Leslie Lead, Tanzanian Town, tall and lanky Viscount Andrew, walked up to the city wall and looked in the direction of the docklands from the lookout point of the city wall.

The new pier towers rise over the banks of the Whitewater River, the tower's beautiful spire reflecting a dreamlike brilliance in the sun, and below the tower, thousands of sails sail by the Whitewater River, and boats of all sizes come and go like busy ants, and the whole river is a busy scene.

This hectic and lively scene started last year.

A cool breeze blew, and the throat, which had become sensitive from the overuse of potions, suddenly became uncomfortable, and Viscount Andrew Leslie could not help but let out a few violent coughs, and the butler who was standing by immediately stepped forward and draped his warm long-haired coat over his master.

The butler, who had been recruited for less than a year, was a little worried: "Lord Viscount, you should go back and rest." ”

"Blowing a cold breeze helps to think calmly," Andrew said casually, his gaze retracting from the docks and sweeping over the newly built warehouses, mills, and West Town, as he suddenly sighed, "That's fast." ”

The butler didn't hear clearly: "What? ”

The newly recruited butler is reliable and flexible, but after all, the time is still short, and there is a lack of tacit understanding between him and himself - Viscount Andrew sighed slightly in this regard, then shook his head and threw some unpleasant memories out of his mind: "It's nothing. Is the messenger still waiting at the castle? ”

"Yes," the butler nodded, "Count Hossmann awaits your reply. ”

Viscount Andrew was silent for a moment, and suddenly asked, "You say, who will win this war?" ”

“…… The situation of Duke Gawain Cecil is not good," the butler hesitated for a moment, and whispered, knowing that his master and Duke Galvan were very close, but loyalty required him to say what he really thought at this time, "even if he himself is a legend, he has only a few thousand men at his disposal, but Count Hossmann has already organized an army of tens of thousands......"

Viscount Andrew was noncommittal: "An 'army' of tens of thousands of people......"

With the mobilization capacity of this era, coupled with the desolate and decadent situation of the southern territory itself, it is indeed a remarkable number to be able to call up tens of thousands of troops, after all, the largest nobles here are up to the earl, and the number of private soldiers that can be maintained is limited after all.

After thinking for a few seconds, Viscount Andrew glanced at his butler: "It seems that according to your wishes, I should respond to the call of Count Hossman as soon as possible, so as to stand on the side of the victor as soon as possible." ”

The butler bowed his head deeply: "My advice is insignificant, I am just a butler, and I am not capable enough to understand your career." ”

Andrew felt a little bored, pouted his lips from an angle that the butler couldn't see, and then looked at the trebuchet pedestals on the city wall—those trebuchets were facing the White Water River, and a century ago, the ancestors of the Leslie family relied on this wall facing the river to defend themselves against robbers and fugitive soldiers from the waterways, and it was shortly after the Ansu civil strife ended, and the southern frontier was far less safe than it is today. Now, a hundred years later, these trebuchets on the walls have been replaced several times due to decay and fragility, but they have not been useful for a long time.

Another cold wind blew, and the wind on the city walls always seemed to irritate people's lungs, and the viscount wrapped his clothes and coughed softly: "Let's go back, the messenger of Count Hossman has been waiting for a long time." ”

The butler immediately followed: "Yes." ”

"Get me a few more copies of the kind of 'newspapers' that Cecil distributed, as well as information about the Noble Reform Act and the Land Distribution Act that they introduced...... I'll need to find out. ”

A large army is massing in the north.

In addition to the 20,000 troops assigned to the Count of Peibo, the 50,000 men, who were the main force, were mostly in place after more than ten days of mobilization and gathering, and the continuous camps and banners were spread out on the plains southwest of the Carol region, and it was as lively and lively as an unprecedented huge bazaar.

It is home to the armies of dozens of local nobles from all over the South, from barons to counts, all of the glorious and orthodox bloodlines come together. Each nobleman brought in as few as a hundred soldiers as many as a thousand, and each set up camp according to its size. They first allocated large areas according to the rank of nobility to which they were allegiated, and then redistributed them within the area in the order of their arrival at the gathering point, resulting in a patchwork, chaos, and variety of garrisons.

Dozens of different flags fluttered over the vast camp, and between the camps were a labyrinth of winding roads, and heralds in various colors, armor, flags, and accents ran around the labyrinthine barracks, shouting orders that only their own people could understand (or could not understand), and confusion erupted from time to time due to misguided orders—only to be stopped by the knights rushing out and being forced.

The equipment worn by the soldiers in the camp was as chaotic as their camp, and it was even a lively exhibition, from the most rudimentary leather armor to the finest full-body steel armor, all gathered in the same place, and the methods they used to identify themselves were completely different, some relied on a burqa with insignia on their bodies, some tied strips of cloth of different colors on their heads, some relied on the emblems on their shields, and some did not have any markings at all, and it was up to the soldiers of the same village to remember each other's faces. One can't help but wonder if someone in this "army" will follow the wrong team on the day they band and go to other territory - when in fact such fears are entirely possible, and even have happened.

In the stories of some bards, the story of a soldier named Tom, who may have been a mountain man or a Consco, fought in a great war, but when he returned triumphantly, he mistook the face of his commander, followed the army of others to a place that was not far from home, married and had children in a foreign land, lived for eight years, and then returned to his hometown again in a new war...... The story was widely circulated in the South, and was even regarded by many knights as a symbol of "romantic battlefield life".

Dressed in a golden and red earl's coat, Karlof Horsmann rode on his favorite maroon horse, accompanied by several viscounts and barons, through the huge camp, and in his nearest position was Viscount Carol, dressed in a black crisp coat.

Count Karlof Hossman had a light-hearted smile on his face, and the staggering size of the camp and the 50,000 troops in the camp had been established and gathered under his supreme prestige, proved that the Hossman family was still glorious in his hands, and this was the best compliment he could receive as a member of the Hossman family.

"Look at it, with a force of this magnitude, I really don't know what our ancient hero is going to resist," Count Hossman pointed his whip forward, and his tone couldn't help but rise, "To be honest, I almost regret it now—maybe I don't need to gather so many people, and every flag here must be fairly distributed among the spoils." ”

"This is a testament to your generosity, my lord," said a baron, smiling, respectful and admiring, "not only for the sake of upholding the laws and traditions of Ansu, but also for the generosity of everyone in this land. ”

The others around chimed in, and while the nobles were talking, some noise suddenly came from nearby.

Count Horsmann looked up and saw a group of soldiers in chain mail or half-armor wrestling around the tent, as if they were fighting over the right to fetch water first, but not long after they scuffled, a knight in bright armor came out and knocked all the brawlers to the ground in two blows.

"Look, the dutiful knights are maintaining order, which is the duty and meaning of the nobility," Horsman looked at the scene with satisfaction, and couldn't help but sigh, "I can't imagine how chaotic this place would have been without this power to maintain order...... So I can't imagine what our ancient hero wanted to do after depriving the knights of their privileges and destroying the role of the nobles in maintaining order. ”

"I'm afraid only the gods know what he wants to do, but he must have experienced the consequences of doing so," said Viscount Carol, shaking his head and sighing, "The insulted knights and mages destroyed his 'alchemy factory' and blew up his warehouse, and he broke the order, and now the order has disappeared from his land, which can only be said to be self-defeating." ”

Viscount Carol had a real regret and regret on his face - of course he would feel regret, because since last winter, the sale of potions to the Plains of the Holy Spirit and the high taxes collected from Cecil merchants who entered the city had been an important source of income for him, and now that Cecil's alchemy factory had been destroyed and the supply of potions had plummeted, how could it not be regrettable and regretful.

What annoyed Viscount Carol even more was that when he had to find the original alchemist in the territory and wanted to use the traditional alchemy potion to temporarily alleviate the shortage situation, he couldn't find a single alchemist......

If it weren't for this blow, the neutral Viscount Carol would not have completely joined Count Hossmann's camp so quickly, and took out the large plains on the edge of his territory for the army to station.

"I don't know what is going on with Count Peppour," said one of the viscounts in the procession, "that Andrew Leslie is very close to Cecil, and he has not answered your call this time, and perhaps he will ignore your letter to him." ”

"It is already the greatest courtesy and tolerance for me to write to him to stay in the castle and not to stand in the way of the Count of Pebo," Karlof Hosman snorted softly, "It doesn't matter if he deliberately ignores it, Count Pebo has brought 20,000 men, and it won't take more than two days to bring down the little town of Tanza, and even if the sick son of the Leslie family goes to Cecil to bring rescue troops, it won't be too late to extinguish the fire in his castle...... So as long as his brain wasn't completely destroyed by the potion, he would know what to do. ”

Hearing this clear analysis, the followers around him agreed.

Count Hossman looked up at the messenger who was speeding towards him in the distance.

He smiled, "We seem to have received a reply from the 'Ancient Heroes'. ”

Count Hossmann couldn't help but raise his eyebrows when he saw that the messenger had handed him a rather familiar lacquer tube, and when he saw that the letter in the lacquer tube was the parchment scroll he had written by his own hand, he looked confused and a little more angry at being fooled.

This anger reached its peak when he unfolded the parchment all the way and saw the word at the end of the letter, but it turned into a laugh.

Someone next to him was puzzled by this: "My lord, is the letter a rebuttal?" ”

Count Hossmann stopped laughing, snorted softly, and the parchment roll in his hand caught fire out of thin air and quickly burned to ashes: "No, it's 'going to war'. ”

(Damn, it hurts to consume the manuscript.) ）