The terrain around Fort Mintel was not complicated.
To its north was the open Olde Plains. The Olde River and the Parton River had washed out the sedimentary belt of the plains. The long and narrow valley plains in the north were affected by the ever-changing forces of chaos, forming the barren Parton Wilderness. It was almost a flat land, which was very suitable for an army to spread out.
To the east and south of Fort Mintel was a large forest located between Mintel, Paris and Schafflund. This vast forest was called the East Mintel Forest. There were two roads through the middle of this forest that connected to Fort Mintel. One of the roads went through Gars Ferry, while the other was connected to the only satellite town south of Fort Mintel, Orta.
Duke Grinoires reached out and pointed at the town on the map. The Tónigel people were resisting fiercely here. The person who commanded the attack was the deputy commander of the Northern Noble Alliance last time, Marquis Balta's deputy. He was also a very famous Knight commander in the White Lion Legion. The Tónigel people who were stationed here defended the town for nearly half an hour and did not allow the noble commander to take the town. It was said that the White Lion Knight Regiment was formed by the son of the Blademaster himself. It was said that the White Lion Knight Regiment was formed by the son of the Blademaster, and it was indeed worthy of its reputation.
However, he had already asked the Buga wizards to go and support them. Although there was no news yet, he was sure that it would be done soon. After all, there were no witches or detestable druids there. After cutting off Fort Mintel's escape route, one of his worries had been relieved. In any case, this large-scale plan was more than half completed.
But things often went against one's wishes.
Just as Duke Grinoires put down the map in his hand, a noble Knight rushed to him and shouted in panic, "My lord, we have lost contact with Orta!"
"What happened?" The duke's heart skipped a beat. The uneasy feeling in his heart seemed to be confirmed at this moment. He quickly asked.
"I'm not sure, my lord. The first news was that a Blademaster belonging to the Royal Family appeared in Orta. Not long after, our communication with that direction was cut off."
"Sword Saint?"
Grinoires was trying to figure out which of the Sword Saints loyal to the Royal Family of Covardo would suddenly appear in this place. However, one Sword Saint was nothing to worry about. How could a single Sword Saint affect the entire battle? In the end, it would only be the northern nobles' army that would be at a disadvantage.
However, to be on the safe side, he still asked, "Have you sent scouts to confirm the situation?"
"It's been dispatched."
"Which of our troops is the closest to Orta?"
"I'm not sure, but it seems like the army from Blackwater Bay captured a village called Emden."
"Oh, that's Baron Gorham and his Knight." Duke Grinoires nodded and said, "Let them go to Orta and send a cavalry unit from the third column of the southern legion there."
"Understood, sir."
Duke Grinoires watched his Knight leave. He rolled up the map and put it into the map box beside him. He could not help but sigh, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. It was not his first time on the battlefield. For the past half a century, Erouine had been at war almost every day. Between the nobles, the nobles, the people of Erouine, and the undead of Madara, large and small battles took place every month in this ancient kingdom. He first went to the battlefield with the old Duke Grinoires at the age of 14, and was already a qualified military noble at the age of 16.
He had even participated in the Second Holy War. Although he hadn't experienced the most dangerous battles, he had more or less experienced. He could be considered a veteran of hundreds of battles. Duke Grinoires knew very well that in a war, not everything would go according to plan. Only those who had not really commanded a battle would naively think that the war was going according to plan. Whoever had a better plan would win.
But the truth was far from that. For those who were familiar with war, a real war was more like a great adventure that depended on luck. Especially in a huge battlefield like this, which was more than ten kilometers deep, both sides involved in the war were almost blind. The side that had control of the sky and the strength of the wizards might have a better plan, but the inefficient command and the speed of the army's response would make the original plan full of loopholes.
When it came to the battlefield, it was not so much a competition of who had a better plan, but who had better luck and fewer mistakes. If one side in a battle made an unforgivable low-level mistake, then the balance of the war would often tilt because of it. And this kind of mistake was often unavoidable. Sometimes, both sides of a war would repeatedly make multiple mistakes, and in the end, it would become the will of Lady Martha to decide the victory of the battle.
For now, although there were more or less unexpected situations on the battlefield, such as the situation with Orta, they were still within an acceptable range. The Buga's plan was very clever. Except for the part where the executors were the southern nobles, the other parts of the plan were perfectly reproduced.
Everything was going well, but Duke Grinoires still felt uneasy. He felt that he had missed something. He opened his eyes again with some annoyance, stood up from the table, and paced back and forth.
He admired the Buga's efficient execution. It was said that the White Lion Guards commanded by the descendants of Darius had shown such a standard, but Duke Grinoires scoffed at it. At least in the current battle, the other side did not show such a standard, although their individual tactical accomplishments and strength were indeed far superior to their peers in Erouine's country.
The difference between the two was so obvious, so where did his worry come from?
Duke Grinoires himself could not figure it out. He walked back to the table, picked up his pipe, and seemed to be ready to light it up. But in his irritation, he really did not have the patience to complete the delicate work of filling the pipe and lighting the fire, so he put the pipe down again.
Then he heard footsteps outside the tent, and knew that the Knight he had sent out had finally returned.
The duke finally could not hold back the uneasiness in his heart. He lifted the curtain of the tent and asked anxiously, "What's wrong? Did you find out what happened in Orta's direction?"
He suddenly stopped talking.
He saw his Knight standing in front of him with a pale face and a crushed helmet in his hands, trembling. The pitch-black helmet looked like a common knight's helmet in the Southern Territory, and it was stained with blood.
"What's wrong?"
Duke Grinoelsen's face was calm. His deep-set hazel eyes were fixed on the helmet.
"My Lord … Baron Gorham …"
"What happened to him?"
"The Baron … he has died for his country, and his Knight … This is the news sent back by the Buga wizards …"
"What's going on here?" The duke suppressed the anger in his voice and asked in a deep voice, "Aren't they north of Orta? Did they attack without my orders?"
The Knight's Adam's apple bobbed, and he could not say a word.
"What happened to Orta?"
"My Lord, Orta has been taken back by the Tónigel, and no one escaped. The Tónigel launched a counterattack, and they have passed Emden … "
"Gorham and his men are all cavalrymen. Why didn't any of them escape?" Although Duke Grinoires was not angry yet, his calm tone was enough to silence his knights. They trembled as they handed over the helmet in their hands and replied, "I'm sorry, but I'm sorry.
"My Lord, this is the relic of Baron Gorham that the Buga brought back …"
Duke Grinoires waved the Knight's helmet away in annoyance. The bloody helmet fell to the ground and rolled a few times before stopping.
He finally said angrily, "Why do I need this damn thing? Oh right, where are the Buga? Didn't they make it in time?"
The Knight almost buried his head in the ground.
"My Lord, the Buga wizards have also suffered losses. They are gathering their men to encircle the Tónigel …"
"Very well. How much longer do they need?"
"This …"
"I knew it! These damned bastards are unreliable!" Duke Grinoires turned and walked back into the tent. He angrily swept the things on the table to the ground, making a series of clanking noises.
"Tell me. How big is the Tónigel army? What is their composition? Where did they get into our encirclement? How many wizards do they have? Where is their direction of attack? "
"My Lord …" The Knight hesitated, "We still don't know who they are. Some people say they are the White Lion Guards that were originally stationed in Orta, but we don't know where they got into our encirclement from. They … they don't seem to have wizards …"
"They don't have wizards?! That's nonsense!"
Duke Grinoires said angrily, "If they don't have wizards, how could they wipe out Baron Gorham and his Knight squires? How could they let the Buga suffer so much? Did this army come from Schafflund? "
"That's not it, Milord," the knight immediately replied, "Schafflund is still peaceful. Our men stationed in that direction haven't encountered any problems. We'll contact them every five minutes."
"Very well," Duke Grinoires sighed, "What about this army? They left Orta and attacked Emden. Where are they going next? Fort Macsen? Tegan? "
… …
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