Siege

Command authority was a sensitive topic. Let alone two people who were unfamiliar with each other—even blood brothers had to avoid it.

However, Derek had overlooked one thing: in an era where knowledge was exceedingly precious, military knowledge also had a high barrier to entry.

Count Perella's Knight Order taught only the basics.

The military knowledge passed down through certain noble families was even less likely to be revealed casually.

For newly risen nobles like Baron Palmer, it was impossible to rise without several generations serving in the military and exchanging blood for hard-won military knowledge.

In truth, Baron Palmer had already worked very hard to recruit knights, but he could barely keep his army functioning. As for more advanced military tactics, he had to rely entirely on blind guesswork.

So, although he had guessed at the higher-ups' intentions, Baron Palmer had no confidence at all.

He was not arrogant enough to believe that war was merely a numbers game, or that he was some military genius.

More likely, he was simply an idiot.

So when he saw Derek and learned about his background, Palmer chose to trust him.

There really was no better option.

Derek hesitated for only an instant before agreeing.

"Then thank you for giving me this opportunity."

Derek did not push his luck, nor did he mock the other man.

In fact, a comrade with clear self-awareness was someone worthy of respect and appreciation.

If the other man pretended to understand when he did not, he would only ruin things.

Without ceremony, Derek took over command of the Eighth Chiliarch Unit of the First Legion.

Other than Baron Palmer's personal hundred-man unit, everything fell into his hands.

His method was simple and crude: he directly sent his Knight Squires to lead infantry squads and take temporary command.

This made Baron Palmer drool with envy again, because he quickly discovered that every one of these Knight Squires was highly capable, far superior to the knights he had recruited.

"Is this what military nobility is like?"

Clearly, Baron Palmer had formed the wrong impression.

Then, he temporarily set aside the last trace of doubt in his heart.

The infantry stationed outside the town had not been idle. Over the past few days, they had also made some rudimentary siege equipment.

Once the sky had fully brightened the next morning, Derek began assigning tasks.

Adrian led some of the soldiers away from his side.

The remaining army was then divided into four groups.

Elite soldiers and regular soldiers were interspersed among one another.

As the Chiliarch and supreme commander of this battle, he could naturally do his best to minimize his own men's casualties.

Baron Palmer watched silently, hoping to learn something.

Watching the messengers rush back and forth, rapidly directing the army to move separately, he saw that this level of control was not something ordinary people possessed.

It might seem simple, but even getting a thousand men to line up was difficult, let alone on a battlefield.

Derek gathered several hundred-man units around himself as a reserve force.

The other three sides each had five hundred-man units.

Only the northern side was completely empty, without a single soldier.

Around five hundred Barbarians could not hold this small town.

The only question was how many casualties it would cost.

Derek did not play any tricks. He directly ordered a frontal assault.

They would pile up bodies—build momentum and buy time with lives.

They attacked from three sides at once, while the supervising troops stood behind them with blades in hand.

Either die outside the town, or die on its walls.

The troops in the front ranks were somewhat disordered, but they could still maintain basic discipline.

Derek showed no mercy, directly using the Eighth Chiliarch Unit as cannon fodder.

The officers beside Baron Palmer wanted to object, but he stopped them.

Since they were here to learn, they had to pay tuition.

"Baron Palmer, the first wave is only meant to probe the focus of their defenses. The subsequent siege will be carried out by the elite infantry."

On the battlefield, Derek's attitude was much harsher than it had been yesterday.

But his meaning was obvious: the Eighth Chiliarch Unit was cannon-fodder quality, so it would naturally be used as cannon fodder.

Next, my men will risk their lives too. Their casualties will be no fewer.

The words were somewhat unpleasant to hear.

"About how long will it take to break through?" Baron Palmer asked.

"That depends on the Barbarians' will to fight. If their will is weak, we can rush in before nightfall.

"If their will is strong, tomorrow will be enough."

"So quickly?"

Baron Palmer found it hard to believe.

Derek did not explain. In fact, if they were willing to accept the casualties, they could do it even faster.

War sounded complicated, but it was actually simple.

Fighting spirit, numbers, training, morale—every one of these could affect victory or defeat.

And the Barbarians' numbers determined that they could not hold out for long.

The reason stories of small forces holding firm against overwhelming odds were so famous was precisely because they were rare.

With five hundred men, several desperate assaults could cost them one or two hundred casualties. It would already be impressive if the rest did not collapse.

Leaving them a route of retreat would further weaken their will to fight.

But there was no need to explain all that to him in detail.

Derek occupied a relatively elevated position, where he could clearly see the situation on the battlefield.

Cannon fodder was not without value. After suffering several dozen casualties, they successfully probed the enemy's strength.

"Unremarkable."

The Barbarian commander had some skill, but not much.

He had distributed all his troops evenly, even leaving some soldiers at the north gate.

If Derek had been in his place, he would have adapted to circumstances instead of being so rigid.

Since the enemy had done this, applying pressure would be even easier.

"Have the eastern side increase the pressure."

The messenger waved his signal flag, and the elite hundred-man unit waiting in the rear quickly moved out.

This was a force rebuilt around the core of Derek's old troops, supplemented with men from the Tenth Chiliarch Unit. Compared to their allies, they could be considered elite.

And they had not been idling these past few days either. Their training had produced at least some results.

Seeing movement, Baron Palmer immediately widened his eyes, wanting to see whether these seemingly elite infantrymen were truly capable or merely for show.

They did not disappoint him. The elite hundred-man unit launched later but arrived first, and with only one charge, they climbed the narrow wooden wall.

The Barbarian commander was shocked and personally stepped forward to supervise the fighting.

There was actually no need. The gap between the two sides was not so great that they could take the wall in a single wave.

Derek again ordered the other two sides to increase the pressure.

It was obvious that the Barbarians' combat rhythm had become extremely chaotic.

For the entire day, Derek directed the assaults without pause.

Wave after wave crashed forward like tides, never giving the Barbarians a chance to rest.

By the time night arrived, the Barbarians' casualties had become shockingly severe.

"I'm afraid the battle will end today."

Derek suddenly said.

Baron Palmer did not understand what he meant.

In his view, the Barbarians' will to fight remained extremely firm.

Even the heavy casualties had not made them retreat.

But in Derek's eyes, the Barbarians were indeed fierce, yet morale had nothing to do with whether they were fierce or not.

It was not apparent amid the tension of battle, but once they began counting their losses, they would likely start thinking of retreat.

Why was he so certain?

Naturally, because he had seen the probing at the north gate.

There was no divine calculation involved. The enemy wanted to leave, and that was something they could not hide.

And nighttime was the best opportunity.