Chương 356: 356:A Veteran General's Profound Analysis

Veteran General Rodman pressed his hands firmly against the wooden rim of the sandbox. He delivered the profound, absolute truth with intense gravity:"Because his mind is terrifyingly clear!"

"Soren understands better than a single man in this room. If he merely relied on the treacherous terrain of the swamp to force a retreat... what happens in three months? What about half a year from now?!"

"As long as the Orc command structure remains intact, as long as that arrogant Warchief Blackstone draws breath, they can easily secure a second batch of supplies and march another massive army right to his doorstep!"

"Even if Greywater Village repelled them once, they would be dragged into an agonizing, endless war of attrition." Under the shocked gazes of his officers, the old General's finger slammed down on the exact coordinate where Warchief Blackstone's Royal Pavilion had collapsed. He unveiled Soren's absolute, mind-bending strategic intent:"Therefore, Soren wasn't fighting a miserable, passive battle just to survive!"

"What he set out to do, was to use a merciless, apocalyptic slaughter—violently amputating their elite legions and publicly shattering their supreme commander—to forge something entirely new!"

"He was violently carving an absolute, psychological deterrence into the very souls of the Orcs! A terror that belongs exclusively to Soren!" The old General swept his gaze across the room, his voice heavy with profound reverence.

"We wage war, so that others dare not wage war against us."

"When he demonstrated the terrifying capability to plunge into an army of tens of thousands and cleanly sever the head of their supreme commander with only two thousand troops... he completely, utterly shattered the war-making resolve of the Orcs."

"He used the miserable, pathetic corpse of Warchief Blackstone to carve an absolutely ruthless, ironclad rule into the minds of any Orc who dares covet that land: You want to touch Greywater Village? Fine. But you will pay for it with the life of your Supreme Commander!" Veteran General Rodman straightened his spine, his expression blazing with passionate awe.

"THAT is Soren's true objective!"

"He used absolute, overwhelming violence to buy long-term, inescapable terror from the enemy! By doing so, he has violently carved out a long, uninterrupted period of peace and development not just for Greywater Village, but for our entire, crumbling defensive line!" Inside the operations room, every single voice vanished. Over a dozen high-ranking Generals stood rooted to the spot. Listening to this profoundly piercing analysis, a violent shudder of absolute awe electrified every single cell in their bodies.

An elder General muttered to himself, "To not only possess the tactical genius to completely read the enemy's intent and secure a one-hit kill on the battlefield... but to possess the supreme strategic vision to look years into the future, seamlessly weaving combat, politics, and psychological terror into a flawless master plan..."

"If those so-called nobles back in the Capital, who only know how to backstab their peers, are the parasitic scum sucking the marrow of this nation dry..." The one-eyed General slowly removed his military cap, declaring with absolute, boundless reverence:"Then this young man, far out in the Misty Swamp, is an absolute, god-sent miracle born to save humanity from the brink of annihilation!"

"An unparalleled commander of a generation!" SWISH. Inside the operations room, among these dozen-plus battle-hardened, fiercely arrogant frontline commanders... Every single man turned in unison. They faced the exact coordinate on the sandbox representing the Misty Swamp, their expressions etched with absolute, solemn gravity. They snapped to attention. Chests puffed out, they slammed their right fists violently over their hearts.

Toward that peerless commander who had violently carved a path of hope through a suffocating death trap, they executed a flawless, exalted Knight's Salute. Meanwhile, inside the sprawling courtyard of Ironwood Fortress, the air was thick with the bustling energy of soldiers rushing to and fro. Commander Galahad, the weathered, old-school veteran general, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Commander Gabriel of Broken Horn Ridge, who had arrived to discuss joint defense protocols.

At this moment, however, both commanders had their gazes glued to the towering mountains of supplies stacked in the center of the courtyard. It was the massive haul unloaded from the thirty [Ironclad Supply Wagons] that had rolled in from Greywater Village. On the left sat stacks of polished, standard-issue black-iron half-plate armor, alongside perfectly arranged bundles of three-meter-long steel pikes. On the right, massive, towering mounds of the staple crop, [Swamp Tubers]. CLANG! CLANG!

Galahad pulled off his deerskin glove and rapped his knuckles hard against a black-iron breastplate, listening closely to the crisp, resonant ring of solid steel.

"No corners cut in the forging process. No cheap slag mixed in. This is genuine, military-grade hardware that has undergone relentless hammering and quenching..." the old General muttered to himself, meticulously inspecting the heavy armor before him. Standing beside him, Gabriel's face was equally painted with profound shock and bewilderment. The energetic, youthful commander was currently holding a [Swamp Tuber] that had just been roasted over an open campfire.

He took a massive bite, feeling the soft, sweet, starchy texture slide down his throat into his stomach, instantly blooming into a lasting, comforting warmth.

"An absolutely unbelievable, miraculous crop," Gabriel swallowed heavily, wiping the crumbs from his mouth as he looked at Galahad in sheer confusion.

"General Galahad, I simply don't understand." If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"Out here on the border frontlines—a hellscape where men will violently slaughter each other over a single grain of moldy wheat or a rusted piece of scrap iron—why on earth would Lord Soren gift us such a massive quantity of strategic heavy armor and life-saving rations entirely free of charge?" Gabriel's doubts were perfectly justified.

Under the relentless embezzlement and corruption of the high-ranking nobles in the Silvermoon Kingdom, the garrisons of Ironwood Fortress and Broken Horn Ridge had been pushed to the absolute brink of starvation. Many soldiers fighting in sub-zero blizzards were forced to fight Orcs to the death wearing severely shredded studded leather armor, clutching spears with rotting wooden shafts. To them, these black-iron armors and refined steel pikes were absolute, god-tier heavy armaments!

"Don't tell me Lord Soren unearthed some ancient ruin deep within the Misty Swamp? Otherwise, how could he possibly afford to be this obscenely generous?" Gabriel guessed wildly. Galahad shook his head with a bitter smile.

"Lord Soren's magnanimity and strategic vision have long since transcended the realm of ordinary men like us. Perhaps he wishes to use this unconditional aid to forge an unbreakable trust within our four-faction defensive alliance." Though he said that, deep down, standing before this sudden, apocalyptic mountain of supplies, both commanders felt a chaotic mix of sheer joy, trepidation, and a lingering, subtle unease.

No matter how hard they racked their brains, they could never, in their wildest dreams, pierce the veil of Soren's profound, terrifying open conspiracy. They had no idea that this "generous aid" was actually the advance severance package Soren was paying them to completely monopolize the Misty Swamp in the future. Just as the two commanders were agonizing over the origins of these supplies—even debating whether they should immediately muster an elite detachment to ride out and repay the favor...

"MAKE WAY! EMERGENCY MILITARY DISPATCH! MAKE WAY!" A shrill, desperate scream suddenly violently shattered the quiet howl of the fortress blizzard. Accompanied by the frantic, terrified whinny of a warhorse, the massive heavy gates of the fortress were violently pushed open. A Kingdom Communications Officer, bearing the crimson flag of maximum urgency on his back, charged wildly into the compound on a horse literally foaming at the mouth.

The exact second the horse breached the courtyard, it collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Ignoring the blood pouring freely from a gash on his forehead, the officer scrambled frantically to his feet. Stumbling wildly toward Galahad and Gabriel, he held a brass message cylinder stamped with the magical wax seal of the Silvermoon Kingdom's Supreme Command high in the air.

"Commanders! Veteran General Rodman... Veteran General Rodman has routed the latest military intelligence dispatch through a secure, classified channel!" The communications officer's chest heaved violently, gasping heavily for air due to extreme hypoxia and adrenaline.

"Read it!" Galahad's heart skipped a heavy beat, a dark, ominous premonition instantly washing over him. For Veteran General Rodman to actively bypass the Capital's bureaucratic cabal, forsake magical communication arrays, and route a maximum-urgency dispatch directly to the border fortresses via horseback... it absolutely meant an apocalyptic event capable of shattering the entire defensive line had occurred. With violently trembling hands, the officer tore away the wax seal.

He unrolled the parchment and roared the first half of the dispatch at the top of his lungs:"Classified Kingdom Intelligence: Three days ago, the Supreme Commander of the Orc Alliance's Blood Province, Warchief Blackstone, personally led an elite army of thirty thousand—including Centaur and Minotaur heavy legions, coordinated with the magical units of the [Spire of Shadows] and a full aerial squadron of twelve Wyverns—to launch a total, apocalyptic encirclement of Greywater Village!"

"Because the high echelons of the Capital, namely The Prince Regent and Duke Fernando, maliciously abused royal authority to completely jam all magical frequencies in the region and sever all intelligence pipelines, Ironwood Fortress and Broken Horn Ridge received absolutely zero early-warning signals! This intentionally stranded Greywater Village in a state of absolute, isolated abandonment, completely cut off from all allied relief!" Hearing those exact words... BUZZ!

Galahad and Gabriel instantly went completely, utterly rigid. They felt the freezing chill of the blizzard violently pierce through their pores, shooting straight into the absolute depths of their souls.

"Th-Thirty thousand elite troops? And an aerial squadron of Wyverns?!" The roasted [Swamp Tuber] Gabriel was holding slipped through his fingers, dropping into the snow with a dull thud. This famously aggressive, ferocious swordsman commander felt every single hair on his body stand on end. All color violently drained from his face, leaving him as pale as a sheet. A crushing cocktail of sheer terror and apocalyptic fury violently tortured the minds of the two commanders.

Less than a few dozen miles away from their positions, the Orc Alliance had actually rallied a massive, world-ending legion more than capable of flattening the entire Northern Defense Line into dust! And they—the sworn allies tasked with joint defense—had been forcefully, maliciously blinded and deafened by those despicable bureaucratic rats in the Capital! They had been completely, helplessly trapped in the dark!