Moving Forward

Late autumn has arrived, and the bitter winter is soon to follow.

The bleak autumn wind sweeps over the hills in the northern part of Darrowmere Forest, causing the strange, twisted trunks and branches reaching toward the sky to tremble slightly. The massive army treads upon the ground covered in a thick layer of fallen leaves, making almost no sound. This is the forest northeast of Northland Fortress, and the army of the Kingdom of Lordaeron is on its way to Zul'Aman.

For this campaign against Zul'Aman, the kingdom has mobilized more than thirty percent of all warriors from Stratholme. Combined with the Royal Knights, who serve as the main force, and the young men conscripted from all corners of Darrowmere Forest, the total troop strength has reached over twenty thousand.

In addition to the vast number of human warriors, there are over five thousand Blackpaw Gnolls who have been issued salvaged iron weapons for their good performance, as well as nearly ten thousand Gnoll captives from other regions, driven onto the battlefield by their own kin.

Those Gnolls from the Redpine Clan and the Mudsnout Clan are unarmed. According to the pre-arranged plan, these untrusted beasts will only be issued weapons once the fighting is about to begin. Naturally, the weapons prepared for them are nothing of quality; they are all thick wooden shields and wooden javelins crudely crafted by the Blackpaw Gnolls.

To the humans, the greatest weapon of this cannon fodder is their sturdy physique, and the command center will not allow them any chance to turn the tables. Even during the battle, tasks will be assigned in shifts, and no more than five hundred captives will ever be outside the main army's control at once.

Because intelligence on Zul'Aman had been gathered beforehand through numerous scout teams, the commander-in-chief, Maxwell, had already formulated a blitzkrieg strategy alongside the High Priest and all senior officers back at Northland Fortress—

To reach the outskirts of Zul'Aman within half a month, then spend less than a month building a small fortress to serve as a base for clearing out the scattered Trolls in the vicinity. Once the fortress is initially established, they will launch a full-scale assault on the Trolls holed up in Zul'Aman by using the Gnoll slaves as cannon fodder in waves, aiming to settle the conflict within two months!

If the soldiers under his command were all human Champions from the Kingdom of Lordaeron, this experienced commander would never have employed such a reckless and crude tactic. However, since the ones at the very front are those Gnoll scumbags who cannot even speak the common tongue properly, all the humans in the command center feel not a shred of psychological burden.

For most high-ranking officers, including the commander-in-chief Maxwell, it would be best if these unstable elements and the Trolls mutually destroyed each other during the war for Zul'Aman. This would not only reduce the logistical burden on the main army but also put their minds at ease—

After all, in a war of this scale, those Gnoll captives who might incite a riot at any moment are an extremely volatile factor. Heaven knows why the usually wise High Priest insisted on letting these beasts join the fray!

The march proceeds smoothly. Aside from occasional small-scale harassment, the Mossflayer Trolls have not caused any effective obstruction to the main army. This is not only due to the commander's caution but should be credited to the all-out reconnaissance efforts of the scout teams reinforced by the Blackpaw Gnolls.

After several days of minor probing, the army of Lordaeron has encountered no further obstacles. The Trolls near Zul'Aman seem to have abandoned the idea of stalling for time in the forest, or perhaps the previous skirmishes had already bought them enough time.

In any case, Alvin, who has been following closely by Maxwell's side, moves and stops with the main force, and so far, he has not encountered any of the dangers he had imagined. Aside from the change in daily routine and the somewhat monotonous food, the boy feels that this march is, for the time being, not much different from a field trip.

Seeing that they are about forty kilometers away from the valley where Zul'Aman is located, commander-in-chief Maxwell orders the army to set up camp. The movement of an army of ten thousand in the forest cannot be hidden, as the Troll scouts encountered earlier clearly demonstrated.

No one expects the Trolls of Zul'Aman to be caught off guard when the human army arrives at their doorstep; everyone knows this will be a war of attrition. And now, the human army will establish its final command post at the enemy's gate, using it as a foundation to launch an offensive against the Mossflayer Trolls of Zul'Aman.

According to reports sent back to the command center by scouts, the valley where Zul'Aman is located is truly a place where "one man can hold the pass against ten thousand." To enter the enemy's heartland, one must traverse a long, steep slope and launch a frontal assault from the narrow valley exit. It will be a cruel path paved with blood, and the Kingdom of Lordaeron has already prepared the Gnoll captives to serve as the paving stones.

"The thing I feared has come to pass. With the help of the Gnolls, the humans' disadvantage in this forest has been greatly mitigated. Even the arrogant Kalekin cannot boast that he can make the humans, who are no longer ignorant of the forest, suffer the bitterness of defeat solely with the strength of Zul'Aman."

On a wooden watchtower about thirty feet above the ground, the aged High Priest gazes toward the withered forest at the foot of the slope, as if observing the human army beyond his field of vision. After a long while, the gaunt-faced Troll priest turns his head to look at the Troll warrior behind him, who has a strip of tattered cloth wrapped around his waist, and he heaves a heavy sigh.

"He has already led one thousand of the clan's Champions to set out, intending to circle behind the enemy and cut off their supplies. But to avoid the enemy's scouts and not alert them, the time required for the detour may be longer than we imagined. The enemy's numbers are too great; we can only rely on the geographical advantage of Zul'Aman to block them and drag them into a quagmire of attrition. Only then can we attract more of their attention away from Kalekin."

Zulsh taps the floor lightly with his wooden staff, rousing the pessimistic Troll warrior. Then, he raises his voice, his tone no longer dark and low, but filled with encouragement and hope.

"If Kalekin can complete his mission, the enemy will fall into panic. We only need to hold out here for two months, and all our problems will be solved. We must make those damned humans regret letting the never-picky Gnolls join their ranks."

Having said this, the High Priest lifts his withered palm and presses it gently onto the shoulder of this strongest warrior of the younger generation, shouting with all his might: "The life and death of the clan rests in your hands. Do not fail me, Hamia!"