Translator: CinderTL
The smoke of battle gradually cleared over Stonebridge Town. The battlefield was littered with the corpses of Orc cavalry and their warhorses. Soldiers of the Northwest Legion were clearing the field, while medics moved among them, carrying the wounded on stretchers.
Paul, accompanied by generals like Schroeder and Hal Duke, entered the town's temporary command post. Though battered by war, the town remained defiant, its garrison's flag still flying proudly atop the central clock tower.
Major Hodgson, the resolute garrison commander, rushed forward with several subordinates. His uniform was still stained with gunpowder and blood, clearly indicating he had been fighting until moments before.
"Lord Grayman!" Hodgson stood at attention and saluted, his voice hoarse but firm. "The garrison of Stonebridge Town reports to you!"
Paul stepped forward and returned the salute solemnly, then grasped Hodgson's hand.
"Major, you and your soldiers held this fortress, buying our main force precious time." Paul's gaze swept over the weary but determined officers in the command post. "You are the model of Northwest soldiers!"
Hodgson's throat tightened. The hardened warrior, who had faced death unflinchingly on the battlefield, now struggled to hold back tears.
"We were just doing our duty, my lord."
Schroeder stepped forward and patted Hodgson on the shoulder. "Duty? Indeed. And you've performed a miracle. To hold off the Orcs' relentless assault with a mere few thousand men... that goes far beyond duty."
Paul surveyed the assembled officers and announced in a raised voice:
"To honor the valor of all soldiers who fought in this battle, I shall commission the creation of the 'Stonebridge Town Guardian' medal. Major Hodgson, you and your men will be the first recipients."
A suppressed cheer erupted in the command tent. The officers straightened their backs, their eyes gleaming with pride.
"Furthermore," Paul continued, "all soldiers who participated in the battle will receive three months' extra pay. The families of fallen soldiers will receive double the usual compensation. Wounded soldiers may choose to retire and receive a plot of cleared land."
Hal Duke couldn't help but murmur, "My Lord, won't this be..."
"Worthy," Paul interrupted, his voice firm. "It was their sacrifice that secured our victory today. Aldor will never forget those who shed their blood for her."
Major Hodgson saluted again, his hand trembling slightly this time. "On behalf of all the defenders, I thank you for your generosity, my Lord."
At that moment, a Staff Officer entered to report the battle's casualties.
"Our army suffered approximately five thousand casualties, including two thousand three hundred fatalities, twelve hundred seriously wounded, and the rest lightly injured."
The Staff Officer flipped through the report in his hands. "We annihilated roughly eighteen thousand Orc cavalry, captured over seven thousand prisoners, seized three thousand warhorses, and countless weapons."
Paul nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the Orc prisoners being rounded up in the distance. This victory had been hard-won, and the cost had been heavy.
"Order the entire army to rest for three days to treat the wounded and replenish ammunition," he said in a deep voice. "Simultaneously, send a message to Alden Town, summoning reserve soldiers and accelerating new recruit training. I wonder if my previous order has arrived yet."
The Staff Officer quickly recorded the orders, but hesitated before looking up. "My Lord, should we await reinforcements from the King?"
Paul shook his head, his eyes resolute.
"Though the Orcs have been defeated, their main force remains intact. Abal won't give us much time to breathe." He pointed to the eastern part of the map. "We must press our advantage, expand our gains, and drive the Orcs completely out of the Northwestern Frontier."
He paused, his voice low but filled with determination.
"Orderly, depart immediately and inform the Council of Administration—we need more soldiers, more cannons. This war must be fought with relentless momentum until the Orcs are utterly incapable of ever again setting foot on Aldor soil."
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Sunlight streamed through the glass windows, illuminating the classroom. Markalov stood before the blackboard, tapping his chalk lightly against the wooden lectern.
He was stocky, with broad shoulders. Though he had long since shed his military uniform, his back remained ramrod straight, and his voice boomed like a bell.
"Repeat after me," he said, pointing to the words on the blackboard. "Defending the nation is the sacred duty of every citizen!"
Below, a group of six- and seven-year-olds tilted their small faces upward, their childish voices echoing, "Defending the nation is the sacred duty of every citizen!"
Markalov nodded approvingly. Most of these children came from ordinary peasant families. In his own childhood, they might never have had the chance to learn to read and write.
But now, they sat in this bright classroom, studying literacy, arithmetic, even history and geography—all thanks to Lord Grayman's educational reforms.
Just as he was about to continue his lesson, the classroom door swung open.
The Station Master of Northview Town's conscription office—a middle-aged man in a worn military uniform—stood in the doorway, his expression grave.
"Headmaster Markalov, I apologize for the interruption," the Station Master said solemnly. "I have an urgent letter for you!"
The classroom fell silent as the children blinked curiously, watching their headmaster.
Markalov frowned slightly and hurried to the door. The Station Master pulled out a letter sealed with the Northwest Legion's wax seal and handed it over.
"A Recall Notice," the Station Master whispered. "Lord Grayman is calling veterans back to duty."
Markalov's fingers trembled slightly as he took the letter, broke the seal, and quickly scanned the contents.
The letter explicitly ordered him to report to a designated location nearby within a specified timeframe to rejoin the army.
When Markalov had retired, the army he served in was still known as the Alden Army.
But the king had granted Grayman the title of Marquis, giving Alden Town the authority to recruit soldiers from the entire Northwest Bay. Now, the army's ranks were no longer limited to Alden but drew from the entire region, leading to its renaming as the Northwest Legion.
Markalov's heart suddenly raced, and his blood seemed to boil anew.
He knew the situation outside: Orcish iron hooves were ravaging the kingdom's northeastern territories, and Lord Grayman had already led an army to fight them.
"...Finally," he murmured under his breath.
The Station Master watched him and asked, "Do you need a few days to arrange for someone to take over?"
Markalov shook his head. "Our school's teachers are excellent. They can handle it themselves."
He turned and returned to the classroom. The children were still sitting quietly, but their eyes were filled with confusion.
He took a deep breath, stood before the lectern once more, and spoke in a calm, resolute voice:
"Class, the Headmaster must leave soon to fight in the war. I'll resume teaching when I return."
"Repeat after me," he said, pointing to the words on the blackboard, and slowly recited:
"Defending the nation is the sacred duty of every citizen."
"Now, it's the Headmaster's turn to fulfill that duty."
The children looked puzzled, but a few bright ones widened their eyes. "Is the Headmaster going to fight the Orcs?"
Markalov didn't answer, simply smiled faintly. Then he picked up the military cap from the lectern—the old one he had treasured since his retirement—and carefully placed it on his head.
"Class dismissed!"
(End of the Chapter)
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