He rode his Wyvern back and forth across the various battlefields.
He was personally reshaping the battlefield.
This old veteran was constantly learning and improving.
He could not be called particularly clever.
He simply had plenty of experience.
He had used the same tactics against Lothair.
Then, with 100,000 men, he had routed an army of more than 500,000.
Things were much the same now. He never expected to put up much of a fight, but he could delay the enemy for a while.
Once winter set in, the enemy would find it even harder to advance.
Although they had not come from the south, they were hardy, had clothes of their own, and were experienced at wintering.
But once winter came, the roads would be closed, making transport difficult.
Even if their railways could solve that problem, once they left the Train Station, they would still have to transport supplies by horse, right?
He had now arrived at another battlefield: the Guanglan front.
Mikhail, riding his Wyvern, came down from the sky. By then, a light snow was already drifting down.
A silvery veil covered the land, and the commander at the camp was already at his wits' end.
"Keep resisting! Don't let them retreat. The enemy is using prisoners of war. Are you telling me they can't even fight people just like themselves?"
"If their weapons are inferior, then use your willpower to hold out!"
The Blood Ghost count cursed furiously. Just then, a pair of hands rested on his shoulders. "Sheffield, that's enough."
"Duke Julius?" Sheffield turned around, finally finding someone to lean on. He immediately began reporting the situation. "Your Grace, thank goodness you're here."
"They've already taken the first position. We've lost a thousand men in thirty minutes."
"They're still using prisoners of war."
"How