Household Troops

Then, the second one.

Armed with equally fine Chain Mail and equally sharp spear, he appeared steadily beside the first soldier.

The third, the fourth, the fifth... the tenth... the twentieth...

The soldiers of Carnford, like a torrent of steel surging from the depths of the earth, silently and orderly ascended the hillside, one after another, row after row.

They did not utter a deafening shout, but silently lined up, adjusted their positions, and raised a forest of spears, while the Swordsmen and Shieldbearers in front raised their heavy shields.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized, displaying an almost ruthless efficiency.

Soon, the entire hillside facing Gray Wolf Valley was filled with this deep blue, metallic-gleaming column of soldiers.

The number of soldiers far exceeded Derek's worst expectations. The formation was wide and deep, with a dense array of spearmen and shieldmen in the front, more spearmen in the middle and rear, and seemingly many Musketeers carrying muskets.

Sunlight shone on this steel jungle, reflecting dazzling spots of light and illuminating every young, resolute, and murderous face.

Derek couldn't count them precisely at this point, but he estimated that the enemy numbered no less than a hundred, and was still increasing. They were all elite, heavily armored soldiers, their crude leather armor Wooden Spear wooden spears clashing with superior chainmail and steel lances...

The stark disparity in strength was laid bare before every Sauron soldier at this moment.

Fear, like a cold, venomous snake, spread rapidly and gnawed through the Sauron defenses.

Many soldiers' legs began to feel weak, and the sound of their teeth chattering could be clearly heard.

Those minor leaders who had been "invited" by Derek with food were now ashen-faced, inwardly lamenting their misfortune and filled with regret.

If they had known the Carnford People were serious, and that such a large, well-equipped, and well-trained force was coming, they would never have bothered coming to wade into this mess for a little bit of food! This isn't about picking up bargains; it's about sending themselves to their deaths!

Derek himself felt a chill run from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, and his heart pounded wildly.

The enemy's formation was too orderly, their equipment too sophisticated, and their numbers too numerous! This was definitely not the small-scale harassment or probing attack he had anticipated! This was clearly their main force deployed, determined to win!

But he was the Lord, the commander, and the backbone of everyone.

At this moment, he must not show the slightest cowardice. If he collapses first, the three hundred men that have been painstakingly put together will instantly crumble.

He forced himself to calm down, his eyes darting around, searching for reasons to stabilize morale and even boost spirits.

He suddenly recalled a scene he had witnessed when he served in the Sauron soldier: the armies of those Broomflower Lord would often place their most elite and best-equipped "household guards" or "personal soldiers" at the front, serving as their vanguard and vanguard.

These retainers are indeed formidable, but their numbers are usually small. As long as the core elite force is defeated, the peasant soldiers who are conscripted later often collapse without a fight and flee at the mere sight of them.

"Yes! That must be it!" Derek felt as if he had grasped a lifeline, and a twisted hope rekindled in his heart.

He took a deep breath and, with all his might, roared at the soldiers around him who were clearly beginning to waver. His voice became even hoarse and shrill from the excitement and effort:

"Brothers! Don't be afraid! Stay calm! Look carefully!"

He brandished his old War Saber, pointing it at the chilling array of steel on the hillside:

"These people may look intimidating, but they're just servants hired up by the Southern Barbarians Lord with money! They're just for show! I've seen plenty of them back in the army!"

He deliberately raised his voice, making sure it reached every part of the defensive line as much as possible:

"They don't have many men! Just those in iron armor at the front are the Lord's personal guards! Kill them, and the rest of the soldiers in cloth behind them are just farmers and peasants to make up the numbers! They're no match for us!"

To increase his persuasiveness and to incite his subordinates' greed, he offered the most direct temptation:

"See their Chain Mail? It's gleaming! See their steel spears and swords? They're all made of fine iron! Kill them, and all that armor and weapons will be ours! A single piece of Chain Mail can be exchanged for two cows in Frosgard! Kill them, and we won't have to worry about food this winter!"

"Follow me, charge through these henchmen! The remaining fodder will run away on their own! Then we'll catch up and slaughter them like vegetables! Gold, silver, treasures, armor, weapons—take them all! For our food! For our spoils! Fight to the death! Fight to the death!"

Derek's roar, mixed with contempt for the "household servants," disdain for the "grunts," and a naked promise of spoils, was like a potent drug, forcibly injected into the hearts of the Sauron defenders on the verge of collapse.

The fear was somewhat suppressed, but a fierce mix of luck, greed, and the will to survive reignited in the eyes of some Sauron soldier.

Especially the militia members from Derek village and the veterans among the outside aid workers, who had experienced the fighting, understood the principle that "the bold get rich, and the timid starve."

The Lord is right. The enemy's equipment is good, but their numbers don't seem to be as many as we thought. They've automatically ignored the soldiers in the back ranks. As long as we fight to the death and crush these iron cans in front, the rest will be easy! That gleaming armor... it's so enviable!

"Fight to the death!!"

"Kill them! Take their armor!!"

"Let's fight those Southern Barbarians!!"

Some of the bolder ones joined Derek in screaming, their voices cracking with madness, trying to dispel their fear and embolden those around them.

Those outside leaders, though cursing Derek countless times in their hearts and knowing he was mostly just spouting nonsense to boost their own morale, had no other choice at the moment.

Run away? Look at the enemy's well-organized formation, and the cavalry the sentry reported earlier... Turning around and running now would be a certain death, and a very gruesome one at that.

The only way out seems to be a desperate gamble, where perhaps there is still a glimmer of hope.

So they had no choice but to bite the bullet and shout along at the top of their lungs:

"Kill! Slaughter Southern Barbarians!"

"For the Horde! We'll fight to the death!"

For a moment, a cacophony of shouts, though uneven, filled with desperate struggle, rose from the Gray Wolf Valley defense line.

The morale of the troops was miraculously stabilized temporarily through Derek's combination of coaxing, intimidation, and promises of great rewards.

At least on the surface, it no longer appears as fragile as it was before.

Everyone gripped their crude weapons tightly, their eyes wide, staring intently at the approaching Carnford Army formation on the hillside, which resembled a moving city wall, preparing for the coming brutal assault that would determine their survival.

However, deep in the hearts of many, the shadow cast by that initial shock and fear has not completely dissipated.

Even if these are really just "servants"... there are far too many of them.

This equipment is just too good.

Can they really... win? This question, like a venomous snake, continues to gnaw at the confidence of many.