Crossing the River

On the road from the Duchy Territory's Manda to the east, large numbers of soldiers formed a long column that wound along like a giant serpent.

Under Schroeder's orders, the Third Infantry Battalion of the Arda Army traveled light toward the strategic location known as Silver Moon Fort.

Schroeder himself led the main force and baggage train at a slower pace, and would arrive later.

According to the intelligence, large numbers of the kingdom's routed soldiers had gathered at Silver Moon Fort. Perhaps they could be put to use by the Alarda Army.

Battalion Commander Joyce was riding his horse and pondering defensive strategies when the halt of the troops ahead interrupted his thoughts.

"Why have we stopped? What happened up ahead?"

A soldier came to report, "Battalion Commander, there's only one bridge over the river ahead, but it's already packed with refugees. We can't get through."

Joyce knitted his brows tightly. How did we run into something like this?

He raised his whip and lashed the horse's rump, urging it toward the riverbank.

Before he arrived, he passed large groups of refugees.

The refugees from the east carried the old and young with them, carefully bringing what little property they had, and entered Northwest Bay in a state of constant panic.

Some had already been ravaged by the flames of war. Their suffering came partly from the orc armies and partly from the kingdom's scattered troops.

Others had planned ahead and set out before the fighting drew near.

Judging from their exhausted faces, none of them had enjoyed a pleasant journey.

Joyce rode to the riverbank. A dense mass of people still gathered on the opposite shore, all waiting—or perhaps fighting—for the chance to cross the only wooden bridge.

The closer they got to the bridge entrance, the more