Chapter 392 "Army"

? Leslie led, Tanzania Town, the tall and thin Viscount Andrew walked up to the city wall and looked in the direction of the dock area from the viewpoint of the city wall.

The newly built dock tower stands on the Baishui River. The beautiful spires of the tower reflect a dreamlike brilliance in the sun. Below the tower, thousands of sails on the Baishui River pass by, and ships of all sizes are like busy ants. The whole river is busy.

Such a busy and lively scene started last year.

A gust of cool wind blew, and his throat, which had become sensitive due to excessive consumption of magical medicine, suddenly became uncomfortable. Viscount Andrew Leslie couldn't help but let out a few violent coughs. The butler standing by the side immediately stepped forward to warm up the A long-haired coat draped over his master.

The newly recruited butler was a little worried: "Lord Viscount, you should go back to rest."

"Blowing the cold wind helps calm thinking," Andrew said casually, his eyes retracted from the pier, and swept over the newly built warehouses, mills, and West City, he suddenly sighed, "How fast."

The housekeeper did not hear clearly: "What?"

The newly recruited housekeeper is reliable and has a fairly flexible mind, but after all, the time is short, and there is a lack of tacit understanding between him and himself - Viscount Andrew sighed slightly in this regard, then shook his head, throwing some unpleasant memories out of his mind : "Nothing. Is the messenger still waiting in the castle?"

"Yes," the butler nodded, "Count Hossman is waiting for your reply."

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

"...Gawain? The situation of Duke Cecil is not good," the butler hesitated for a while, and whispered, he knew that his master and Duke Gawain were very close, but loyalty required him to say what he really was at this time. "Even if he is a legend himself, he has only a few thousand people, but Earl Hossman has organized an army of tens of thousands..."

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

With the mobilization ability of this era, coupled with the desolate and decadent situation of the southern border itself, it is indeed a remarkable number to be able to summon tens of thousands of troops. After all, the largest noble here is only the count, and the number of private soldiers that can be maintained is after all. There are limits.

After thinking for a few seconds, Viscount Andrew glanced at his butler: "It seems that according to you, I should respond to Earl Hossman's call as soon as possible, so as to stand on the side of the winner as soon as possible."

The housekeeper bowed his head deeply: "My advice is insignificant,

I'm just a housekeeper, not yet competent enough to understand your business. "

Andrew felt a little boring. He pouted at an angle that the butler couldn't see, and then looked at the trebuchet pedestals on the city wall-the trebuchets were facing the direction of the Whitewater River. A century ago, the ancestors of the Leslie family had relied on it. This section of the city wall facing the river was to defend against robbers and fleeing soldiers attacking from the waterway. It was not long after the civil strife in Ansu, and the southern border was far less safe than it is today. Now that a hundred years have passed, these trebuchets on the city wall have been replaced several times due to decay and fragility, but they have not been used for a long time.

Another cold wind blew, and the wind on the city wall always seemed to irritate people's lungs. The viscount wrapped his clothes and coughed softly: "Let's go back, Earl Hossman's messenger is already waiting. For a long time."

The housekeeper immediately followed: "Yes."

"Further, find me some copies of the 'newspapers' issued by Cecil Land, as well as the materials about the "Noble Restructuring Act" and "Land Distribution Act" that they have implemented. Find me some... I have to understand."

A large army is gathering in the northern regions.

In addition to the 20,000 people who were assigned to Earl Peibo, most of the 50,000 people who were the main force have been deployed and gathered for more than ten days. Spreading out, it was as lively and lively as an unprecedentedly huge market.

Here are the armies of dozens of field nobles from all over the southern border, from the baron to the earl, all the glorious and orthodox bloodlines are gathered together. The soldiers brought by each nobleman ranged from less than a hundred to as many as a thousand, and they set up their own camps according to their size. They first allocated a large area according to the level of the nobles they were loyal to, and then redistributed them in this area according to the order in which they came to the gathering point, and finally formed a staggered, extremely chaotic, and varied garrison.

Dozens of different flags fluttered in the sky above this huge camp, and between each camp was a labyrinth-like intricate road, dressed in different colors of livery, armor, holding various flags, carrying various Accented messengers run around the labyrinth, shouting orders that only their own people can understand (or don't understand), and the chaos that erupts over the wrong order happens—but very often. It will soon be stopped by the knights rushing out with force.

The equipment worn by the soldiers in the camp is just as chaotic as their camp, and it is even a lively exhibition. From the simplest half-body leather armor to the most sophisticated full-body steel armor, they are all gathered in the same place. The methods of identifying themselves are also completely different. Some rely on a burqa with an emblem on their body, some have cloth strips of different colors tied around their heads, some rely on the logo on the shield, and some rely on the emblem. There is no sign at all, and it is all up to the soldiers in the same village to remember each other's faces, which makes people worry about whether this "army" will be disbanded and return to the wrong team on the day that they will go to other places. Territory - and in fact this fear is entirely possible, and even did happen.

In the stories of some minstrels, there is such a story vividly depicted: a soldier named Tom, who may be a mountain man or a Consco man, participated in a grand war, but returned triumphantly. At that time, he recognized the wrong officer's face, and followed other people's army to a place not far from home. He married a wife and had children in a foreign land, lived for eight years, and then went to the wrong team again in a new war. He returned to his hometown in confusion... This story is widely circulated in the southern border, and is even regarded by many knights as a symbol of "romantic battlefield life".

Karlov Hossman, wearing a golden-red earl's cloak, rode his favorite maroon-colored warhorse, and was accompanied by several viscounts and barons through this huge camp. At his nearest position, he was wearing Viscount Carroll in a black straight coat.

Count Karloff Hossman had a lighthearted smile on his face. The staggeringly large camp in front of him and the army of as many as 50,000 people in the camp were all established and gathered under the call of his supreme prestige. This grand scene proves that the Horsman family is still brilliant in his hands, and this is the best compliment he can get as a member of the Horsman family.

"Look, with such a large-scale power, I really don't know what our ancient hero is going to use to resist," Earl Hossman pointed his whip forward, and his tone couldn't help but rise, "To be honest, I almost regret it now. Now - maybe I don't need to gather so many people, every flag here must be fairly distributed with a trophy."

"This is a testament to your generosity, my lord," said a baron, smiling with respect and admiration, "that you not only stood up for the laws and traditions of Ansu, but generously caressed the land everyone."

The others around agreed, and while the nobles were talking, some noises suddenly came from nearby.

Earl Hossman looked up and saw a group of soldiers in chainmail or half-armor scrambling around the camp noisily, as if they were arguing for the priority to fetch water, but they scuffled for a short while. , then a knight in bright armor came out and knocked all the fighting people to the ground in two or three times.

"Look, dutiful knights are maintaining order. This is exactly the duty and meaning of aristocrats." Hossman looked at this scene with satisfaction, and couldn't help but sigh, "I can't imagine that without this kind of power to maintain order. , what level of chaos will be here... so I can't even imagine what our ancient hero wants to do after depriving the knights of their privileges and destroying the role of the nobles in maintaining order."

"I am afraid that only the gods know what he wants to do, but he must have experienced the consequences of what he did," Viscount Carroll said, shaking his head and sighing, "The insulted knights and mages destroyed him. He also blew up his warehouse, he broke the order, and now the order has disappeared from his land, it can only be said that it is self-inflicted."

Viscount Carroll had real regret and regret on his face--of course he felt regret, because since last winter, the sale of potions to the Plains of the Holy Spirit and the collection of high taxes from the Cecil merchants who entered the city were important to him. The source of income, now that the alchemy factory in Cecil's territory has been destroyed, and the supply of potions has plummeted, how can it not be regrettable and regrettable.

What annoyed Viscount Carroll even more was that when he had to look for the original alchemist on the territory and wanted to use traditional alchemy potions to temporarily alleviate the shortage, he could not find a single alchemist...

If it weren't for this blow, Viscount Carroll, who upholds neutrality, would not have completely joined Count Hossman's camp so soon, and took out a large plain on the edge of his territory for the army to garrison.

"I don't know what's going on at Earl Pebble," said one of the viscounts in the team suddenly, "That Andrew Leslie is very close to Cecil, and he didn't answer your call this time. Maybe he will Ignore your letter to him."

"I personally wrote a letter to let him stay in the castle, and don't block Count Peiper's way. This is already the greatest courtesy and tolerance," Karlov Horsman snorted softly, "if he deliberately ignores it It doesn't matter, Earl Pebble brought 20,000 people, and it would not take two days to bring down the small town of Tanzania. Even if the sick child of Leslie's family went to Cecil to rescue soldiers, it would not be too late to put out the fire in his castle. ...so as long as his brain isn't completely destroyed by the potion, he'll know what to do."

Hearing this clear analysis, the followers around him all agreed.

Earl Hossman raised his head and looked at the messenger running towards him in the distance.

He smiled: "We seem to have received a reply from the 'heroes of the ancients'."

When he saw that the messenger handed him a fairly familiar lacquer cylinder, Earl Hossman couldn't help but raise his eyebrows, and when he saw that the letter in the lacquer cylinder was the parchment scroll he had written by himself, he In addition to the confused expression, there was also some anger that was fooled.

The anger peaked when he unfolded the parchment and saw the word at the end of the letter, but it turned into a laugh.

Someone next to me was very puzzled: "My lord, is the letter a rebuttal?"

Earl Hossman stopped laughing and snorted softly. The parchment scroll in his hand caught fire out of thin air and quickly burned to ashes: "No, it's a 'battle'."

(Mom, it hurts to consume manuscripts.)