The Young Men
The next morning, before dawn, with only the pale light of the eastern horizon, Carnford Castle had already awoke from its slumber.
The air was filled with the chill of dawn and the damp scent of grass and trees. Karl was already dressed in light but sturdy travel clothes, with a worn wolfskin cloak over them. He stood in the center of the inner courtyard, his figure appearing tall and resolute in the hazy morning light.
He used the last moments before dawn to conduct a final, detailed handover of affairs with the core officials who remained, including the composed Edgar and Brendan, who insisted on being present despite his arm injury.
He inquired about and repeatedly emphasized everything, from the reconstruction priorities of the territory in the coming days, the supply of medicine to the wounded soldiers' camp, the shifts of militia patrols, the allocation of manpower for farmland repairs, to contingency plans for the resettlement of potential displaced people, ensuring that every important matter had a clear person in charge and a response plan.
He then went to the small square outside the castle, where several carriages were parked, their surfaces tightly covered with thick tarpaulins.
He ordered his men to check the sturdiness of the ropes and wheels again. Even through the cloth, a faint smell, mixed with lime and some kind of pungent medicine, could still be detected.
Those were the heads of two thousand Sauron soldier, specially treated for preservation and to serve as a deterrent. These were horrific spoils of war, and the most direct and bloody evidence of the glorious military achievements of Carnford, which would soon be brought back to Fran City.
With everything ready, Karl turned and stepped into the castle courtyard.
In the courtyard, fifteen young soldiers, carefully selected by Edgar as instructed, were lined up and waiting.
Most of these young men were survivors of the recruits sent by Earl Rochefort last time. Their faces still bore the resolute marks of battle, but their eyes shone with an undiminished youthful vigor and expectation.
They were chosen not only because they were quick-witted and articulate, but also because they had relatives or familiar social networks in Fran City, making them ideal messengers.
Beside him were ten elite cavalrymen personally selected by Lyon.
Although everyone was wounded, some with fresh scars on their faces, and some with slightly stiff movements, their eyes were as sharp as eagles, their posture upright, exuding a fierce and courageous spirit that had survived countless battles.
They will be responsible for escorting the team along the way and ensuring its safety.
Most notably, for this special "image promotion" mission, Edgar ingeniously selected fifteen relatively docile pack horses from the Sauron warhorses captured in the last battle and assigned them to these young infantrymen who could only march on foot on ordinary days.
For these young men from humble backgrounds who had perhaps only ever watched cavalry charge from afar with envy, suddenly owning their own mount was undoubtedly a wonderful surprise and an unprecedented novel experience.
At this moment, the courtyard was filled with a slightly awkward yet vibrant atmosphere.
The young men gathered around their assigned horses, both excited and inevitably timid.
Some people cautiously reached out and stroked the horse's smooth, warm neck, feeling the strong pulse beneath its coat; others imitated the veterans beside them, lowering their voices and clumsily trying to soothe their somewhat agitated, pawing new companions; still others even leaned close to the horse's ear and whispered, as if they were having an important first meeting.
When Edgar ordered the horses to be mounted, the scene was a bit chaotic. Some people missed their stirrups, and others were pulled astray by the sudden strides of their horses, which drew good-natured but barely suppressed chuckles and urgent reminders from their companions.
This lively scene softened the heavy shadow left by the war.
"Silence!" Edgar's deep, authoritative voice rang out, and the courtyard fell silent instantly.
The young soldiers quickly suppressed their smiles, straightened their backs, adjusted their posture on horseback, and turned their gazes to Lord Karl as he slowly approached, their eyes filled with awe, trust, and a sense of mission to carry out an important task.
Karl walked to the front of the group, his deep gaze slowly sweeping over each young and enthusiastic face.
His voice was clear and steady, yet carried an inspiring power, echoing in the morning courtyard. "Young men! You are the surviving warriors of Carnford, and the messengers I have personally chosen! Your mission, Steward Edgar has already explained to you."
He paused, letting each word be etched into everyone's hearts. "Go back to Fran City, go back to your parents, brothers, friends, and neighbors! Show everyone in Fran City with the steadfastness of Carnford that you witnessed firsthand, with the bloody battle you experienced!"
His voice rose a few decibels. "Tell them, Carnford has held! The 100,000-strong army of the Sauron has been routed at our feet! This is no longer a desolate frontier, but a new home full of hope!"
"Here we have an army to protect their peaceful lives, and even more so, Lord worthy of their trust in the future! Let everyone know that Carnford needs people, artisans, farmers, and everyone willing to create a life with their own hands! Here we have opportunity, land, and even more so, peace and dignity bought with blood! Do you understand?"
"Understood! Lord!" The fifteen young men shouted in unison with all their might, their voices so loud that they made the courtyard vibrate. Their faces were flushed with excitement.
Karl nodded in satisfaction, then took one last look at the castle's silhouette, still dilapidated yet radiating a tenacious vitality in the morning mist. He took a deep breath of the crisp air, nimbly leaped onto his horse, and with a sharp wave of his hand, shouted, "Let's go!"
The order was given, and the troops began to move.
After an inevitable and somewhat chaotic start, the special convoy finally slowly drove out of the castle gates.
Karl led the way, followed by a ten-man cavalry escort led by Lyon, then the fifteen young "propagandists" struggling to control their mounts, both nervous and excited, and finally the carriages covered in thick cloth, exuding an ominous aura.
Unlike his previous trip to Fran City to seek reinforcements, when he felt burdened by the fate of his entire army and the uncertainty of the future, Karl's heart was now filled with a strong and urgent expectation.
Every word in Charlotte's letter burned like a blazing fire in his heart.
The Count's approval, the marriage proposal, that mysterious "surprise"... all of these transformed into a powerful driving force, urging him to wish he could sprout wings and fly to Fran City, to Charlotte's side immediately.
After two consecutive days of travel, he felt almost no fatigue, his eyes fixed only on the end of the road ahead.