The Next Target
Just as the atmosphere in the hall was delicate and Harald had made up his mind about the power struggle, heavy footsteps came from outside the door. A soldier wearing Sauron elite leather armor and with a solemn expression walked in quickly, knelt on one knee, and presented a letter with a special Wax Seal mark.
"Great Chieftain, urgent news from Frosgard! The messenger claims it's urgent military intelligence!"
"Frosgard?" Harald raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly and reached out to take the letter.
Upon hearing that it was a letter from Frosgard, Harald already had a pretty good idea of what was going on. It was most likely that the remaining Broomflower forces entrenched in the Iron Islands were taking advantage of the fact that Ulf had massively diverted troops from the rear to besiege Carnford, leaving the defenses vulnerable, to cross the sea and raid the islands.
He deftly removed the Wax Seal, unfolded the parchment letter, and quickly scanned it.
As he had predicted, the letter contained information about the remnants of the Broomflower Iron Islands who, taking advantage of the weakness of our rear, had launched several offensives along the coast with their ships and soldiers. They had already captured several poorly defended coastal fortresses and small towns, looting supplies and burning villages.
Due to severe shortage of troops, the remaining forces could only shrink their defensive line and hold out in a stalemate based on a few key strongholds. The situation was urgent, and they hoped that the Great Chieftain could lead the army back as soon as possible to wipe out this rampant remnant of the enemy.
Harald read the letter, his face revealing neither joy nor anger, and simply handed it to Svein beside him.
Svein took the letter, quickly glanced through it, then scoffed dismissively and handed it to the silent Asgeir.
"Hmph! A bunch of stray dogs!" Svein said contemptuously. "They only dare to sneak ashore like rats when our army is deep in the south, stealing scraps. If it weren't for the fact that my Sauron men are not good at swimming and lack warships, we would have already flattened those broken islands and thrown them all into the sea to feed the fish! This little disturbance won't affect the overall situation."
After reading the letter, Asgeir didn't speak, but his eyes conveyed a similar meaning, concluding that it was just a minor ailment.
Svein turned to Harald, a shrewd glint in his eyes, and began to press his advantage. "Brother, in the end, this is all Ulf's fault! If he hadn't suffered heavy losses at the Carnford City, why would we have needed to mobilize Frosgard's forces? This rendered the coastal defenses virtually nonexistent, and how dare these remnants of the Broomflower so brazenly land ashore? This is a serious dereliction of duty! He must be severely punished as a warning to others!"
Harald gave Svein an approving look and nodded. "Very good, Svein, it's good that you thought of that immediately."
He affirmed his brother's judgment, but his tone remained calm. "Ulf's withdrawal of troops, resulting in damage to the rear, certainly deserves punishment. However, how to punish him, and to what extent, will have to be discussed after we return to our northern homeland in glory."
He then changed the subject. "But before that, we have an even tougher thorn in our side that we must remove. The garrison at Carnford is far more troublesome than those sneaky remnants on the Iron Islands. On this return journey, we must crush them completely!"
He paused, then his voice suddenly rose. "Send the order! Let our warriors rest for three more days right here beneath the walls of the Broomflower Royal Capital! Enjoy to their heart's content the wine, grain, and all the spoils of war we have captured! Recharge and restore our strongest fighting force!"
He whirled around, waving his hand with unparalleled force. "Then, the army will march north! We'll crush Carnford!"
"Yes, Big Brother!" Svein and Asgeir responded in unison, their eyes gleaming with excitement.
For the next few days, the Abo Town was filled with the aroma of roasted meat and cheap liquor, as Sauron soldier revelled in their unprecedented victory.
The captured Goldspur huddled in the cold, open-air camp, gnawing on moldy Black Bread, shivering in despair.
A few days later, after resting and recuperating, Sauron army officially embarked on their journey north.
This enormous caravan, with its Supply Cart, herds of livestock, and slaves stretching for dozens of miles, moved slowly and cumbersomely, yet its imposing manner was extremely arrogant.
They deliberately chose the most "conspicuous" route, swaggering past the Prye City, which was still under surveillance by a portion of the military!
On the walls of Prye City, Heinrich XI and all the guards watched as the procession slowly passed by.
The endless convoy of vehicles, the herds of livestock, and especially the densely packed, ant-like flocks of Broomflower being herded...
This scene was like countless sharp knives, viciously stabbing into the hearts of every conscientious Goldspur!
Shame, anger, despair... a mix of emotions that almost suffocated me.
"Your Majesty! Attack! We can't let the barbarians get away like this!"
"Yes, Your Majesty! Let's break out! Even if we can't annihilate them all, we must reclaim some of our compatriots and their property!"
The crowd was filled with righteous indignation, and many generals and soldiers were red-eyed with rage, eagerly volunteering for battle.
Heinrich XI's face was ashen, and he gripped the crenellations of the city wall tightly with both hands.
He felt humiliated, and he longed to avenge himself. But reason told him that he must not attack.
Several thousand Sauron elite cavalrymen patrolled outside the city to escort them. If they were to venture out into the open for battle, their chances of victory would be slim, and if they were to fall, the Royal Capital be in grave danger!
He finally managed to suppress his impulse and, in a trembling voice, gave the order, "Send... send word to Earl Eisenberg of Eagle's Nest Fortress! Tell him... tell him to send troops to intercept the returning Sauron army! He must... he must reclaim some of their wealth and people!"
This order, though sounding grand and imposing, was in fact utterly powerless.
Soon, the order reached Earl Eisenberg was holed up in Eagle's Nest Fortress.
Eisenberg dared not intercept Harald's main army, but he could not openly disobey the King's orders.
So he perfunctorily sent out a few small cavalry units to follow the Sauron army from a distance on the flanks and rear, like flies, neither daring to approach nor attack, ostensibly to "monitor the enemy's situation," but in reality, it was tantamount to "seeing them off."
This scene infuriated Friedrich and Sir Kylan on the city wall, but they were powerless to do anything about it.
"Cowards! A bunch of cowards!" Sir Kylan slammed his fist on the city wall in anger, gritting his teeth.
Friedrich remained silent, his gaze fixed on the slowly northward-bound army, a caravan carrying the kingdom's endless humiliation and suffering, his eyes as cold as iron.
His heart was filled with hatred for the corruption and incompetence of the kingdom's bureaucracy, and contempt for the likes of Eisenberg who were cowards, but he could do nothing about it.
Just then, his gaze inadvertently swept over the very end of the distant procession, watching the Broomflower slaves staggering forward in the cold wind, and a figure suddenly flashed into his mind.
His brother, Karl von Schmidt, was far away in Carnford in the Northern Territory, also surrounded by enemies.
"Karl ..." Friedrich's heart tightened suddenly.
An ominous premonition welled up in his heart. With such a large and well-equipped Sauron army returning, they would never tolerate having a "thorn" like Carnford still in their path!
To ensure a safe and smooth retreat, Harald will undoubtedly amass a large force on his return journey to completely eliminate Carnford, this thorn in his side!
The thought that his younger brother might face the furious retaliation of Sauron's main army sank Friedrich's heart.
He gazed northward, as if he could see through thousands of mountains and rivers to reach that solitary fortress on the border.
"Karl... my brother..." he prayed silently, his clenched fists trembling slightly from the effort, "You must... live on!"
The Sauron army, laden with plundered wealth and slaves, marched through the Blackstone Pass, a place no one dared to truly block, and gradually disappeared on the northern horizon.