The Calm Before the Storm

Roland sensed the weight in Karl's words—the deep, unspoken caution, and even a trace of worry.

The lightness in his heart vanished completely, replaced by a heavy sense of responsibility.

He straightened his back and clasped his fists firmly. "Yes, Lord! I understand! Leave the supply train and the reserve position to me! As long as the position stands, so do we!"

"Good!" Karl said no more. He turned his horse around and returned to the main formation ahead.

By then, after the officers and veterans had imposed an almost brutal reorganization, the infantry's chaos had finally been forcibly suppressed.

The formation was still far from the neat, perfectly aligned ranks of a training ground, but at least everyone stood roughly where they were supposed to. The spears pointed generally forward, the shields were held up as best they could be, and the Musketeers had finished loading, staring tensely ahead.

The formation change had taken far longer than expected. Fatigue and lingering panic showed on the soldiers' faces, but at least they finally looked like an army.

Brendan rode over to Karl's side. Dust clung to his armor, and sweat marked his face. Clearly, he had not been idle either.

He reported in a low voice, "Lord, the First Battalion and Third Battalion have basically completed combat preparations. We can advance."

Karl nodded without commenting on the chaos just now.

Now was not the time for that. He drew in a deep breath of the cool forest air, forcibly suppressing his disappointment and concern over the troops' performance on the eve of battle.

The arrow was on the string. It had to be fired.

He turned and spoke two brief, forceful words to the trumpeter who had been waiting nearby:

"Attack."

The trumpeter already had the brass horn pressed to