The First One
He quickly calculated in his mind that in the past few days, he had almost emptied the grain that his territory had accumulated over the years, begging, threatening, and exchanging it like beggars. Finally, he managed to gather nearly a hundred "reinforcements" from a few nearby Sauron villages and scattered territories with whom he had a decent relationship or were at least willing to trade.
Of the so-called reinforcements, only about thirty were real veterans or hunters with weapons and blood on their hands. The remaining seventy-odd were just able-bodied men sent by the chieftain to earn a living or simply conscripted by force, carrying makeshift Wooden Spear and wearing tattered clothes.
The leaders who provided the "reinforcements" half-jokingly mocked Derek as he took the food, saying he was "terrified by the Southern Barbarians." They added, "The Great Chieftain's defeat was months ago. The Carnford People are lucky to even catch their breath; they don't have the energy to bother you."
Derek simply handed over the grain in silence, without arguing, knowing that saying anything would be pointless.
These people are short-sighted, only seeing the food in front of them and not the potential catastrophe, but he needs these people, even if they are just there to make up the numbers.
Even if the food is gone, as long as the territory and land remain, it can always be grown again. But if Gray Wolf Valley is gone, Derek will truly have nothing, less than a stray dog.
Currently, he has a force of about three hundred men at his disposal.
Fifty of them were their own militia core, about thirty were considered "reliable" outside reinforcements, and the remaining two hundred or so were just a hastily assembled rabble.
Three hundred people... Derek silently counted the number in his mind.
In the mountainous and forested areas where the Sauron lived, this was already a force to be reckoned with; many small tribes combined didn't even have that many people.
He simply couldn't believe that the Carnford People could muster an elite force far larger than this one, capable of launching a long-distance expedition, in such a short time.
Confidence, like a faint but tenacious flame, reignited in his heart.
He noticed the wounds on the sentries who had escaped. Some had their arms grazed by stray bullets, leaving them with torn flesh; others had their faces scratched and bleeding from tree branches; the worst off was the young man who had been hit in the chest by a lead bullet and half-dragged, half-carried back by his comrades. He was now lying in the corner of the room, barely breathing, his face as pale as paper, and he was clearly going to die.
The village of Sauron had no decent medical care; they simply used some herbal ash as a smear and left it to fate.
"Take them downstairs, find a woman to bandage them up, and get them some hot soup," Derek instructed the men around him, his voice flat.
He didn't really care about the lives of these sentries; casualties on the battlefield were inevitable. But as Lord, he had to put on an act of "compassion for his subordinates," especially in public.
He couldn't let others think he was cold-hearted and heartless, which would chill the hearts of the remaining people. The seriously injured man was just doing his best, which was also a way to give an explanation to the family of the deceased.
After the sentries were helped away, the room fell silent again, but the atmosphere became even more tense, with everyone's eyes fixed on Derek.
Derek slowly scanned every face in the room: there were village elders who had followed him for many years, their faces etched with hardship and obedience; there were newly arrived out-of-town underlings whose eyes still held doubt and calculation; and there were also the young underlings from his own village who had been temporarily promoted to lead the able-bodied men, their eyes showing both fear and a hint of ruthlessness driven to the brink.
"Gentlemen," Derek began, his voice low but carrying a desperate resolve, "the Carnford People are at our doorstep. Their cavalry are killing our men. What do you suggest we do next?"
A brief silence.
An elder from Gray Wolf Valley slammed his cane heavily on the ground and hissed, "What else can we do? Fight! This is our home! Our forests!"
"Yes! Fight them! These Southern Barbarians are going too far!" a local leader shouted, seemingly trying to dispel his unease with his voice.
"Fight! Fight them!" several young leaders roared, their eyes bloodshot.
No one mentioned "peace talks" or "retreat." In the Sauron's mind, retreating in the face of an enemy that had come knocking on their door, especially the Goldspur who were seen as "fat sheep" and a source of slaves, was the greatest shame and meant losing everything.
"Good!" That's the attitude Derek wanted, even if it was just superficial solidarity.
He slammed his hand on the table and stood up abruptly. The sudden movement aggravated his injured leg, causing him to stumble, but he quickly regained his balance, his eyes flashing with a fierce light.
"Gentlemen! Go down immediately and inform all your men!"
"Take up your weapons! Nock your arrows! Draw your swords and axes!"
"Everyone, assemble behind the village entrance fence! Stand in the positions we practiced before!"
"Archers and slingers up the wooden wall! Spearmen and axemen in front! Strong men with Wooden Spear at the rear!"
"If those Southern Barbarians dare to come, let them taste the might of us Sauron warriors! Let their blood stain the land of Gray Wolf Valley!"
"For our homes! For our women and children! Kill!"
"Kill!!!" His words ignited the last of their fighting spirit in the crowd, and they roared in unison, their voices almost lifting the low roof off.
The order was quickly relayed, and Gray Wolf Valley, which was already on high alert, instantly erupted into chaos, like a hornet's nest that had been poked.
Sharp bone whistles rang out from every corner, and men roared as they rushed out of their simple wooden huts and shacks, grabbed their weapons, and surged toward the reinforced wooden fence at the village entrance.
The women, in a panic, grabbed their children and hid inside houses or cellars, peering out through the cracks in the walls with terror.
More than 300 Sauron militants, under the roaring commands of Derek and his underlings, managed to form a defensive formation at the village entrance and behind the fence.
Despite the chaos, the fear still lingering in many people's eyes, and the rudimentary weapons, a fierce, cornered, and desperate spirit was beginning to gather over this small Sauron camp.
They gripped their weapons tightly, their eyes wide, fixed on the top of the hill ahead— the Carnford People were about to emerge from there.
Time slowly passed in the suffocating wait. The Sauron garrison in Gray Wolf Valley gripped their rough weapons tightly, held their breath, and stared intently at the sparsely wooded hilltop ahead.
The wind in the forest seemed to have stopped, and the air was filled with the smells of dirt, sweat, and a heavy sense of fear.
finally--
A figure appeared abruptly on the outline of the hilltop, carrying a heavy sense of oppression.
The morning light shone through the sparse clouds, falling precisely on that figure.
He held aloft a gleaming steel spear, its tip reflecting a blinding cold light in the sunlight.
The Chain Mail he wore, woven from countless fine iron rings, covered his chest, abdomen, shoulders, and arms. It swayed slightly as he appeared, reflecting fragments of cold, unsettling metallic luster.
He wore a disc-shaped helmet, and the shadow cast by the helmet's brim revealed a young but expressionless face with sharp eyes.
He stood there like a steel statue suddenly rising from the earth, silent, yet exuding an undeniable sense of power.
"Hiss--" A series of gasps could be clearly heard from behind the Gray Wolf Valley defense line.
The soldier next to Derek suddenly felt a tightness in his chest, as if an invisible hand had gripped his throat.
Many people's fingers trembled involuntarily as they gripped their weapons, and their bodies shook slightly uncontrollably.
The very first enemy to appear, with his superior equipment, composed demeanor, and the discipline and killing intent that emanated from him so naturally, so different from that of the Sauron soldier, brought a tremendous psychological impact.