the pressure, planning, and worry accumulated in his chest over the years. His gaze was sharp as an eagle's, swiftly sweeping across the battlefield and taking in the latest situation:
On the left flank, toward Village No. 2, the banner representing Otto's forces had been firmly planted atop the ruins. Svein's final resistance had been reduced to scattered, meaningless death throes; it was only a matter of time before it was wiped out.
On the right flank, toward Village No. 7, Duke Schmidt's Franklin Army had paid no small price, but they had successfully repelled wave after wave of frenzied assaults led by Asgeir. Sauron's Bear Corps, after continued attrition and its final collapse, had been utterly shattered and scattered, no longer existing as a fighting force.
And at the crucial center—the