Chapter 51:The Weight of Preparation

 Chapter 51: The Weight of Preparation

"By the way, Vervill, did the orcs see you leave? This is crucial!" Roland asked urgently. The possibility that the orcs had long-range reconnaissance methods troubled him, especially since he had no other advantage except for striking first.

Vervill hesitated. "I don't think so. We moved right after our sentinels spotted them. We moved fast—after all, Prairie Elves are wanderers by nature." His voice dropped at the last sentence, the pain of his people's endless wandering evident.

Roland frowned, still uneasy. "I have a bad feeling about this... With so many of you leaving, it's hard to believe the orcs didn't notice something."

Reynold, marching alongside Roland, chimed in. "What did you do with the boats after crossing the river?"

Vervill froze, his face pale. They hadn't sunk the canoes—they'd been too focused on fleeing. Now those boats might have given their position away to the orcs.

"It seems we can't count on surprising the orc camp," Reynold said, exasperation creeping into his voice. The elves had overlooked such a basic tactic.

"Forget it," Roland waved off Reynold's frustration. "A surprise attack was just one option."

"I'm sorry..." Vervill said, his shame palpable. He knew their oversight could lead to heavy casualties in the coming days.

"Don't worry about it," Roland tried to console him. "You were all just trying to escape. Who would think about sinking the ferries?"

As dusk fell, Roland looked up at the sky, noticing the sun dipping into the west, its light casting a blood-red hue on their armor. "Carlos, tell the infantry to stop and rest," he ordered.

That night, they camped on a mound, the light infantry's tower shields planted in the ground to form a semi-circle wall against the wind. The knights huddled close to their warhorses, wary of the dangers lurking in the wasteland night.

"Why did you equip the light infantry with tower shields?" Roland asked Reynold, noticing the wooden shields bordered with iron instead of the dwarven iron ones.

Reynold, munching on hard bread, replied, "After training, we found they handle the wooden tower shields better. They weigh the same as the iron cross shields but offer more coverage, which is crucial for their survival."

"But the defense isn't as good as iron," Roland remarked, still favoring stronger armor.

"True, but given their skill level, these crude wooden shields suit them better," Reynold whispered, not wanting to speak ill of the soldiers too loudly.

Roland sighed, thinking about the soldiers' initial performance. These men were the backbone of his army; they had to hold the line if they were to have any chance of victory. "Carlos, Reynold, be honest with me—how ready are they?"

Reynold hesitated before answering, "At least they won't desert."

Roland grimaced. "That's not exactly reassuring... Can't we move past the deserter issue?"

Reynold chuckled dryly, "That's progress, Roland."

Roland turned to Vervill. "What about your people? What kind of fighters do you have?"

"All rangers," Vervill replied with pride.

Roland groaned internally. The elves had no proper front-line soldiers—just rangers, mages, and the rare Moon Deer cavalry. "Great, more ranged support..." Roland muttered, rubbing his temples. He lay down on his blanket, resigning himself to the situation.

...

The next morning, Roland's first thought was to check in with the system. "Sign in."

"Sign-in successful! Congratulations, you've received the elf sword, Manikati!"

"An elf sword? Really?" Roland groaned. The sword was a powerful artifact for elves, but in his hands, it was just an ordinary blade. Only those with elven power could unleash its true potential. It was a cruel reminder of the limitations he faced.

Then Roland noticed Vervill's saber—it was far less sophisticated. He approached Verwey and handed him Manikati. "Take this sword, Lord Vervill. I hope it serves you well."

Vervill's eyes widened. "You have a storage space? I didn't realize you had such resources!" He took the sword and as he channeled his energy into it, the blade ignited with a fierce fire, the rich magic coursing through the weapon.

"This... this is the elven holy sword?" Vervill looked at Roland in disbelief.

"Yes, the Fire Sword—Manikati. I hope it proves useful." Roland smiled, knowing that in Vervill's hands, the sword would be more than just a piece of metal.

"This is too precious..." Vervill hesitated, trying to return the sword.

"It's only precious if it's used well," Roland said firmly. "If you feel indebted, use it to cut down a few more orcs."

...

"We're a day and a half from the Red Water River," Vervill reported, studying the map as he led the way.

"Let everyone rest. Have the knights stop their scouting and take a break," Roland instructed.

Suddenly, a plume of smoke appeared in the distance, and Reynold's Paladins rode in fast. Reynold, breathless, shouted, "The orc army... they're coming!"

Roland's heart sank. In this nameless wasteland, the fate of the North would soon be decided.

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