Ward Town
This is clearly an evasive and prevarication-style answer.
A deep disappointment and understanding flashed in Friedrich's eyes, but he also knew that under the current circumstances, it was absolutely impossible to immediately bring down a powerful Count, especially the King's father-in-law.
All he could do was plant a seed in the hearts of the King and his ministers.
He said no more, and kowtowed deeply. "Your subject... obeys the decree."
Sir Kylan, watching from the side, was terrified and quickly tugged at Friedrich's sleeve, signaling him to stop while he was ahead.
Heinrich waved his hand, seemingly somewhat weary. "You may all leave now. Take good care of the troops; the defense of the Royal Capital still depends on you two."
"We take our leave!" Kellan and Friedrich bowed again and slowly withdrew from the eerily quiet hall.
Leaving the palace, Kellan couldn't help but whisper to Friedrich, "Your Excellency... you were too impulsive! Earl Eisenberg is, after all,..."
Friedrich looked up at the sky, his tone calm yet tinged with coldness. "I know, but I must say it, not for personal grudges, but for the brothers who died at Blackstone Pass, for the countless displaced people in the north. If we don't even dare to speak the truth, this kingdom is truly beyond saving."
Kellan gazed at Friedrich's resolute profile, sighed deeply, and all the words of advice stuck in his throat, ultimately turning into a silent lament.
Friedrich and his brother Karl, who in Carnford used his shrewdness and ability to manipulate the rules to secure their territory, were from completely different worlds.
Karl was like water, adept at assessing situations, knowing how to meander and eventually flow into the sea to achieve his goals.
Friedrich, on the other hand, is fire, tempered steel, and a flagpole that will never bend.
In his world, black is black and white is white, allowing no room for ambiguity or compromise.
His almost obsessive sense of justice did not stem from naivety, but from a deep-seated faith: adherence to chivalric maxims, respect for the laws of the kingdom, protection of the weak, and zero tolerance for betrayal and injustice.
The flame of justice burning in his heart was pure and ardent, enough to illuminate a corner of the world in the darkness, give hope to the desperate, and expose the scheming and despicable.
Kellan had no doubt that it was this quality that won Friedrich the unwavering loyalty of the surviving soldiers at Blackstone Pass, and that would rekindle the light in the eyes of the desperate defenders of Old Osric Fortress when they saw him.
But this fire was too intense.
While it burns away the darkness, it may also scorch everything that comes near it, including the one who wields the fire.
In this quagmire of intertwined power and deeply entrenched interests, to so brazenly raise the flames so unguarded is destined to make one a thorn in the side of many.
His outspoken "truths" will tear open the wounds that too many people are trying to cover up, and touch the nerves of too many vested interests.
Kellan seemed to already see how many open and hidden attacks this young knight would face alone on this thorny path.
His integrity is his armor, but it can also become his weakness.
The kingdom needs such a light, but how long can this light burn in this ever-deepening twilight?
Kellan ultimately said nothing, but simply turned his gaze back to the distant horizon, silently reciting something to himself.
May the Gods bless this rare light, and may this world be worthy of your perseverance, Friedrich.
Just as Friedrich and Sir Kylan rushed to Plai's aid and temporarily stabilized the Royal Capital's defenses, the plundering hooves of the Sauron army had already mercilessly trampled into the undefended heartland of the Goldflower Kingdom.
Harald's strategic intentions are very clear.
A portion of the forces were used to contain and besiege Plai, the Royal Capital whose political symbolism outweighed its immediate strategic value, while the main force split into two routes, bypassing the formidable city defenses, and like two giant scythes, swept fiercely towards the kingdom's richest and most poorly defended plains, grain-producing areas, and commercial centers.
The eastern route was led by his younger brother, Asgeir, Corps Commander the Tiger Corps, with their sights set on Field City, the capital of Field City Field Territory, renowned for its wealth and prosperity.
Asgeir's Tiger Corps marched south with unstoppable momentum.
The towns and villages along the way, faced with the overwhelming military superiority of the Sauron and the threat of bloody massacres, mostly surrendered without resistance, opening their gates and offering themselves up in order to save their lives.
The few strongholds that attempted to resist with their low walls also fell like candles in a storm under the Tiger Corps's ferocious offensive, holding out for only a few hours to a day.
Once resistance is met and the city falls, Asgeir will not hesitate to order a brutal massacre, turning the entire town into scorched earth and a sea of corpses and blood.
This ruthless policy of terror spread rapidly like a plague, making the towns that followed even less willing to resist, and Sauron army advanced at an astonishing speed.
Their advance quickly reached Ward Town, a key stronghold on the gateway to Field City.
This was just a small military town with low walls, a narrow moat, and a garrison of only a few hundred men.
In Asgeir's view, this place wasn't even worth using his main force; he could easily take it by simply sending out a striker to intimidate the enemy.
As was customary, he first sent several eloquent men selected from among the Broomflower soldiers to Ward Town with a strongly worded letter of persuasion to surrender.
The letter was nothing more than a repetition of the old rhetoric. "Surrender and you'll be safe; resist and you'll be wiped out."
However, this time, the situation was beyond Asgeir's expectations.
The envoys sent to persuade them to surrender disappeared without a trace, like stones sinking into the sea, and there was no response for a long time.
Just as Asgeir was growing impatient and preparing to order the vanguard to attack, a sharp-eyed Tiger Corps officer suddenly pointed to the walls of Ward Town and exclaimed in surprise, "Corps Commander! Look! On the city walls!"
Asgeir looked in the direction he was pointing, and his face instantly darkened.
On the flagpole of the low gate tower of Ward Town, a bloody human head was conspicuously impaled on a spear!
It was the leader of the surrendered troops from the Broomflower Clan whom he had sent to persuade to surrender! Below his head, there seemed to be a simple white cloth hanging, on which several large, crooked characters were written in blood:
We swear to live and die with Ward! Barbarians, prepare to die!
"Good! Good! Good!" Asgeir laughed instead of getting angry, saying "good" three times in a row, but his eyes flashed with a cruel and fierce light. "Since they want to die, then I'll grant their wish! Issue the order! The Vanguard Camp will attack immediately! Within one hour, raze this ignorant little town to the ground! After the city falls, the same old rules!"
"Yes, Corps Commander!"
The bugle call to attack sounded mournfully.
Thousands of Sauron infantrymen, howling wildly, carrying makeshift Cloud Ladder, surged like a tide toward the seemingly vulnerable walls of Ward Town.