Limanrus' departure was a devastating blow to the Ostermans.
The proud Rus had never been willing to explain why he left, and after his departure, rumors spread throughout the city.
"Lord Wildwolf has fled, like a coward!"
"Lord Wildwolf has abandoned us!"
"The gods have already given up on the Ostermans. We have no future."
"The world is doomed. We are destined to fail."
Oleg had to send people again and again to emphasize that his Wildwolf mentor had gone to seek reinforcements, but the people's panic was difficult to quell. Security teams patrolled the city, continuously releasing new messages, and the last elite soldiers encouraged the citizens to fight bravely.
Despite the low morale, despite the many difficulties, despite being alone, the Ostermans still held on to their last stubbornness. Now every adult male had been assigned to the newly formed infantry regiment, preparing to fight against the approaching Chaos army.
This courage was admirable. The new infantry regiments had already begun training. They were asked to lift weapons and form spear formations, or march in rows from one end to the other. The nobles of the Ostermans were tasked with teaching these soldiers some basic combat skills in a short time.
For example, archers and crossbowmen had to understand the meaning of "salvo" and "free shooting," and spear soldiers had to understand the commands for "formation" and "advance."
These were the basic skills that these hastily conscripted soldiers had to learn. Their only value was to serve as cannon fodder.
The sounds of soldiers' shouts and officers' scoldings woke Aralos from his sleep. The wood elf hero shivered. He had just dreamed of Lilith, and the dream had ended.
His head throbbed. Aralos cursed again. The brave hero knew he could not take out his frustration on the Imperials—there were hardly any Imperials left, and these Ostermans were not afraid of death. Would they be scared of you, Aralos, threatening them with force?
He washed his face with clean water, tidied his beautiful hair, then ate the exquisite elf rations, paired with a little wood elf fruit wine. Aralos began his patrol of his defense area.
It was already the morning of the third day. If his calculations were correct, the Chaos army would arrive by the afternoon at the earliest, or by nightfall at the latest. This filled Aralos with anxiety, as though a giant hand was squeezing his heart, painful and desperate.
Without the fog of trickery, Aralos had no chance of escaping unscathed. He forced himself to focus entirely on the defense of the city. His personal guard, the Gray Cloak Squad, was still as graceful and powerful as he had imagined. These elite warriors from Athel Loren were patrolling nearby. They had sworn to follow Aralos until death.
Meanwhile, the situation was not so good elsewhere. Aralos noticed a whole infantry formation practicing in an open space near the city wall. It was the newly formed pike regiment, with around five hundred men. Under Aralos' gaze, they advanced to the rhythm of drumbeats and the prayers of battle priests. Their formation was chaotic, and the conscripts were crammed together, wearing ragged clothes and hastily crafted scrap metal armor. As Aralos had said, most of them were either too old or too young. Their only purpose was to serve as flesh shields against the Chaos assault. The real soldiers—those in their prime with some military training or experienced veterans—had all been drawn into the main force.
Supplies had also been reduced. Volibear had once said that Wolframburg's food reserves were plentiful, but no amount of food could sustain 380,000 people every day. This was why Wolframburg had not conducted a full mobilization, as military training would greatly increase food consumption.
"Ha!" Aralos could not help but laugh after watching for just a few minutes. An old man, clearly exhausted from the "high-intensity" training, had collapsed, and the effect spread like a domino effect, with other elderly and young soldiers falling down as well. It was more amusing than their previous clumsy marching and awkward pike drills.
"At least they are persistent. They're far better than the pointy ears." Aralos laughed for a while before hearing a slightly awkward voice at his feet. The butcher king, Agrim Ironfist, was struggling to find words to praise the soldiers: "Hmm, they're very resilient."
"Our only advantage is our numbers, but even that is useless against the Chaos army, whose numbers far exceed ours," Aralos said, looking down at the butcher king. "They're too tired, too hungry. This army won't last long. Instead of forcing them to undergo high-intensity training now, it would be better to let them rest and recover some strength."
"Ah, I knew it. Pointy ears are always so weak." Agrim grunted, clearly indifferent to Aralos' attitude. "You know, we're all exhausted. Perhaps you need some of this to perk you up."
With that, Agrim handed Aralos a small ceramic jar. Aralos took it, opened the seal, and was greeted by a rich, milky fragrance. "What is this?"
"Muslián."
"Muslián?"
"Muslián, a secret from Longevity Village. Prince Hetvich sent us this yogurt for the dwarves. It can last 120 days without spoiling," Agrim laughed heartily. "They say it grants longevity, a hundred years of life... I think it's a curse, both on me and on you, elf boy. I'm already over a hundred years old."
"My age is three times yours, short-lived one," Aralos said without thinking. The wood elf sniffed and tried a sip. It was quite good—tangy and sweet.
The Dwarven Butcher Regiment, the Grimnir Axe Clan, had assembled, and the Gray Cloak Squad had gathered as well. Aralos and Agrim Ironfist were stationed at the city's east gate, as they wished, to face the greatest and strongest enemy assault.
Climbing the stone steps to the city walls, the East Gate of Wolframburg had been built and reinforced over hundreds of years. The wall was about 30 meters high, with cannons, mortars, and crossbows lining the top. The East Gate was called the Yubos Gate, and the wall was named the Ussas Wall. There were around twenty or thirty gun emplacements, as well as very sturdy, albeit worn-down, crenellations. The wood elves were satisfied with the many firing ports; they could maximize their ranged advantages here.
"This is the place we need to hold," Aralos said, inspecting the wall. The wood elf hero muttered, "Can't the Ostermans spend a little money to repair the walls? Many parts are in disrepair."
"The Ostermans are known for their stubbornness," Agrim Ironfist grumbled in frustration. He noticed his face was blocked from seeing the view by the crenellations, only his orange Mohawk sticking out a little over the wall. "The stupidity of the Ostermans is famous even among dwarves. There's a famous joke among us dwarves: when the Ostermans make stone soup, they only put one stone in because good stones are hard to find. Hahaha!"
What a cold joke! Aralos felt deeply awkward after hearing it.
"It's always been this way. The Ostermans fought the Kislevites for hundreds of years, just for some land that couldn't even be farmed or lived on. The Empire realized after a hundred or two hundred years that Kislev was a wasteland—no one could live there except for the Kislevites—but the Ostermans continued the war for hundreds of years, until the Great Crusade led to a truce." Agrim seemed unbothered by his awkward joke and continued, "Dwarves started equipping gunpowder weapons over a thousand years ago. But do you know when the Ostermans finally started to fully equip gunpowder weapons? Just over twenty years ago, after Wamil von Zhukov became the Grand Master of the Bull Knights and inherited the Oswald family title, that's when they started accepting firearms."
"My men will be positioned on the walls," Aralos said, uninterested in these matters. After half-heartedly listening to Agrim, the wood elf hero pointed to the wall. "As for your men, I recommend you keep them behind the wall."
"Why? Elf boy?" Agrim Ironfist said with displeasure. "Brave dwarves should take the lead!"
"The Butcher Regiment's chaotic fighting style will disrupt the archers and pike formations defending the wall," Aralos explained, as he and Agrim moved along the wall. "Before the enemy closes in, we need to shoot arrows, and as their siege towers and ladders approach, the defenders will use flamethrowers, scalding oil, and falling rocks to attack."
"Then it will be our turn?" Agrim Ironfist understood.
Aralos nodded. "Yes. You know it's difficult for us to hold the outer city, so once the enemy breaks through the defenses, at any point, we need your Butcher Regiment to quickly join the fight, block the gap, and buy time for our retreat or regrouping."
Agrim Ironfist was a very capable general. He knew that the Butcher Regiment's passion and bravery often disrupted well-formed lines, so he reluctantly agreed with Aralos' plan. "The Empire of Charlemagne once had an army larger than the snow on Eternal Peak, but now look at them, so weak. By Granni, can we even fill the walls with people?"
Aralos
smiled. "The gods are with us."
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