Support Was Imminent
On the moor trail leading from Eagle's Nest Fortress to Carnford
Under the cover of night, a massive army was slowly crawling northward like a snail.
This was the "reinforcements" dispatched by the Earl Eisenberg on the King, consisting of ten thousand soldiers of the Eagle's Nest Legion led by Sir Valerius.
At the center of the column, Sir Valerius, wrapped in a thick bearskin cloak, rode a tall horse, his face blue from the cold, his eyes filled with impatience and complaints.
He would occasionally glance back towards the direction of Eagle's Nest Fortress in the south, cursing His Your Majesty and that meddlesome Friedrich countless times in his heart.
This damn weather, this lousy road, and that damned, reckless Carnford!
In his view, this mission was purely a thankless task, and he should delay it as much as possible. Ideally, by the time they leisurely strolled to Carnford, the city would have already fallen and its inhabitants dead, so he could legitimately "lament" and then head back home.
However, on the edge of this sluggish army, a solitary and swift shadow stood out starkly against the overall slow pace of the group.
Friedrich crouched low, pressing himself close to his horse's neck to minimize wind resistance.
His face was stern, his lips were tightly pressed together, and his eyes were bloodshot, yet they burned with an undeniable, resolute flame.
Behind him, two other equally magnificent warhorses were skillfully linked by reins, and the three horses were ridden alternately to maintain the fastest possible speed.
These were the three finest northern horses that he had "borrowed" from Valerius's personal guards' stables with a clean and efficient infiltration and "borrowing" before leaving the army camp.
He knew that waiting for that bloated and sluggish army was no different than waiting to collect his brother's corpse.
He couldn't wait, and Karl couldn't wait even more!
The cold wind rushed into his mouth and nose, and the icy air stung his lungs, but he didn't care.
He had only one thought in his mind, a thought that burned like a brand.
Get to Carnford! Before it's too late!
The image of my youngest half-brother kept appearing in my mind.
In my memory, Karl was always somewhat silent, even a bit aloof, and not particularly noticeable in the bustling Duke's mansion.
Friedrich himself was often away fighting wars and rarely saw his younger brother, so they didn't have a particularly deep relationship.
However, when news of the great victory at Carnford spread throughout the kingdom, and when he heard in the Royal Capital about how Karl had repeatedly defeated the Sauron army with a small force, an indescribable sense of pride and identity, belonging to the Schmidt Family bloodline, arose spontaneously within him.
Especially when he learned that Karl had chosen to stay in the perilous Northern Territory to rebuild Carnford and face Harald's 100,000-strong army alone, this feeling turned into deep admiration and worry.
That was not a choice that a pampered nobleman could make; it was the responsibility of a true knight, a man of integrity!
"He's not even a knight...just an ordinary person without awakened Battle Qi ..." Friedrich muttered to himself, his teeth grinding together, "But what he did was braver than many high-ranking knights, even generals!"
"He cannot... he absolutely cannot die silently in that isolated castle! He is the honor of the Schmidt Family!"
The thought that his brother might be fighting a bloody battle amidst the ruins of Carnford, and might fall at any moment, tore at Friedrich's heart. He spurred his horse on even faster.
The horse's hooves pounded through the frost, leaving a trail of rapid hoofprints on the silent wilderness, which were quickly covered by the wind and snow.
"Hold on! Karl! You must hold on!" He cried out silently in his heart, as if this belief could pierce through mountains and rivers, giving his younger brother in the distant, lonely fortress a sliver of strength, "Brother... is coming to save you!"
The Southwest Peninsula of the Northern Territory, a desolate coastline after crossing the icy sea.
Unlike Friedrich's solitary journey, another team, tasked with a rescue mission, was trekking through the desolate landscape in a more arduous and silent manner.
The North Wind Squad, dispatched by Earl Rochefort, consisted of five hundred elite warriors, each possessing at least the strength of First-tier Knight. After successfully crossing the frozen Northern Sea Strait, they embarked on the final and most dangerous leg of their journey to Carnford.
Crossing the desolate and frigid Southwest Peninsula the Northern Territory.
The environment here is even harsher than they imagined.
There were no roads, only undulating hills and frozen ground covered in ice and snow.
The biting wind never ceased, swirling with snowflakes, and visibility was extremely low.
The temperature was terrifyingly low; your breath would freeze instantly, and exposed skin would get frostbite in moments.
The group marched in silence, each person covering their mouth and nose with a thick scarf, revealing only a pair of vigilant and determined eyes.
A layer of ice had formed on their white camouflage suits, which made a slight crackling sound as they moved.
No one spoke; conserving energy and calories was the first priority for survival.
However, the cruelty of nature far surpasses the swords of enemies.
Of the five hundred people who set out, fewer than four hundred and ninety remain.
The dozen or so people who died did not perish in battle, but were buried on that icy sea.
Just three days ago, when they were sailing through the middle of the strait, a seemingly solid ice surface suddenly cracked without warning!
The leading squad, along with some of their supplies, instantly fell into the icy, frigid sea!
There was no time for rescue; a person would lose consciousness within minutes in such cold seawater.
The team members could only watch helplessly as their companion struggled and sank in the ice hole, eventually disappearing beneath the surface of the sea, and their body could not be recovered.
The sense of powerlessness and grief at that moment weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.
Laurent walked at the head of the procession, his gaze always fixed on the north, as if trying to pierce through the swirling snow and see the castle that was being tormented by blood and fire.
With each team member sacrificed, his heart felt like it was being cut by a knife.
These are the most precious warriors of Fran City, the sharp swords entrusted to him by the Count because of his trust in him.
Now, the sword is broken before it has even been drawn.
But he couldn't stop, and he couldn't show the slightest hesitation or sadness.
He was the backbone of the team; he had to lead the rest of them to accomplish this nearly impossible task.
"Speed up! Don't fall behind!" Laurent's voice, muffled by his scarf, carried an undeniable authority.
He knew that every moment they lingered there increased the risk of Carnford falling.
The team members gritted their teeth, dragging their tired and frozen bodies, and struggled to keep up.
Every step was incredibly difficult, but no one complained, and no one backed down.
They understood the significance of this mission: it was not only to rescue the legendary Lord Karl, but also for the future of Fran City and for the hope of the entire Northern Territory War.
Laurent raised his head, gazing at the snow-covered northern horizon, and silently offered the same prayer as Friedrich on another front:
"Hold on, Lord Karl! We... are on our way!"