This winter is surprisingly cold, and it has long been the consensus of everyone.

In previous years, when the water did not freeze, the first real heavy snow had begun.

Countless goose-feathered snowflakes in the sky were drifting downward, occasionally gently surging with the wind, as gentle as a lover's touch. But these gentle snowflakes will eventually fall to the ground and become part of the snow. Snow is not gentle, it kills heaven and earth, and all things wither.

In the midst of this snowstorm, Seedorf stood at the head of the winter city wall, quietly watching the vast land outside the city covered in snow. The weather-beaten face with gray temples showed a slightly worried look.

Although his vision was obscured by the wind and snow, he knew that in addition to the large tracts of farmland that were temporarily dormant waiting to re-emerge next year, there was also a heavily assembled army of Pompeii preparing to attack the city.

Behind him, a dozen Stuart generals stood motionless, letting the snowflakes accumulate on their heads and shoulders.

"Still no news?" said Seedorf, his voice echoing far away from the quiet, cold city walls. At every two battlements stood guards with spear-wielding soldiers, but they did not react at all, and were as quiet as metal sculptures.

"No news, nothing. Although the voice in response to Seedorf was respectful, it contained an irrepressible anger, "I really don't know what those adults in the royal capital are thinking, they were the ones who declared war at the beginning!

All of the Stuart soldiers in Winterfell have a problem with their hearts - everything has been normal at first since the war was declared on Pompeii, and Winterfell has received a lot of logistical and reinforcement support as a front line for the war. At its peak, it gathered nearly 300,000 troops, two dragon knights, and half the strength of the court mage regiment, which was enough to support the largest battle.

At that time, everyone was holding back their strength in their hearts, and vowed to fight for His Majesty until the last moment, so that the Pompeii barbarians knew how powerful the Stuarts were.

But one day it started, things started to get wrong.

Reinforcements from other provinces were transferred one by one, and the original rush of material delivery soon stopped. In the face of the demands of the war front, the rear showed a perfunctory and even incomprehensible appearance.

When the Pompeians began to assemble their armies, set out on their journeys, and even entered the territory of Stuart. Winterfell's morale-high army, which had already been assembled, was being re-dismantled and repatriated. The regular army army one legion after another withdrew from the formation, the court mages all waved goodbye, and even the two dragon knights had no choice but to take off after a long sigh.

In the end, all that remained was the city guards, as at the beginning.

Everyone who still has some sense of responsibility denounces this malfeasance, but it is useless.

Those regiments that should have been transferred even had soldiers sneak up and ask to stay and fight, and their commanders chose to acquiesce to this. But compared to the scale it should be, it is not enough.

How ridiculous it was, Winterfell seemed to have been forgotten by the entire empire in the face of a great war that would stake the fortunes of the nation. Even the soldiers knew how to serve the country, but the big men were like ostriches, thinking that they could avoid danger by burying their heads in the sand.

The Pompeians were approaching day by day, and the rear was also perfunctory day by day.

After the soldiers came to the city, Seedorf even sent the Griffin Sky Knight as an envoy to fly to the royal capital, but what he got was still perfunctory. The venerable knight flew back overnight, slashed his cheek with a knife and swore to live and die with the city, to the tears of everyone who knew - for the bravery of the knight and for the mediocrity of the bureaucracy.

Perfunctory, perfunctory, perfunctory, always perfunctory.

Reinforcements and logistics were tight, and only perfunctory supplies were always sufficient.

It is not even as good as the volunteers who spontaneously assemble and rush to the people, who in the past would have been disgusted by the professional sergeants for not being professional enough, but now they are impressed by these respectable people.

Seedorf had to start thinking about the near-unsolvable question of how to use the power of a province against a nation? Holding on to Winterfell might not be a smart choice, but for now, it was the only option.

For he had only 30,000 city guards and 10,000 civilian volunteers at his disposal, while the Pompeii were a full 200,000.

"Don't be angry, Bernard, anger will only make your mind impulsive. Seedorf's voice remained calm and firm. Fifty years in the military had taught him that emotions were a harmful thing for a general and should be avoided as much as possible.

"Yes, sir. "As a powerful general, Bernard is by no means an echo worm who only curries favor with his superiors. But at this time, he immediately bowed slightly, not daring to show any more dissatisfaction.

"We can only do our part, and leave the rest to the Holy Light. Seedorf turned around and patted Berner on the shoulder, actually grinning.

"Follow your teachings. Berner felt his heart warm, and even the wind and snow didn't seem so cold.

If Winterfell had even a half-point chance of winning against Pompeii's attack, then that half-point chance of victory was not in the 30,000 elite city guards, not in the dozen or so experienced high-ranking officers, or even in the mages who stayed in the city.

It was in front of him, wearing an old suit of armor, with old age spots crawling all over his face, and even his back began to crumble—Seedorf.

To be fair, he was not the victorious general that bards like to preach, and he was far from a talented man who boasted of himself. Since joining the army at a young age, as a background board for those so-called geniuses, he has suffered countless painful defeats.

Whether his opponents were Pompeii, San Jose, rebellious vassals, or wilderness orcs, he had tasted defeat. From experience, it's completely unremarkable.

But Seedorf has perseverance and perseverance that ordinary people can't imagine!

No matter how he lamented the injustice of fate, no matter how he cried bitterly in the middle of the night, he could always bear all the pressure silently, get up again and again, re-cloak and wait for the next expedition.

Once he fails, he grows a little. Correcting the mistakes you have made little by little, summarizing the experience of your opponent a little bit, and examining whether you still have any shortcomings a little bit. I imprinted everything in my mind as deeply as instinct, and I didn't dare to forget it for a moment.

Failure is the best school, and what it can teach people is difficult to give no matter how many successes you have.

This slow but steady progress, after enough time, eventually breeds a monster that can hardly make mistakes. Many so-called geniuses ended up at the hands of Seedorf, like a brilliant meteor that pierced the sky and eventually fell to the earth.

Perhaps it was really due to his natural qualifications, and he was rarely able to command an imaginative attack. But in terms of defense, it is difficult to find a more watertight general than him across the continent.

He is a living legend in the Stuart military world - "The Rock" Seedorf.

"Let's go. "Seedorf still wears the cloak he received when he graduated from the Military Academy. The bright red color of the year has long faded after decades of washing, and it looks a little yellow.

"There are only 40,000 people, and we have to think carefully about how to arrange them. The old man's eyes were as clear as they had been when he was young.