Mobilizing Them

After a long, grueling morning, the atmosphere in the allied camp was heavy. Three successive battle reports landed like three mighty blows, leaving the three kings reeling.

Their most vital lifeline at sea had been mercilessly severed. Thousands of elite Winged Hussars had suffered a devastating defeat, while elite enemy reinforcements carrying vast quantities of precious supplies had successfully broken through the blockade and poured into Red Waterwheel Village Fortress. The defenders of the already near-impregnable fortress had suddenly doubled in strength, and their defensive position had become even more secure.

Meanwhile, the battlefield was being cleared in a suffocating silence.

Across the river, the bodies of the fallen Winged Hussars were stripped of their armor, weapons, and other valuable equipment. These spoils, along with other usable supplies captured on the battlefield, were carried into the fortress.

The bodies and the gravely wounded who still clung to life, meanwhile, were deliberately laid out in neat rows on the riverbank, as if lined up for inspection.

Then a military chaplain in the robes of the Church of Light was sent to the Piaster Kingdom's camp. They could send men to retrieve their wounded and fallen, but they had to come empty-handed.

This was no ordinary notification. It was a naked act of psychological intimidation, a merciless blow to the allied army's morale.

That afternoon, thanks to the military chaplain's strenuous efforts, several badly wounded Winged Hussars struggled back to consciousness.

Barely able to breathe, they pieced together fragments of their memories, bringing a fourth and even more unsettling report.

"It wasn't the Wesen Army?!"

Inside the deerskin tent, Kaustov, Casimir, and Snellman cried out almost simultaneously, their faces filled with disbelief.

After a heated discussion over lunch, they had reached a tentative conclusion: the Wesen Army had split its forces. One