Dawn Departure

The next day, at four in the morning.

The sky over the Northern Territory was still a deep, inky blue, with only the faintest sliver of pale light showing on the eastern horizon.

The cold was even more biting than during the day, and every breath turned to frost.

In the barracks, Karl was already fully dressed. The cold leather armor pressed against his body, making him shiver.

Without the slightest hesitation, he woke Brendan and Roland in a cold voice.

"Wake everyone. Assemble on the drill ground and prepare to depart."

The order was swiftly carried out. Though they were short on sleep and chilled to the bone, the experiences of the previous two days and the incentive of military pay had made the soldiers much quicker and far less prone to complaining.

They silently climbed out of bed and sorted out their gear. The combat soldiers checked their weapons, while the support troops counted the baggage and provisions.

Before long, the thirty-eight-man unit had assembled on the drill ground. Though they were still somewhat disorderly, they were worlds apart from the scattered rabble of the first morning.

Torchlight illuminated one tense young face after another, each carrying a trace of excitement.

Standing before the formation, Karl swept his gaze across the men. His voice was low, yet every word reached them clearly. "Remember what you learned over the past two days. From here on, we move at a run. Our destination is the docks. No talking without orders. Maintain formation!"

There was no unnecessary rallying speech. The orders were given directly.

Led by Karl, Brendan, and Roland, the unit jogged out of the barracks and melted into Fran City's deepest pre-dawn darkness.

Old Morrell remained behind to watch over the camp. The old man was too frail to keep up with the troops.

The icy air stung as it entered their lungs, but it also kept their minds sharply focused.

The ten-kilometer journey was no easy task for militiamen who had endured only two days of physical training, yet no one fell behind, and no one made a sound.

Only muffled, uneven footsteps, heavy breathing, and the faint clinking of weapons and armor echoed through the silent streets.

The military staff and gradual training of the past two days had finally accomplished something.

By the time they reached the dock district, the sky was still dim, and only a few early-rising dockworkers were already busy at work.

A cold, salty wind blew in from the Northern Sea, carrying the scent of ice.

Richter and his thirty City Defense Army veteran soldiers had yet to arrive, leaving the entire dock district empty and desolate.

"Rest where you are. Keep quiet. Support troops, set up the cooking pots." Karl knew the march ahead, and the possible battle afterward, would require strength. The soldiers had to eat something hot.

A simple field stove was quickly set up. Dry firewood was lit beneath a pot of boiling water, into which shredded dried meat and hard bread were mixed, forming a thick, hot stew.

The soldiers gathered around the fire in silence, eating and recovering their strength while casting uneasy glances toward the dark river, waiting for their unknown comrades.

At six in the morning, the sky finally began to brighten.

A neat line of dark figures moved swiftly along the riverbank, the glint of their armor and weapons barely visible in the dawn light.

They were the thirty City Defense Army veteran soldiers led by Guard Captain Richter.

Their ranks were orderly, their steps steady, and their gazes sharp. They were clearly Veteran Soldiers who had seen battle, forming a stark contrast to Karl's band of raw recruits.

When Richter saw that Karl and the others had been waiting here all along and had even finished breakfast, a trace of surprise flickered in his eyes.

He hurried forward and struck his right fist against his chest in salute. "Lord Karl, apologies for keeping you waiting. By order of Governor Rochefort, my thirty men are under your complete command."

Karl nodded without exchanging pleasantries. "Are you ready?"

"Ready to depart at any time, my lord!" Richter answered crisply.

"Good. It is getting late." Karl glanced at the sky. "We leave now. If we march quickly to Black Creek Stronghold, we should reach the transport convoy before it departs and rendezvous with them."

"Yes!" Richter replied, then turned and signaled his men.

The veterans silently merged into the formation, bringing their total number to nearly seventy. The unit immediately seemed much larger, and its bearing changed completely.

Karl took a deep breath, feeling the heavy responsibility on his shoulders. This was the first time he had commanded so many men into a real battle.

"Move out!"

With the order given, the mixed force began moving swiftly along the muddy road beside the river toward Black Creek Stronghold upstream.

Karl no longer rode in a carriage. Instead, he rode an ordinary traveling horse, with Brendan and Roland guarding his flanks and Richter close behind. The unit advanced resolutely toward the unknown dangers of the north and Karl's first trial of fate.

The faint morning light illuminated the road ahead and stretched their silent, steadfast shadows.

Fran City gradually shrank behind them.

At around eight in the morning, Karl's mixed force arrived at Black Creek Stronghold.

The so-called stronghold was actually a small camp on the riverbank enclosed by crude wooden palisades. Inside stood several simple wooden huts and warehouses, with around twenty soldiers permanently stationed there to guard this stretch of river and store and transfer supplies.

By then, a convoy had already gathered outside the camp gate. Five heavily laden flatbed carts, each pulled by a packhorse, stood ready, with several laborers beside every cart to look after them.

There were also around thirty guards in motley clothing carrying weapons. They looked like mercenaries or temporarily recruited fighters. This was the small transport convoy bound for Black Crow Outpost.

When they saw Karl's force arrive, better equipped and nearly twice their number, the transport convoy stopped what they were doing and watched curiously.

A middle-aged man in worn leather armor, with a curved saber at his waist, walked over. He appeared to be the convoy leader. Though his face showed some confusion, he still saluted Karl, who sat astride his horse.

"My lord, who are you?" he asked tentatively. The message Earl Rochefort had sent two days ago merely said that troops would come to escort them; it had not specified who they would be.

"Karl von Schmidt. By Governor Rochefort's order, I am escorting you to Black Crow Outpost," Karl replied calmly from horseback.

The leader froze for a moment, clearly unfamiliar with the name. But when he noticed Richter behind Karl and the City Defense Army veterans in standard armor, his attitude immediately became much more respectful. "So it is Lord Karl and Captain Richter. I am Barton, the person in charge of this transport convoy."

A troubled, puzzled expression appeared on his face. "But, my lord... do we really need to make such a fuss?"

He pointed at the men behind him. "We have thirty capable brothers ourselves. This road is within the Great Wall, and at this time of year, the Sauron Barbarians have long since returned home to prepare for spring planting. They will not come out at all. As for gnolls, goblins, and the like, even if a dozen or so occasionally show up, we can deal with them easily. We have always traveled this route before, and nothing has ever happened. Isn't Governor Rochefort being a little... overly cautious this time?"

His words carried obvious confusion, along with a faint complaint that all this was unnecessary.

The mercenaries behind him nodded in agreement. They clearly felt the escort was completely superfluous and might even delay their journey. After all, more people meant slower travel.

Richter stood behind Karl with an expressionless face, though a trace of helplessness flashed through his eyes.