Goodnight, Karl
Even with Harald's cold-blooded nature, his eye twitched almost imperceptibly when he heard the number.
The losses from this siege far exceeded his expectations, and may even have surpassed the total losses incurred during the southward raids in the heart of the Broomflower region.
Moreover, compared to the gold, silver, treasures, grain, and livestock obtained during the plunder, the attack on Carnford yielded almost no decent spoils; it was a grueling and costly battle.
"What a tough nut to crack," Harald muttered to himself, his gaze once again fixed on the inner city shrouded in darkness.
Despite the heavy price, he eventually managed to gnaw through the bone, only to break many teeth in the process.
A complex and indescribable emotion began to grow in his heart.
It was anger, it was exhaustion, but surprisingly... there was also a hint of something indescribable, an appreciation for his rival, Karl von Schmidt, and even a fleeting "love of talent."
This young man appeared suddenly in the Northern Territory like a shooting star, first stabilizing the crisis in Carnford, then hindering his army at the border of Fran City, and now making him pay such a heavy price in this isolated city.
Each of the three encounters was more intense than the last, showcasing astonishing resilience and military prowess.
Harald had to admit that he had seriously underestimated the strength of Carnford's defenses and the young Lord's will.
The fortress's strategic location, the defenders' tenacity, and the variety of defensive tactics far exceeded his expectations.
That young man seemed to possess boundless resilience and wisdom, always able to find solutions in dire straits and deliver heavy blows to the Sauron.
A terrible thought uncontrollably surfaced in Harald's mind.
If... if every city in the Goldflower Kingdom were as difficult to conquer as Carnford.
If every general of the Broomflower were as loyal, brave, and skilled in warfare as this young Lord...
Our Sauron Tribe, let alone raiding southwards, would probably have trouble even establishing a foothold in the Black Forest grasslands; we would have been wiped out countless times long ago...
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
The corruption and internal strife within the Goldflower Kingdom were the key factors that enabled the Sauron to succeed time and again.
And Carnford and Karl, like a mirror, revealed the power that this kingdom should have possessed, but which had been buried.
If he hadn't mobilized an army of 100,000 this time, arriving with overwhelming force, his usual scale of raiding would probably not have been enough to defeat Carnford.
Leon, observing the situation, spoke up at the opportune moment, his tone filled with genuine emotion. "Great Chieftain, the Carnford garrison is truly the most tenacious army I have ever seen. Even after the city fell, they still managed to inflict such heavy casualties on our army in the street fighting. Now that it is dark, there are still remnants of soldiers stubbornly resisting. Their fighting spirit is truly... heart-stopping."
Harald nodded slowly, his gaze deep. "Yes, a group of former refugees and slaves have been forged into such an iron army. I really don't know what methods Karl used... If given time, and allowed to grow stronger, the landscape of the Northern Territory may truly change because of him."
Leon quickly bowed and said, "Indeed! Fortunately, the Great Chieftain is wise and farsighted, and wiped it out with overwhelming force before its foundation was stable, thus eliminating future troubles! Otherwise, the consequences would have been endless!"
He paused, then tentatively added, "But... wouldn't it be wonderful if such a talent could be put to use by me, Sauron?"
Upon hearing this, Harald's lips curled into a cold smile, and he gently shook his head. "Impossible, Leon. You don't understand this kind of person. He and we are on different paths. His roots are in the Broomflower, and his belief lies in protection, not conquest and plunder. To make him surrender? It's harder than killing him."
His tone carried a strange certainty, even a hint of barely perceptible respect, "Besides... I don't want him to surrender either."
He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the group of generals behind him who were holding their breath in awe. His voice suddenly rose, breaking the silence of the night with an unquestionable decisiveness. "Tomorrow, have your men bring up the captured cannons, then use them to blast open their city gates. After that, launch a general offensive."
After Harald gave the final orders for tomorrow's general offensive, the generals withdrew to prepare for their respective tasks.
Silence returned to the city walls, broken only by the soft crackling of the burning tallow torches.
The biting wind ruffled the hair on his forehead, and his deep gaze finally settled on the distant outline of Carnford's inner city, which appeared even more majestic in the darkness.
The scattered torchlight flickering on the city wall, like the still-open eyes of a giant beast, coldly stared back at him.
Harald's lips curled into a cold and complex smile, as if he were having a silent conversation with an opponent he had never met but had already clashed with several times.
He looked up at the night sky, at that lonely city, and whispered in a voice only he could hear:
"Goodnight, Karl von Schmidt." His voice was deep, revealing neither joy nor anger, but carrying an absolute confidence that commanded life and death, and a hint of unspoken farewell to a worthy adversary. "Enjoy this last peaceful night; it will be the last sweet dream of your life."
After saying that, he looked away from Carnford and turned to leave the city wall.
Meanwhile, in the inner city of Carnford.
Karl inspected the defenses on the inner city wall. At this moment, it was difficult to distinguish which of the garrison soldiers on the wall were veterans who had experienced bloody battles, and which were young and strong citizens who had just been armed and whose faces still showed naivety and fear.
The continuous and brutal fighting and the huge casualties have disrupted all the organization. Now, holding the line behind the battlements is a desperate and exhausted force made up of remnants, wounded, militiamen and ordinary citizens. Judging by a rough count, the number is probably less than a hundred.
The air was thick with the smells of blood, herbs, and an almost numb silence.
Karl slowed his pace and walked slowly along the city wall.
He passed through every battlement, every defensive position.
Seeing their Lord personally patrolling the city, the soldiers, their faces covered in soot and their eyes bloodshot, struggled to stand up and salute. Their eyes gleamed with complex emotions—dependence, resolve, and a faint sense of relief at having found their leader.
Karl didn't say anything grand or impassioned; he simply raised his hand solemnly and gave a standard military salute to every soldier who looked at him.
Then he would stop, pat a young soldier's trembling shoulder firmly, check the wounded soldier's bandages, or simply ask, "Are you scared?" After receiving a usually negative or silent response, he would nod and say, "Good job. Behind us are our parents, wives, and children. There's no turning back. Keep going, dawn is approaching."