Interlude

Karl heard the commotion and immediately hurried over.

Several soldiers were gathered in a circle. In the middle, one man sat on the ground in agony, clutching his left foot tightly with both hands, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

"What happened?" Karl asked as he pushed through the crowd.

A soldier hurriedly answered, "My lord, it's Roderick! He was helping clear away the last batch of logs when his foot slipped. One of the logs rolled down and crushed his foot!"

Karl crouched down. The army medic, who knew a little about medicine, had already removed the boot from the soldier named Roderick.

His ankle was visibly swollen, and his skin had turned an abnormal bluish-purple.

The medic carefully pressed it a few times, and Roderick immediately sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.

"My lord," the medic said solemnly as he looked up, "it appears the bone may be cracked. Even if it isn't, the sprain is extremely severe. He definitely won't be able to walk. We'll have to make a stretcher and carry him."

Hearing this, Roderick forgot his pain. The blood drained from his face as he struggled to look at Karl, his voice filled with panic and pleading. "My lord! No! I... I can endure it! Don't carry me on a stretcher! That would slow everyone's march! I... I can still walk!"

He tried to stand, but the pain nearly made him faint. Becoming a burden during a march through the Northern Territory could have extremely serious consequences.

Karl looked at his pale, anxious face and fell silent for a moment.

Carrying him on a stretcher would undoubtedly slow the entire group and increase the danger, but abandoning an injured soldier was something he absolutely could not accept.

Suddenly, he made a decision.

"You don't have to walk, and you don't need a stretcher." Karl's voice was calm but carried an unquestionable force. "You can ride my horse."

"What?" Roderick abruptly raised his head and stared at Karl in disbelief, almost thinking he had misheard. The soldiers around them were stunned as well.

"My lord! How can I?" Roderick quickly waved his hands when he recovered. "That's your mount! I... how could I..."

Karl interrupted him, his expression serious. "Do you want to disobey the Lord's orders, soldier?"

Roderick was instantly rendered speechless. He instinctively straightened his body. "N... no, I wouldn't dare!"

"Then it's settled." Karl's tone softened. "What's your name? Your full name."

"Ro... Roderick, my lord. Roderick Steadfast." The soldier's voice trembled slightly.

"Very well, Roderick Steadfast." Karl solemnly spoke his full name. "I now order you to ride my horse until your foot has healed."

Soon, with several comrades carefully supporting him, Roderick nervously yet gratefully climbed onto Karl's gentle riding horse.

Roderick had originally been a farmer. He had joined the militia because his seriously ill mother urgently needed money. This was the first time in his life he had ever ridden a horse.

He awkwardly gripped the reins, feeling as though he were dreaming.

The soldiers around them watched the scene, their eyes filled with admiration and emotion.

They were no longer surprised by their lord's actions. They only felt that being able to follow a lord who truly cherished his soldiers like his own children was their greatest fortune.

Karl patted the horse's neck and smiled at the uneasy Roderick. "Sit steady. Don't fall off. This horse is very gentle."

After dealing with this minor incident, Karl swept his gaze across the area. The army was fully prepared.

He took a deep breath of the cold air and swung his arm forward.

"Move out!"

The long column set off once more, like a tenacious stream slowly flowing into the bleak and dangerous wilderness of the Northern Territory.

Brendan and Roland still wanted to give their horses to Karl, but Karl politely declined.

Karl walked in the middle of the column, his gaze firmly fixed ahead.

An ordinary soldier was riding on his horse, but this did nothing to diminish his dignity. Instead, it added a distinctive quality to his bearing as a leader.

The column marched silently across the desolate Northern Wilderness for several hours. Aside from the wind and the disorderly sound of footsteps, the surroundings were utterly silent. Yet this silence only made the oppressive feeling in everyone's hearts grow heavier.

Brendan rode back from his scouting position ahead. He dismounted neatly and came to Karl, who was walking on foot. The old knight's face carried a subtle gravity.

"My lord, there's nothing unusual within our field of vision ahead. The terrain is relatively open, making it unsuitable for a large-scale ambush," Brendan reported. But then he lowered his voice, his brow tightly furrowed. "However... I can't shake the feeling that something is watching us from the shadows. It started half an hour ago. It feels like a thorn in my back."

Almost the instant Brendan finished speaking, the system's notification sounded coldly in Karl's mind:

[Daily Mission Updated]

[Mission]: Establish a camp and construct solid defensive fortifications. (Incomplete)

Karl's heart tightened. Brendan's instincts and the system mission pointed to the same conclusion—danger was approaching, and they had to stop advancing!

He made his decision at once and looked up to order Brendan and the surrounding officers, "Brendan's instincts won't be wrong. Since that's the case, we'll travel a shorter distance today and establish camp early! Order the troops to stop advancing. Find a suitable location and build the camp according to yesterday's defensive standards!"

The order was rapidly passed down, and the long column gradually came to a halt.

Although the soldiers and slaves were somewhat puzzled by the early camp, no one questioned their lord's decision.

With yesterday's experience, along with Old Morrell and several craftsmen directing things on-site, the camp was built faster and more systematically than the day before.

The trenches were dug deeper, the earthen embankments were packed harder, and the palisades were set closer together.

This time, Karl specifically improved the system for managing the slaves.

He divided the two hundred and seventy male slaves into nine large groups of thirty and decided to personally select temporary supervisors.

He walked into the group of slaves who were busy chopping wood.

His gaze swept across them before quickly settling on a middle-aged slave who, though thin and frail, worked swiftly, kept his head down, and occasionally reminded those around him of things.

Karl pointed at him. "You. Step out."

The slave's body suddenly stiffened. The blood drained from his face, and his eyes filled with immense fear.

In his experience, being singled out by a lord was never a good thing. It usually meant a beating, punishment, or even death.

Trembling, he was practically shoved forward by his companions before finally reaching Karl. He lowered his head deeply, preparing to face his misfortune.

However, Karl's voice was unexpectedly calm, even carrying a hint of encouragement. "Raise your head. You work hard and know how to cooperate. What's your name?"

The slave raised his head blankly and stammered, "M... my lord... I'm... I'm Otto..."

"Good, Otto." Karl nodded. "Starting today, you're the slave captain of this group. You no longer need to perform heavy labor. You'll be responsible for directing and supervising these thirty people as they complete their assigned tasks. Your ration at each meal will be increased to two bowls of Black Rye Porridge."

Otto was completely stunned. His eyes widened as though he had just heard the most unbelievable thing in the world.