Fortress

The carriage wheels rolled incessantly over the gravel road outside the city, emitting a faint, rhythmic sound. The carriage moved at a brisk pace, yet thanks to the shock-absorption spells cast by the mages, Alvin could barely feel the bumps that should have been there. The entire carriage felt as if it were floating, with no signs of vibration transmitted beneath his feet.

The scorching summer had passed, and the September weather was beginning to turn cool, though the midday sun still radiated a great deal of heat. The procession, having departed from the East Gate over an hour ago, left the boy feeling somewhat stifled even while sitting inside the carriage. He carefully opened the window beside him, poked his head out halfway, and savored the cool breeze.

The fields outside the city had long been dyed golden by the autumn winds, and farmers in short shirts worked barefoot, performing their final labor of the year. News from the distant Stormwind City could not strike fear into the hearts of these commoners who had never witnessed true war; almost everyone was immersed in the joy of a bountiful harvest.

As the convoy continued to advance, signs of human activity began to dwindle. The houses with rising chimney smoke and the golden fields slowly vanished, replaced by a vast, ochre expanse of withered wilderness. Although this land could barely be considered fertile, no one was willing to live so close to the forest.

While Stratholme was already overcrowded and there was plenty of such uncultivated land outside the city, the Trolls of Zul'Aman would frequently charge out of the forest. This forced a large number of commoners to retreat within the range where town guards could protect them, leaving behind this vast, uninhabited buffer zone. It was a paradise for various carnivorous beasts, and occasionally, Gnolls would wander through.

This massive waste of land resources was likely one of the reasons Archbishop Faol was so determined to target Zul'Aman. The newly constructed Northland Fortress would expand the area that Stratholme's warriors could defend, thereby achieving the goal of diverting the town's excess population to this wilderness to reclaim more land.

It took a full few hours for the convoy to reach its destination. A tall tower built of pristine white stone stood silently atop a hill devoid of a single tree. At the summit of the tower, a flag embroidered with a blue double-headed eagle snapped in the howling mountain wind.

Escorted by knights, the carriage slowly began to climb the hill's slope. To make surprise attacks by enemies more difficult and to widen the field of vision, all trees on the hill had been felled to build houses, defensive facilities, or simply to be used as firewood. Along the way, one could only see bare stumps and scattered weeds.

Unlike the lonely, solitary tower seen in games, the complex before Alvin could almost be called a small fortress. Under the auspices of Archbishop Faol, the Kingdom of Lordaeron had invested a massive amount of resources here—

The thick granite outer wall, approximately twenty feet high, completely encircled the top of the hill. Atop the ramparts, several squads of fully armed soldiers kept watch. At regular intervals around the walls, defensive arrow towers stood erect.

Outside the walls, a two-meter-wide trench had even been dug, with a multitude of sharpened, giant wooden stakes driven into the bottom like spears pointed toward the sky. The only path in or out of the fortress was a raised drawbridge. Behind the drawbridge, an additional gate cast from pig iron had been added, which required several strong soldiers to operate via a windlass.

"Is this the Northland Watchtower, or... the Northland Fortress?"

When the carriage stopped before the gate, Alvin's face was filled with shock. However, he immediately thought of a question: "Is this level of fortification really necessary just to deal with that bunch of Mossflayer Trolls cowering in the mountain forests?"

The Archbishop did not directly answer the prince's question, but instead shook his head with a mysterious air and pointed toward the north.

"Amani, or Quel'Thalas?"

Alvin felt his interest piqued by the old man's gesture, but he dismissed the thought after pondering it briefly in his heart. In his memory, neither the northern Amani Trolls nor the High Elves had launched a large-scale invasion of Lordaeron. The most important matter now was resolving the Gnoll problem and the Zul'Aman threat hidden within the forest.

Without much delay, the lead knight stepped forward to verify their identities. The raised drawbridge was slowly lowered, and the large contingent of knights escorted the carriage quickly into the fortress.

Once inside the gate, houses with nearly identical exteriors were lined up neatly along both sides of the road. Built from solid timber and surplus stone, the dwellings pushed utilitarianism to the extreme; there were no bright, colorful facades like those in the city, only heaviness and simplicity.

All the buildings in the fortress were centered around the pristine white tower, which stood over fifty feet tall. Beneath the tower, constructed from high-quality ashlar, Logul the Gnoll shaman waited anxiously under the strict surveillance of a group of soldiers, awaiting the person who would decide his fate.

Although Logul had single-handedly led the younger generation of Blackpaw Gnolls in their rebellion against the elders and their defection to the humans—a feat that could be considered a monumental achievement—most ordinary soldiers still harbored reservations about the Gnolls.

To prevent these beasts from suddenly turning violent, the fortress's temporary commander had arranged the Blackpaw clan's camp on the eastern slope, separated from the fortress by a short distance, and strictly ordered that Logul be the only Gnoll permitted inside the Northland Fortress at this time.

Furthermore, many ordinary soldiers who had previously had contact with Gnoll warriors roaming near human settlements were not very friendly toward these newcomers. While they stopped short of violating military discipline to deliberately pick a fight, the daily vigilance and undisguised hostility were completely unavoidable.

"Stay still!"

A soldier with a face that looked somewhat overly young was driven to distraction by the Gnoll, who kept looking up toward the fortress gate. Finally unable to contain himself, he shoved the Gnoll hard in the back and barked sharply, "Stop looking around, you beast!"

The Gnoll shaman, who had been shoved into a stagger, did not resist. He merely turned his head and stared deeply at the agitated soldier, as if to brand the youth's twisted, irritable face into his memory. His blood-tinged eyes projected a cold gaze that sent an inexplicable chill through the heart of the young man, who had not seen much combat.

"You!"

Finding himself feeling cowardly because of the Gnoll's intense stare, the young man became angry out of shame. He reached his right hand toward the sword hilt hanging at his waist, preparing to let this ill-mannered beast taste his steel and learn its place.