Schroeder stepped forward. "I must report to you now on the unusual movements of the orcs!"
The air in the study suddenly froze.
The Chief of Staff pressed his finger heavily on a spot on the map. "The latest news is that the orc army has filled the entire Nerodan Corridor! " Old Knight's voice was very serious.
He pulled out a charcoal pencil and drew a circle on the spot representing Blackstone Plain. "Reliable sources indicate that Abar's gold Royal Tent … has been moved here."
Victor jumped to his feet, the chair legs scraping loudly on the floor. His eyes were bloodshot with rage. "Those beasts dare to come back?"
The chief sergeant slammed his fist on the table, causing ripples to spread in the inkwell. "Wasn't the lesson learned in Blackrock Plains profound enough?"
Schroeder looked at him. "Last time we defeated only a small contingent of the orcs that were advancing westward, not their main force. Obviously, Mr. Great Chieftain thinks that was just an accident, or a minor ripple."
Paul stared at the marching route marked in pencil on the map, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the newly sprouted stubble on his chin.
The long period of living in another dimension made the threat of war in the real world seem somewhat unreal, but the tense atmosphere in the study was awakening the vigilance in his bones.
"My intelligence corroborates that of the Chief of Staff; this intrusion will be on a larger scale than the last one."
Cecil emerged from the shadows and handed over a scroll of paper, densely covered with details of the orcish tribes' mobilization. "According to news from the plains, at least twenty clans have responded to Abar's call and sworn to follow the Royal Tent on their campaign."
As dusk deepened outside the window, the last rays of the setting sun shone through the stained glass, turning Blackstone Plain on the map blood-red.
Paul looked up, his gaze slowly shifting between Ford and Schroeder, his fingertips tapping lightly on the oak tabletop.
"I want to hear that we are ready." His voice was steady and carried an undeniable authority.
Without a word, Ford immediately opened the leather-covered ledger, his finger precisely stopping on a page.
"Sir, the Political Affairs Council has fully activated wartime production scheduling." His fingertips traced a dense array of numbers. "The steel mill is operating on a three-shift system, with output up by 40% compared to last month. Saltpeter production is also standardized, with daily output reaching 2,500 pounds."
The Director of the Department of Political Affairs adjusted his glasses, the lenses reflecting the candlelight: "We have established a supply distribution network, setting up twelve transit stations along the main roads, equipped with 1,200 four-wheeled heavy-duty wagons, capable of delivering strategic materials to any border fortress within a week."
Schroeder then reported, his boots making a loud thud on the floor. He walked to the wall, unfolded a map, and hung it up, with precise markings of troop deployments and supply routes.
"All second-line troops have been replenished, all ten infantry regiments have completed the replacement with new rifles, and the pass rate in live-fire assessments exceeds 80%."
The Chief of Staff's voice was as powerful as a war drum: "Both cavalry regiments have completed their planned training, and their performance in the assessments met expectations. Each company is now equipped with standardized medical wagons and ammunition supply vehicles."
His finger pointed to several fortresses marked on the map: "We have established a comprehensive relay system on the border, with 50,000 reservists capable of assembling within four days of receiving orders, ready to replenish combat losses at any time. In addition, the armories in each defense zone are stocked with standard-issue weapons and supplies."
Alda's war preparations certainly couldn't have been limited to what the two men had said. They only picked out the important points and then placed two thick reports in front of Paul so that the lord could review them in his spare time.
Paul was greatly encouraged and praised them, saying, "You have done a very good job. Thank you for your hard work."
Berna placed a stack of documents in front of him. "In response to this war, the Political Affairs Council has drafted a series of decrees, which require your signature."
Paul flipped through several documents and didn't seem to find anything that needed to be changed.
A complex mix of emotions welled up within him.
After years of painstaking efforts, Alda's administrative system, military organization, and industrial and commercial network are now highly sophisticated, operating like a precise clock. Even during his mysterious disappearance, Alda's war machine continued to prepare in an orderly manner.
His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the paper, the touch real and clear. This feeling of both relief and subtle loss reminded him of modern corporations on Earth—once a company has established a sound system, the founder's existence becomes less important.
When people discover that they can do well even without him as their lord, will their standing in their eyes decline?
"My lord?" Berna's voice brought him back to reality. "Should we issue these decrees?"
Paul looked up and saw everyone in the study waiting for his instructions. Ford's ledger, Schroeder's map, Bryce's sword—each represented a cog in this vast system.
He suddenly laughed.
How ridiculous is this concern? Isn't the power of the system, rather than the power of people, exactly what he has been pursuing all along?
"Of course we should sign."
Paul picked up the quill pen, the ink leaving smooth marks on the document. "I plan to personally inspect the border fortress in a few days."
His pen paused slightly. "Together with everyone."
Paul looked up again, and he could still see the reverence and trust that everyone had shown him.
Instead of worrying about things that are not there, we should focus on doing our best in the present moment.
Ha, a sudden inspiration struck him, and he felt he could enhance his presence even further.
He walked to Schroeder's map and made a heavy underline with his pencil: "The construction and application of railways must be accelerated. The existing experimental lines already have a capacity twenty times that of horse-drawn carriages; we must extend them to the front lines."
Ford nodded: "Could we adopt a simpler standard, using fast-growing pine as sleepers, prefabricated rails, and laying them in sections?"
"Of course, there's no need to strive for perfection," Paul said decisively. "This railway only needs to hold out until the end of the war. First, we need to open up the transportation artery from Alda to Blackstone Plain, and then continue advancing towards the front lines, putting each section into operation as it's completed."
Schroeder thoughtfully added, "Existing railcars could be modified for use as temporary trains."
Before the advent of steam locomotives, Alda already had horse-drawn railcars.
"Exactly." Paul's eyes were piercing.
He wanted to show the orcs what advanced productivity and industrial civilization were all about.
Under the candlelight, the lines on the map seemed to have transformed into a torrent of steel, ready to surge forward at any moment.