"Lord Roland, Commander Jonis is back!"
At noon, seeing no immediate hope of breaking through the lines, the Feilie Army withdrew on its own.
Jonis and the others fighting at the front finally returned.
But the fighting had not ended. This was merely an intermission, with each side regrouping.
Near Blackstone Keep, more ragtag troops made up of refugees and slaves were still being herded in, ready to join the next round of fighting.
The Feilie Army had made its willingness to pay any price plain.
"If this keeps up, even the spring planting will be delayed."
Roland sighed and spoke to the others.
Wars in the age of cold steel had to avoid the busy farming seasons. Campaigning was only convenient after the spring planting and autumn harvest.
Although Lainer World had received magical technological assistance from Atrelin, its civilian applications remained quite limited.
They had only begun to develop gradually in recent years.
But war had struck just as those developments were budding, and there was nothing anyone could do.
Unless a deity manifested and bestowed some miracle, such as a blessing of abundance.
Jonis understood what Roland meant: if they missed the spring planting, there would be little to harvest in autumn.
Then, even if they conquered Northsen Territory, bandits would spring up everywhere, and the people would live in misery.
And pinning the blame on Feilie might only allow him to rally more desperate men and attack the Savaran region without restraint.
By then, even the originally prosperous and peaceful Savaran region would be dragged down, plunging the entire country into famine and plague.
"Forget it. Let's put that aside for now." Roland brought the discussion back to the present. "Tell me, how were those Purple-Skinned Orcs?"
Jonis said, "They certainly live up to their reputation