Chương 219: 219：The Machiavellian Warlord

72： The Warlord's Edict Half an hour later. All nearly six hundred residents of the village were strictly organized into disciplined formations. Soren stood atop a raised platform, his gaze sharp as a blade as it swept across the faces of the crowd, inch by inch. The clearer an army's structure, the more terrifying its execution. This had been his ironclad rule as a Special Forces instructor back on Earth. Soren drew his longsword, aiming the tip directly at the smallest formation at the very front.

These were the sixty-four men who had carved a path out of hell alongside him. Having all consumed the [Basic Troll Serum], every one of them bulged with muscle, radiating an irrepressible vitality and bloodlust. They were clad in full-body black iron heavy armor and wielded two-and-a-half-meter-long armor-piercing heavy halberds! Standing there, they looked like an impenetrable wall of steel.

"First-line troops! The sixty-four Black Iron Heavy Infantry will remain unchanged! You will be personally commanded by me, Soren!"

"You are the sharpest tip of this army's blade! You will be the ones to break the hardest bones! Do you understand?!"

"We pledge our lives to you, My Lord!" Sixty-four heavy halberds slammed into the mud in perfect unison, letting out a resounding, thunderous boom. Soren's gaze shifted, landing on the left side of the platform, resting upon a man with a thick, scruffy beard.

"Buck!" The cavalry commander, Buck, who had been standing by, jolted. He took a large stride out of the formation and dropped to one knee.

"Present!"

"Weren't you complaining about a lack of mounts?" Soren waved his hand. The heavy gates of the large beast pens at the rear of the plaza were hauled open with a resounding crash. Exactly ninety-three Wargs, each as massive as a calf and baring gleaming white fangs, were led out under Kyle's direction. The terrifying aura of these carnivorous magical beasts caused the newly joined refugees to stumble backward in fear. Buck's eyes instantly went perfectly round, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Possessing the [Beast Affinity] and [Cavalry Commander] talents, he could tell at a glance that the bone density and explosive power of these Wargs far surpassed the heavy warhorses of the Silvermoon Kingdom! Soren looked at Buck's face, which was flushed red with excitement.

"There are a total of ninety-three captured Wargs in the village. Including yourself, that makes ninety-three Wolf Cavalry."

"I hereby appoint you as the Commander of the Wolf Cavalry. You will serve as our secondary strike force!"

"During wartime, you will lead these riders to charge the flanks and carve up the battlefield."

"But during peacetime, every single cavalryman will take their precious Wargs down to the fields! They will pull plows, clear land, and drag timber!" Buck roared at the top of his lungs, his neck veins bulging red.

"Your subordinate accepts the command! If any bastard dares slack off while plowing, I'll whip the skin off their backs!" To the right of the formations stood the remaining one hundred and one able-bodied human men. They were a mixed bunch, comprising both seasoned veterans and recent refugees.

"The remaining one hundred and one men will form the Second-Line Infantry Phalanx!"

"Equip yourselves!" Old Cook, the blacksmith, pushed his way out of the crowd. With a wave of his hand, the goblin apprentices behind him grunted and strained as they pushed several large wooden carts forward. The carts were laden with goods the smithy had rushed to forge day and night: black iron half-plate armor tailored to human proportions, heavy iron-studded shields, and, most striking of all, rows upon rows of three-meter-long pikes tipped with lethal black iron spearheads.

"Don your armor! Raise your shields! Ready your pikes!" Soren was adopting one of the most classic infantry tactics from his previous life:"You will be formed into a Macedonian Phalanx! From now on, no matter what kind of Orc charge we face, I want your pikes bristling like a hedgehog at the forefront of our camp."

"Your sole mission is to lock down Greywater Village's defensive line. Hold your ground to the death!"

"Understood!" The one hundred and one soldiers roared as they rushed the equipment carts. As they strapped on their brand-new armor, the battle lust in their eyes began to boil. With the primary and secondary combat units formally established, Soren did not neglect the remaining personnel. Soren turned to the group of goblins, who were clad in leather armor and gripping poison-tipped blowguns:"Third-line troops! The eighty-five Goblins!"

"Your structure remains unchanged. You will continue to serve as our perimeter stealth scouts. Your immunity to acidic mud is a racial advantage. I expect to be notified immediately of even the slightest rustle in the mist."

"When you are off duty, you will report to Old Cook and work the smithy!" A flurry of chattering Orcish broke out within the goblin formation. These non-humans, so deeply despised by human society, proudly puffed out their chests under Soren's gaze.

"Fourth-line unit!" Two hundred and sixteen people—the elderly, the disabled, the women, and the adolescents—stood clad in thick, warm leather armor. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"It remains the same as before. You are responsible for the territory's tailoring, cooking, agriculture, and general logistics!"

"During your free time, you will train in basic defensive formations using short spears." Finally, Soren's sharp gaze softened as he looked toward the inner side of the wooden palisade. Standing there were thirty-seven individuals: crippled veterans missing arms or legs, hunched-over elders, and a few oblivious toddlers. Under the brutal survival laws of the Misty Swamps, such "worthless" non-combatants would have long been tossed out as feed for the Demonic Crocodiles.

Soren took a deep breath and sheathed his longsword. His voice carried across the entire plaza:"To the thirty-seven of you incapable of manual labor."

"You are not to feel any guilt! I will personally allocate food to provide for you!"

"Under my rule, the young will always be nurtured, and the elderly will always be cared for!"

"To every man here who draws a blade to fight: if you fall in battle, Greywater Village will provide for your parents and raise your children for the rest of their days!" The eyes of the soldiers standing in formation turned red, and they gripped their weapons with a vice-like hold. Their own families might not currently reside in Greywater Village, but this ultimate safety net was the greatest reassurance any warrior could ask for. The military organization was set.

Soren turned his head, looking at the bald monk, Renn, who stood by his side. After drinking the Troll Serum the previous night, Renn's bronze skin now gave off a faint, metallic sheen.

"Monk Renn, step forward." Renn took large, heavy strides onto the wooden platform. Soren patted his shoulder and announced:"Renn is hereby appointed the Chief Unarmed Combat Instructor for the entire army of Greywater Village!"

"On the battlefield, even the finest weapons will chip or break! When a weapon slips from your grasp, I refuse to see you close your eyes and wait for death like lambs to the slaughter!"

"Renn will teach you how to use your fists, your elbows, and your knees to shatter a Greenskin's throat!"

"Even disarmed, I want every single one of you to possess the sheer lethality to rip the enemy apart with your bare teeth!" Renn slammed his fists together, producing a thunderous, explosive crack in the air. This raw, straightforward demonstration was his response to Soren's trust. Down below, the recruits felt a shiver run down their spines, yet a burning desire to learn ignited within them.

Finally, Soren navigated through the crowd, making his way to the most heavily guarded wooden tent at the edge of the plaza. It was the military supply depot. Victor, the former Commander of the Silver-Tier Mage Regiment, was currently draped in a dry, clean linen robe.

"Victor," Soren called out.

"My Lord." Victor offered a slight bow.

"Follow me inside." Soren lifted the tent's heavy flap. The interior was dimly lit, but a strange, radiant halo glowing from a desk instantly stung Victor's eyes. Strewn across the wide oak table, treated with as little care as a pile of junk, was an assortment of items. These were the alchemical and magical spoils Soren had captured after wiping out two separate Orc supply convoys. However, until now, no one in the village had known how to use them.

"This is..." Victor's breath caught in his throat. He saw several red herbs whose roots radiated a blistering heat, looking as if magma flowed within them: [Sunweed]. Beside them sat a sealed crystal vial containing extremely finely ground, sickly-green [Snakebone Powder]. Even more shockingly, there were seven or eight fist-sized [Raw Mana Crystal Ores], refracting an enchanting, magical luster from within! Sixty vials of [Battlefield First-Aid Potions]!

A batch of [Basic Life Revival Potions], radiating boundless vitality! And a full five parchment scrolls inscribed with sealed healing magic! For a mage forced into long-term exile in the wilderness, possessing no magical arrays, no laboratory, and no materials meant that even the greatest talents were completely useless. Yet right now, laid out before him was a massive hoard of magical resources. This was enough to fully fund an alchemy laboratory back in the Silvermoon Kingdom!

"By the Chief God..." Victor swallowed hard. He couldn't even fathom how such an impoverished, remote village could have hoarded such a luxurious wealth of magical assets. He felt like he had struck the ultimate motherlode. Victor's voice trembled with pure excitement:"Lord Soren! With these... if I just bury a few of the Raw Mana Crystal Ores around the perimeter of the village to act as array nodes, and use the Snakebone Powder and Sunweed to neutralize any mana conflicts...

I can absolutely weave a magical ward over Greywater Village to completely counter Orc Shaman detection spells!" Soren made the appointment on the spot:"You have complete freedom to arrange them as you see fit. From this moment on, all magical materials are under your direct control."

"I hereby appoint you as our Chief Magical Advisor. The village's magical alarm wards, the deciphering of spell scrolls, and the distribution of potions—you are in charge of it all."