On September 15, Carnford's First and Second Cavalry Regiments arrived outside Frosgard after sweeping aside the scattered resistance along the way.
Dark blue military banners snapped fiercely in the cold wind. This army, tempered by blood and fire, stood in formation beneath the walls of the once-arrogant Sauron royal city, bearing the majesty of victors.
Karl had come as well. He gazed at the city, its gates tightly shut and its banners hanging in tatters, as though it had already lost its soul.
At his side, Lyon stood in silence too, his gaze fixed on the city with complicated emotions—it was his hometown, the place where he had been born, the land once ruled by his family before the Sauron had taken it from them. He had been away from home for more than ten years.
Seeing Lyon's complicated expression, Karl understood.
He stepped closer and patted Lyon's broad shoulder, his voice gentle with understanding. "Lyon, you've been away from home for more than ten years as well. This time, you've brought honor to your family. Lead the First Cavalry Regiment and station it here. Clear out the remnants and bandits nearby, soothe the people, and consolidate our rule. I'll leave this place to you. I trust you."
At those words, Lyon immediately bowed slightly from horseback. His tone was grateful, yet carried a trace of resolve. "Thank you for your understanding, my lord! But... the fighting isn't over yet. There's still one final battle to fight."
Karl nodded without speaking.
He no longer cared about the battle for Frosgard. Svein's struggle like a trapped beast was merely its final thrashing; it could not change the larger picture. The "final battle" Lyon spoke of was the retaking of this city, the complete restoration of his hometown.
And Karl, after dealing