Change Formation

"Issue weapons and armor! Prepare for battle!" Karl's second order followed immediately, and the contingency plan, which had been practiced countless times, was activated instantly.

The officers of each battalion and company shouted orders and quickly selected a dozen or so soldiers with good physical strength and quick movements from their respective units.

"You! You! And you! Go to the supply train and bring all the armor from our company! Hurry!" The soldier who was called on did not hesitate and turned around to run towards the Supply Cart at the back of the train.

Soon, the soldiers returned, panting, carrying bundles of leather armor, Chain Mail plates, and helmets. They threw the heavy armor onto the ground in front of their comrades with a clatter, then turned and ran off to fetch the next batch.

The soldiers who remained behind immediately assisted each other and quickly began to put on their armor.

Tying leather straps, fastening buckles, adjusting shoulder pads... Although it was a bit rushed, their long-term training kept their movements calm and composed.

The clanging of metal plates against each other and the rustling of leather against leather blended together.

The Musketeers, on the other hand, were relatively more relaxed. Their muskets were always carried on their shoulders or backs during the march. Otto, his voice hoarse, had already given the order, "Musketeers! Load! Prepare to fire!"

The Musketeers quickly pulled out pre-packaged quantities of gunpowder and lead bullets, wrapped in oiled paper, from the linen ammunition pouches slung across their shoulders.

Someone used their teeth to bite open the paper packet, poured the gunpowder into the muzzle, inserted the bullet, pulled out the cleaning rod, and "plop plop" compacted the ammunition.

Some people, due to nervousness, had trembling fingers and accidentally spilled some of the precious gunpowder, leaving conspicuous black marks on the dark soil.

On the training ground, this would have been enough to give them a severe beating, but at this moment, the officers were just anxiously urging them on, and couldn't care less about such details.

The supply train at the rear of the column tensed up instantly. The laborers pushing the carts and the drivers, mostly ordinary farmers and merchants, turned pale upon hearing the gunshots and shouts of battle from the front.

They instinctively huddled together, their eyes filled with terror as they looked toward the dense forest from which the sound came; some even began to tremble.

Faced with the legendary ferocious Sauron, fear was their instinct, but looking at the army standing solemnly before and behind them, at those armored and sharp-faced soldiers, they ultimately dared not abandon their supplies and flee. Instead, they clung tightly to the wagons, gripping the wooden sticks or pitchforks that served as makeshift weapons.

Karl had already dismounted, handed the reins to his attendant, and strode to the front of the column, squinting and staring intently in the direction from which the gunshots were coming.

His hand unconsciously rested on the hilt of his sword at his waist. Brendan and Roland quickly moved closer, and the three of them formed a small command center.

The wait wasn't long, but every second felt like an eternity.

Soon, the trees ahead rustled, and several cavalrymen charged out first.

They rode their horses at great speed, but their formation remained intact.

One of the cavalrymen had a trembling arrow stuck in his shoulder armor, the shaft still slightly shaking; next to the saddle of another cavalryman, a limp humanoid figure was being dragged by a lasso, bouncing and bumping across the rugged ground.

"It's a scout! One of our own!" a sharp-eyed soldier whispered.

The cavalry charged straight at Karl and reined in their horses.

The cavalryman who had been shot in the shoulder was pale, but he gritted his teeth and endured it; the wound did not appear to be deep.

The cavalryman dragging the corpse swiftly cut the noose, and the body rolled to the ground with a thud.

The squad leader dismounted, knelt on one knee, and reported rapidly, "My Lord! We've spotted Sauron sentries about two miles ahead! They're in groups of five, hiding in the bushes on the high slope by the roadside!"

"We were discovered as we approached, and they ambushed us with arrows, wounding one of our brothers! We immediately returned fire with our pistols, killing two on the spot, wounding one who escaped, and the remaining two fled into the woods! This one was killed by one of them!"

Karl nodded, indicating that he understood, and then his gaze fell on the corpse. He walked over, squatted down, and examined it carefully.

The deceased was very young, or rather, short and thin, with a face that still had a childish look, but rough and dark skin, and a weathered look in his eyes and brows, making him look no more than sixteen or seventeen years old.

He wore simple leather armor made of animal hides, with crooked and unintelligible totem patterns painted on it with some kind of pigment.

He also carried a simple quiver on his back, containing a few crudely made arrows.

The fatal wound was on the chest, an irregular blood hole the size of a bowl, with the edges of the flesh charred and rolled back—a typical injury caused by a musket bullet at close range.

His eyes were still wide open, retaining the fear and resentment he felt before his death.

Because he was roughly dragged by the noose, his neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly dislocated.

The life of a young Sauron boy ended on the edge of this familiar forest, becoming the first clear sacrifice in this impending bloody conflict.

Karl's face remained expressionless, but his heart sank slightly.

The sentries have been placed so close to the camp, and they attack decisively as soon as they spot a scout. It seems the Sauron of Gray Wolf Valley are indeed prepared and have a strong will to resist.

"Immediately treat the wounded brothers!" Karl stood up, his voice steady. "Make room for a carriage so he can rest properly! Medical officer!"

"Yes!" Someone immediately took the order and went to help the wounded cavalryman to the rear to treat his wounds.

Karl turned to Lyon and Thorsten, who were waiting beside him, and quickened his pace. "Recall all the outer scout cavalry! The enemy is right in front of us; scouting is unnecessary and will only result in more casualties."

"Your cavalry must assemble immediately and stand by on the flanks and rear of the main force, ready to pursue the routed enemy and expand the gains! Remember, without my order, you are not to charge the enemy lines!"

"Yes, sir!" Lyon and Thorsten clasped their hands in obeisance, mounted their horses, and led their respective cavalry to gather and assemble at the rear of the ranks.

After arranging the cavalry, Karl took a deep breath, turned sharply, and faced the infantry formation that was almost fully armored and ready to fight.

He drew his longsword from his waist, the blade gleaming coldly in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

He strained with all his might, making his voice drown out the wind in the forest and the soldiers' heavy breathing, so that it reached every soldier's ears clearly:

"All soldiers!"

In an instant, all eyes were on him.

"The Sauron Barbarians are just ahead! The sentries have already drawn blood! Now, it's our turn!"

He raised his longsword high and shouted, "Everyone, form battle lines! Prepare for battle!"