Chapter 63

Chapter 63: Battlefield in the North

“Who are you?” asked Lolan Hill.

“My name is Bard, I come from Grey Thorns County,” the boy replied quietly, his head lowered as he spoke in a somewhat subdued tone.

Lolan Hill looked at the boy but did not offer any words of comfort.

“Do you hate that person?”

“I don’t know, I did indeed do something wrong.”

“You did indeed make a mistake,” the young lady agreed.

Hearing this, the boy lowered his head even further, his hands by his sides, feeling out of place.

“What would you do if you encounter such a situation again?”

“I will calculate every detail and ensure I don’t repeat my mistakes.”

“Have you ever heard of someone who never makes a mistake in their life?”

“No.”

“And then what? Will you continue to stand there like a fool, waiting for a kind-hearted person to save you?”

“I don’t know.”

Lolan Hill looked at the boy and suddenly understood the feelings of Mr. Lu Xun back then, feeling sorrow for his misfortune and anger at his lack of struggle.

She was not the type to save everyone; the path of life is ultimately chosen by oneself. Helping too much could sometimes lead to resentment, with the other party saying it wasn’t what they wanted, but what she forced upon them.

Enough, the young lady prepared to turn and leave.

“Thank you!” the boy called out from behind, his voice somewhat stifled yet urgent, as if he were pressing the brakes and accelerating at the same time.

Lolan Hill turned around to look at the boy, who seemed eager to say something but couldn’t find the right words, his face flushed red with urgency.

“If one day you feel too overwhelmed, imagine yourself as a stone without emotions; it might help a little.”

With that, Lolan Hill left the alleyway, her gray boots stepping away, her black robe billowing in the sea breeze before settling down again, leaving only her silhouette for the boy to see.

—

In the northern reaches of the Kingdom of Westwind, layers of flowing clouds rolled across the sky. On the arid desert, only sparse weeds grew. The southern trade winds, after passing through mountains and vast plains, had lost their moist sea air and became dry, mixed with dust.

The sun hung high, its scorching rays baking the earth. Soldiers formed neat ranks, marching forward before coming to a halt. The blue-star wheat flag high above fluttered in the wind, occasionally rustling.

On the vast wilderness, two camps stood opposite each other, totaling nearly two hundred thousand men. Their lines stretched from one end of the desert to the horizon, densely packed like ants, covering the entire wilderness, making the scene seem endless.

One side was the nobility coalition of the Kingdom of Westwind, led by Duke Wabuck of Rockwall, gathering armies from thirty-seven families in the north. Flags of various colors fluttered over the formations, soldiers clad in different armor—some in chainmail, some in simple leather, and a few in full steel armor.

They were roughly divided by family, each responsible for a section of the line. Overall, the middle and wing forces were stronger, while the rest were slightly weaker.

Behind the Westwind coalition stood the private army of Duke Rockwall, clad in bronze armor that glinted gold in the sunlight. These soldiers were part of the famous [Bronze Mountain Army], whose armor was made of a mix of iron and mountain copper, though heavy, they were extremely resilient and had formidable defense. Their spears and round shields also contained a small amount of mountain copper, reaching the extraordinary silver grade.

Within Duke Rockwall’s territory was a rare vein of mountain copper, excellent for crafting armor. Even ordinary craftsmen could easily produce silver-grade armor, but due to limited production, it took the Duke years to gather this elite force of over a thousand soldiers.

The soldiers of the [Bronze Mountain Army] were all at Sequence 2 or higher, which was the pride of Duke Rockwall. By exploiting the north, he amassed great wealth to sustain such a powerful army.

On the other side, the flags were more uniform, all depicting the star wheat pattern. Their armor was made of iron, though with many irregularities and rough edges, indicating they were recently crafted. These warriors had dark skin and calloused hands from long labor, their inner garments worn and faded.

The front-line soldiers held spears and shields, forming tight square formations, with a few archers behind. Unlike the noble coalition, they lacked crossbows.

The current Duke Rockwall rode on a magnificent horse, surveying the rebel army across from him, his white beard splitting into a smile.

“Unbelievable, the leader of the rebels is actually an academic,” he said with a mocking expression.

“Willifred, if you ever lead troops, don’t follow their example.”

“Why, Father, isn’t their formation impressive?”

“Bullshit,” the elder duke swore, looking disdainful.

“I despise those who have been read into foolishness.”

“When I was young, fighting the barbarians, the commander sent by the royal family was from Emanas.”

“He started talking about battle plans, logistics, and task distribution, insisting on drills. It was truly foolish.”

“He thought he was in a place where soldiers were just there for food. You talk about honor, but they only think about money and women.”

“Later, no one bothered to listen to him. Unless he personally oversaw the orders, they would follow them out of respect for the king. Otherwise, no one would stand under the sun doing nothing.”

“What happened next?” asked Willifred curiously.

“Afterwards, he learned to get a disciplinary unit from the king to oversee training and formations, managing to form some semblance of order.”

“But it didn’t work well. In battle, life and death are decided in an instant. Who cares about formations? If I can cut, I’ll cut, if I’m hurt, I’ll run. As long as the overall formation holds, we can encircle the enemy and win.”

“What if you lose?”

“Then run, you fool,” the old father said with a look of disbelief.

Willifred remained silent, turning to look at the opposing army, then asked, “So how did you defeat the barbarians?”

“Though the commander’s ideas were naive, he was indeed a genius. With Sequence 7 power, he charged through the enemy ranks, impaling the rebel leader’s head on his spear, causing the barbarians to flee. Otherwise, that battle would have been uncertain.”

“So I say, teach your grandson well, send him to Emanas to learn. Don’t be like you, always thinking of fancy nonsense. Strength is the only truth.”

“As for the rebel leader, he has no real skills. Thinking he knows something from reading books, he tries to maintain formations. Watch, once it starts, people will push and chaos will ensue. Who will stand still and get hit for the sake of maintaining formations? Hahaha.”

—

End of Chapter