Chương 175: 175：The Warlord's Philosophy

Soren gently brushed Leona's hand away. Accepting a freshly roasted Swamp Tuber from a passing villager, he snapped it in two and offered the halves to Elena and Cedric. Biting into the slightly bitter but filling food, his gaze turned unreadable.

"Commander Leona, do you still not understand? We are an isolated force deep behind enemy lines. Without the full support of the local populace, we lose all sources of intelligence. We'd be nothing but sitting ducks waiting to die in this mud." Soren turned around, pointing at the bustling civilians behind him.

"In Greywater Village, there are no nobles and no peasants. There is only us and the enemy.

"Whether it's the development of this territory or the very survival of this army, we must rely on the logistical foundation provided by these civilians.

"The laws of the Silvermoon Kingdom? When an Orcish battleaxe is cleaving through my skull, are the high lords of the Silvermoon Kingdom going to come save me?" Soren's words struck like iron on an anvil.

"I didn't use some manipulative trick to win them over! I gave them a bowl of hot soup, a padded coat to survive the winter, and the dignity of being treated as human beings!

"As long as they are willing to forge iron, sew clothes, and till the fields for me, they are my brothers-in-arms, and I will live and die alongside them!" This revolutionary, world-shaking concept of a grassroots foundation left the three of them thoroughly shell-shocked. For the first time, a ripple of profound admiration flickered within Elena's perpetually calm, pale golden eyes.

Clasping her hands over her chest as if in devout prayer, she murmured softly, "In this dark age of low magic where human lives are treated as weeds, every nation exploits the lower classes as mere cannon fodder.

"Vice-Commander Soren, you have deeply understood and practically embodied the truest chivalric code: to protect the weak. Beneath your gruff exterior lies the heart of a true sovereign, capable of embracing all." Bringing up the rear, Cedric stared at Soren's back with an incredibly complex expression. Amateurs watched the spectacle; experts saw the underlying mechanics.

In his mind, Cedric was constantly simulating the terrifying prospect of a faction growing in power—one wholly sustained by its people, devoid of racial barriers, and twisted together into a single, unbreakable rope. No wonder he won... Cedric thought, a lingering dread washing over him. Weapons can be shattered, and walls can be torn down. But this unique charisma, binding faith and survival together into one cohesive force... that is the true trump card behind this army's rapid rise!

What terrifying war potential! Leona irritably scratched her red hair.

"Alright, enough with the grand lectures. Logistics aside, wars are ultimately won by the swords in our hands.

"Take me to see this army you're so damn proud of! I want to see for myself if you actually have the troops to back this up, or if you're just puffing your chest to look tough!"

"As you wish." Soren angled his body slightly, gesturing forward.

"Just ahead is the training ground." Passing through a dense cluster of treehouses, their field of vision abruptly opened up. A shrill bone horn suddenly blew. The previously quiet training ground instantly erupted with the deafening clatter of steel and a suffocating aura of killing intent. Amidst the flying mud, thunderous, perfectly synchronized footsteps shattered the heavy, damp air.

When the three of them finally got a clear look at the scale, troop variety, and equipment of the army before them, they were nailed to the spot in sheer disbelief. First to take the field was the Wolf Cavalry Battalion, led by Commander Buck! Awooo! A blood-curdling wolf howl tore through the air. Ninety-two massive Swamp Direwolves surged out from the dense forest in the rear. With every bound, they effortlessly cleared deep, muddy pits, completely ignoring the debilitating friction of the Misty Swamp's sludge.

Atop these beasts rode ninety-two cavalrymen. Every single one was clad in black iron half-plate over lightweight, slash-resistant padded armor. Strapped to their left arms were three-shot repeating hand crossbows, while their right hands leveled three-meter-long black iron lances.

"This... this is impossible!" Leona's crimson eyes were filled with horror. Losing her composure, she stumbled two steps forward. Watching those cavalrymen traverse the treacherous mire as if it were flat ground, executing high-speed flanking maneuvers and formation changes, her mind went completely blank. As a traditional knight, she understood all too well what mobility meant in this hellish terrain. A human heavy warhorse wouldn't make it ten paces here before sinking chest-deep into the mud.

He actually built a high-speed cavalry unit capable of completely overcoming this hostile environment? This alone is enough to tear apart any Orc supply line! Just as Leona's worldview was crumbling, a brilliant display of light erupted from the gentle slope on the left side of the training grounds. Led by Ilya, one hundred and thirty Half-Elf Rangers marched out in formation. Devoid of clunky iron armor, their movements were incredibly agile and fluid.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. At Ilya's cold command, all one hundred and thirty Rangers drew their bows and nocked their arrows simultaneously. Thrum! An inconceivable scene unfolded. Under Elena's shocked gaze, the arrowheads of these Half-Elves simultaneously ignited with faint yet lethal basic elemental magic! It was the explosive burst of fire and the piercing edge of wind!

"Magic... a structured magical military unit?" Elena drew in a sharp breath of cold air, her usually dignified composure nearly shattering. In human nations, even within the most esteemed Royal Legions, mages were pampered lords who required layers upon layers of protection. Yet Soren possessed a combat cluster of one hundred and thirty magic casters capable of highly mobile spell-weaving!

But what completely crushed Commander Cedric's psychological defenses was the dense, black mass of pikemen occupying the center of the training ground.

"Hah! Hoo!" Led by Kyle, two hundred and fifty-one pikemen—wielding studded iron bucklers and leveling three-meter-long pikes—formed a flawless Macedonian Phalanx. Over two hundred men stepped in absolute unison. Their movements were lethally precise, advancing and retreating as one, every thrust of their pikes emitting a sharp screech that tore through the air. Positioned at the very front of this phalanx was the apple of Soren's eye: the seventy-man Frontline Elite Battalion.

Every single one of them had consumed the [Minor Troll Serum], causing their physiques to bulge significantly larger than ordinary men. Most terrifyingly, in this resource-starved wasteland where even iron nails were a luxury, these seventy men were uniformly clad in full-plate black iron heavy armor and wielded two-and-a-half-meter-long armor-piercing heavy halberds!

"A heavy infantry defensive line combined with pike suppression..." Cedric's lips trembled slightly. The formations of his Ironpeak Duchy, of which he had always been so proud, suddenly seemed unbearably crude and primitive.

"This doesn't just strike fear into the enemy... this is a fortress capable of grinding any advancing charge into dust!" With his hands clasped behind his back, Soren reported to Leona, his tone neither haughty nor humble: "Commander, this is the current main force of Greywater Village." Leona was completely dumbfounded. It took her several long moments to even process what she was seeing. How was this a mere battalion?!

This was a small, independent army legion with impossibly luxurious equipment and perfectly layered firepower! This was the true definition of a vast, formidable army! What Soren hadn't even mentioned was that the hundreds of civilians not present on the training ground—the elderly, women, and children—could just as easily pull pikes or hand crossbows from beneath their beds the moment battle broke out.

Those Goblins working the forges could drop their hammers and instantly become the most cunning third-line scouts! The inspection continued. Sweating profusely, Cedric followed the group to the right wing of the training ground. There, his gaze suddenly locked onto a fifty-man unit of lightly armored archers. This was the Second-Line Longbow Battalion, commanded by the sharpshooter, Ein. Fifty-one soldiers formed up in three ranks, drawing their massive bows in perfect synchronization.

The deep groan of the tightening bowstrings radiated immense kinetic power. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Fifty heavy arrows fitted with triangular armor-piercing bodkins soared over a hundred paces, cleanly punching right through straw dummies wrapped in scrap black iron plating! However, what made Cedric's heart skip a beat wasn't this terrifying archery—it was the appearance of those half-man-tall recurve longbows! That elegant curvature, that familiar Imperial lacquered finish... Oh my gods...

Cedric wailed inwardly, experiencing a level of heartbreak beyond words. These were the high-grade military weapons smuggled to him by the Royal Griffin Knights just a few months ago! When they had been hijacked by Orcish bandits, he had been in such agony he nearly drew his sword to slit his own throat. And now, after changing hands several times, they had somehow been entirely seized by Soren, becoming the ultimate killing tool for Greywater Village!

"Cough, cough..." Cedric desperately suppressed the urge to cough up blood. His face was deathly pale, but he didn't dare say a word. After all, military smuggling was a crime punishable by decapitation. Soren patted the back of one of the longbows in front of him and raised his voice.

"Commander Cedric, you strike me as a man who knows his weapons. In the Battle of Lone Cliff, the total annihilation of the five hundred-strong Bloodaxe Battalion was achieved primarily through the suppressive fire of these Imperial military longbows—which we accidentally found!

"These bows pack a staggering punch, perfect for piercing Orcish heavy armor. I imagine that if the craftsmen who forged these bows could see them drinking so much Orcish blood, they would surely smile from beyond the grave, wouldn't you agree?" Upon hearing those words, Cedric's bleeding heart actually felt a tiny modicum of comfort.