Chương 90: 90：A Thirst for Vengeance

"Oh?" Galahad raised an eyebrow.

"What are we guessing?" Leona held up two pale, slender fingers.

"If we count the days, it's been exactly two months since Soren left my Crimson Moon camp to forge a path deep into the swamp."

"When he left, he had nothing but twenty-five greenhorns. They couldn't even form a decent spear phalanx." Leona leaned forward slightly, her tone dripping with pride.

"Why don't you two take a bold guess? In just these short two months, out there in the Mist Swamp, how many men do you think he has under his command now?" The moment the question was asked, a brief silence fell over the tent. A piece of pine wood snapped in the brazier with a muffled crack. Galahad and Gabriel exchanged a glance, both military commanders unconsciously furrowing their brows. They understood all too well the heavy implications behind that question.

Any commander knew that expanding an army wasn't some magic trick where men just appeared out of thin air. And this was the Mist Swamp, no less! The air was thick with toxic miasma, the mud beneath their feet was highly acidic, and the wilds were crawling with ravenous two-headed demon crocodiles—to say nothing of the ever-present Black Iron Orc patrols. Recruit troops here? From where? The refugees who had fled into the swamp to escape the ravages of war were already starved half to death.

Even if Soren had incredible luck and managed to take in some refugees, how much rations could his twenty-five men possibly spare to feed newcomers?

"That's a logistical nightmare to calculate," Galahad muttered, rubbing his chin as he ran the numbers in his head. His Ironwood Fortress boasted thousands of heavy troops, but that was only because they had the backing of the Silvermoon Kingdom's rear echelons, with General Rodman supplying an endless stream of supply convoys. The Crimson Moon Knights might have been exiled, but they still retained a complete roster and adequate supplies. But Soren, with only twenty-five men? Gabriel finally broke his silence.

Staring into the brazier, he offered a number he felt was already pushing the limits of exaggeration:"Just surviving in the swamp for two months without being wiped out by a large tribe is a miracle in itself. I'd wager he's scraped together around a hundred and fifty men, tops. Any more than that, without sufficient fresh water and food to sustain them, camp mutinies and plagues would utterly destroy him." Hearing this, Leona let out a soft, disdainful snort and wagged her finger.

"A hundred and fifty? Gabriel, you drastically underestimate my subordinate." Galahad took a deep breath, picking up his clay bowl to wet his lips before making a wild guess.

"Did he raid a small Orc granary? Two hundred and fifty... No, let's call it three hundred!"

"Leona, that is the absolute limit!"

"Three hundred hungry mouths in the heart of the swamp? Without a secure supply line, the daily stress of feeding them would drive any commander to bang his head against a wall."

"Three hundred?" Leona slapped her thigh with a loud smack, unable to hold back the triumphant gleam on her face any longer. Eyes shining, she stared at her two colleagues and revealed the answer, enunciating every word:"Nearly six hundred men!"

"And they aren't some ragtag band of starving refugees or routed deserters, either!" Leona's voice rose in excitement.

"Not only has he established a force of six hundred, but he's also implemented a strict, hierarchical military structure!"

"He even founded a secure territory atop a volcanic crater. It's called Greywater Village!"

"And do you know what the most ridiculous part is? I don't have to provide him with a single grain of food. He has already cultivated vast expanses of farmland on the outskirts of his territory. He's completely self-sufficient!"

"As if that weren't enough, he's utilizing geothermal heat! He built a blast furnace and a forge, and every day they melt down captured Orc weapons to churn out standard-issue Black Iron equipment for our human armies!" Following Leona's rapid-fire bombardment of unbelievable truths, a deathly silence gripped the tent. Galahad abruptly choked on the gulp of ale he had just swallowed, spraying it out with a sputter. Violent coughing turned his weathered face bright red.

Gabriel's usually calm and composed face was now completely frozen in shock. Even Elena, the priest sitting quietly to the side, froze with her fingers hovering in mid-air above the pages of her book.

"S—six hundred men?" Galahad didn't even bother wiping the spilled ale from his beard, genuinely suspecting he was hallucinating. He only knew that Soren, back at the Sunken Bone Shoals, had miraculously counter-killed a Son of Titan with a mere sixty-five soldiers. After that, he had already pegged Soren as a once-in-a-millennium tactical prodigy. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. But that was just sixty-five men!

How much time had even passed since then? His forces had already swelled to nearly six hundred? And he built a fucking independent territory with a blast furnace and farmland?! Gabriel swallowed hard.

"Leona, are you sure your intelligence officer isn't reading you bedtime fairy tales?"

"Building a blast furnace in a swamp where every step is a struggle? Farming?!" Watching their utterly dumbfounded expressions, Leona felt a surge of satisfaction far more refreshing than downing a massive barrel of ice water on a scorching summer day.

"Oh, and he's also formed a Wolf Cavalry unit!"

"Wolf Cavalry?" It was yet another explosive revelation, leaving the two generals' heads spinning. Managing to recover slightly from the sheer sensory overload, Galahad slammed his clay bowl onto the table. A burning anticipation ignited in his eyes. Galahad sat up completely straight, visibly vibrating with excitement.

"Leona! No matter what, once this endless rain stops, Gabriel and I absolutely must visit this Greywater Village. We have to see it for ourselves!"

"Agreed!" Gabriel chimed in.

"I want to see exactly what kind of methods he's using to take root and thrive in a death trap like the Mist Swamp!"

"Of course! We'll all go together when the time comes!" Leona laughed heartily, slapping her thigh again before shooting a slightly apologetic glance at Elena.

"However, as you can see, the camp has just welcomed our esteemed military priest. Between the inventory ledgers, the rosters for soul purification, and the top-to-bottom administration of the entire Knight Order, our affairs are currently tangled up like a ball of yarn."

"We'll have to wait until we get through this bottleneck. Once the weather clears up a bit, we'll head to Greywater Village together." Everyone's spirits soared with this promise, only to gradually settle as their ale bowls were refilled. After a few rounds of drinks, the brief wave of excitement faded, allowing the chilling reality of their situation to creep back into the tent. Inevitably, the topic shifted to the Ironwood Fortress, where Galahad was stationed.

Galahad, whose face had just been flushed with amazement at Soren's exploits, grew visibly grim. The flickering, amber light from the brazier danced across his heavily weathered face. He let out a deep, weary sigh.

"Ironwood Fortress... is in a terrible state right now." The temperature in the tent seemed to drop a few degrees. Even Leona's triumphant smile faded away. Not a single commander on the continent could forget the hellish battle that had taken place at Ironwood Fortress. Galahad could barely conceal his shudder, nor the raw hatred in his voice.

"Ever since that last assault... when Ironwood Fortress was attacked by that animal under Warchief Blackstone's command, the Shadow Priest Zagar..." Galahad didn't need to elaborate; everyone present knew exactly what had happened. A full ten Sons of Titan, their bodies as massive as mountains of flesh, had acted as living battering rams, violently smashing through the humans' formidable shield wall. Galahad closed his eyes in agony.

"Three entire heavy infantry battalions..."

"We spent four years cultivating that core strength at Ironwood Fortress. We fed them the best food and armed them with the finest gear. Over fifty died, and the wounded were beyond counting."

"And the dead... barely any of them were left intact. They were completely pulverized by those Sons of Titan, mashed into bloody paste against the walls..." Outside, the endless rain battered against the leather tent, the rhythmic patter sounding utterly desolate. It was more than just a loss of manpower. Galahad snapped his eyes open.

"Leona, the troops are gone, yes. I can ask General Rodman for reservists to fill the gaps. But ever since that humiliating defeat, the morale of the surviving soldiers has completely hit rock bottom."

"Now, if the mist outside the walls gets even a little bit thicker, the archers up in the watchtowers start shaking so badly they can hardly hold their bows."

"If this continues, the Orcs won't even need to launch another full-scale assault. A single instance of camp-wide panic will be enough to make Ironwood Fortress collapse from the inside out!"

"I have to do something." Galahad shot to his feet. His previously hunched back straightened, and a fierce, surging battle intent erupted from his body.

"I refuse to let Ironwood Fortress rot away in despair! I urgently need to orchestrate a head-on, pitched battle against the Orc Alliance!"

"We need a definitive victory! Even if it means just biting off one of their larger outposts and chopping off a pile of greenskin heads to mount on our walls!"

"It's the only way! We have to use their boiling blood to wash away the fortress's past humiliation, and drag the shattered courage back into the hearts of my men!"