Onward

Late autumn had arrived, and winter was just around the corner.

The bleak autumn wind swept over the mountains and forests in the northern reaches of Darrowmere Forest, setting the strange-shaped trunks and branches stretching toward the sky trembling slightly. A vast army marched across the ground, thickly carpeted with fallen leaves, making almost no sound. This was the forest northeast of Northland Fortress, and the Kingdom of Lordaeron's forces were on their way to Zul'Aman.

For this campaign against Zul'Aman, the kingdom had called up more than thirty percent of Stratholme's warriors. With the Royal Knights, the main force, and the young men conscripted from across Darrowmere Forest, their total strength had reached more than twenty thousand.

Besides the large number of human warriors, there were also over five thousand Blackpaw Gnolls, who had earned the right to wield damaged iron weapons through good conduct, as well as nearly ten thousand gnoll prisoners from other regions, personally escorted to the battlefield by their own kind.

The gnolls from the Redpine Clan and Mudsnout Clan were unarmed. According to the plan, these untrusted beasts would not be issued weapons until just before the battle began. Naturally, their weapons would be nothing worth having: thick wooden shields and wooden spears, crudely fashioned by the Blackpaw Gnolls with rough tools and techniques.

To the humans, the greatest weapons these cannon fodder possessed were their strong physiques. The command would give them no chance to turn the tables. Even on the battlefield, they would be assigned tasks in rotations, with no more than five hundred prisoners ever allowed out of the army's control at once.

Having already gathered intelligence on Zul'Aman through numerous scout teams, Commander Maxwell had drawn up a plan for a swift victory back at Northland Fortress, together with the archbishop and all the senior officers at headquarters—

They would lead the army to the outskirts of Zul'Aman within half a month, then spend less than a month building a small fortress to serve as a base while clearing out the scattered Trolls in and around the region. Once the fortress was complete enough, they would launch successive assaults against the Trolls entrenched in Zul'Aman, using gnoll slaves as cannon fodder, and do everything they could to settle the outcome within two months!

If all the soldiers under his command had been human heroes from the Kingdom of Lordaeron, the experienced commander would never have resorted to such a reckless and crude strategy. But since the ones taking the brunt of the fighting were gnoll scum who could barely speak Common, none of the humans at headquarters felt the slightest qualm.

For most of the senior officers, including Commander Maxwell, it would be best if these unstable elements and the Trolls annihilated each other in the campaign against Zul'Aman. That would both reduce the burden on the army's supply lines and let them rest easy—

After all, in a war of this scale, the gnoll prisoners, who could riot at any moment, were a serious liability. Who knew why the usually wise archbishop had insisted on bringing these beasts into the fighting?

The army's march went smoothly. Apart from the occasional small-scale harassment, the Mossflayer Trolls had done nothing to seriously impede their advance. This was not only thanks to the commander's caution, but also to the tireless reconnaissance of the scout teams, now joined by Blackpaw Gnolls.

After several days of probing attacks, the Kingdom of Lordaeron's army encountered no further resistance. The Trolls near Zul'Aman seemed to have abandoned their plan to delay the army in the forest—or perhaps their earlier efforts had already bought them enough time.

In any case, Alvin, who stayed close to Maxwell, had been marching and stopping with the main force, and so far had encountered none of the dangers he had imagined. Aside from the changed routine and somewhat monotonous food, the boy thought the march was, for now, little different from an outing.

With the valley where Zul'Aman lay about forty kilometers away, Commander Maxwell ordered the army to make camp. An army of over ten thousand could hardly conceal its tracks in the forest; the Troll scouts they had encountered earlier were proof enough.

No one expected Zul'Aman's Trolls to remain completely unaware while the human army marched right up to their doorstep. Everyone understood that this would be a war of attrition. Now the human army would establish its final command post at the enemy's doorstep and use it as a base from which to attack the Mossflayer Trolls of Zul'Aman.

According to the reports sent back to headquarters by the scouts, the valley where Zul'Aman stood was practically an impregnable stronghold. To reach the enemy's heartland, they would have to cross a long stretch of steep hillside and force their way through the narrow valley entrance. It would be a cruel path paved with blood, and the Kingdom of Lordaeron had already prepared the gnoll prisoners who would lay that path.

"What I feared has come to pass. With the gnolls' help, the humans have greatly made up for their disadvantage in this forest. Even Kalekin, arrogant as he is, can no longer boast that Zul'Aman alone can make these humans, who are no longer blind to the forest, taste the bitterness of defeat."

From a wooden watchtower about thirty feet above the ground, the aging high priest gazed toward the dry forest below, as if watching the human army beyond his sight. After a long silence, the Troll priest, his face withered, turned to the Troll warrior behind him, who had a strip of rag wrapped around his waist, and let out a heavy sigh.

"He has already set out with a thousand of our clan's warriors, planning to circle around behind the enemy and cut off their supplies. But to avoid their scouts and keep from alerting them, the detour may take even longer than we expected. There are too many enemies. We can only rely on Zul'Aman's terrain to hold them back and drag them into a war of attrition. That is the only way to draw more of their attention away from Kalekin."

Zulsh tapped his wooden staff lightly against the floor, rousing the Troll warrior from his despair. Then he raised his voice. It was no longer dark and low; instead, it brimmed with encouragement and hope.

"If Kalekin completes his mission, the enemy will be thrown into panic. We only need to hold out here for two months, and all our problems will be solved. We'll make those damned humans regret bringing the never-picky gnolls into their ranks."

As he spoke, the high priest raised his withered hand and gently rested it on the shoulder of the strongest warrior of the younger generation. Summoning all his strength, he shouted fervently, "The fate of the clan rests in your hands. Don't disappoint me, Hamia!"