Chen Yu jumped down from the window, landing beside Little Flower. His gel body bounced twice on the desktop, making a squelchy *splat-splat* sound.
He patted Little Flower's head.
"For now, let's just keep these orcs stable. Once they're in deep, they won't be able to get out."
"Warfare is like stepping into a swamp. The first step feels fine, the second step seems okay, but by the time you take the third step and try to pull your leg back, it's already too late."
"Even if they want to turn around and attack us, they won't have the hands to spare. The frontline has tens of thousands of mouths waiting to be fed, and we're holding their rear supply lines."
Little Flower nodded, not fully understanding but sensing the profoundness.
It suddenly felt those orcs were quite unlucky, having provoked them.
.....
A hundred miles west of White Horse City, on the outskirts of Birch Grove Town.
Birch Grove Town was originally a small market town of just over three hundred households, situated on a tributary of the Jade River that flowed from north to south.
To the east of the town was a stretch of flat farmland, and beyond the farmland lay a birch grove. Most of the houses in the town were built of stone, with roofs covered in gray slate tiles. The foundation walls were made of pebbles gathered from the riverbank, plastered with yellow mud and lime, making them look quite sturdy.
But that was three months ago.
Now, the farmland surrounding the town had been dug into a network of crisscrossing trenches, with sharpened wooden stakes driven into the bottom.
The mud from the farmland had been turned up, mixed with gravel, rubble, and other things, frozen into uneven, lumpy ground.
A large section of the birch grove had also been cut down. Those tree trunks were dragged into the town, turned into palisades, cheval de frise, and catapult frames.
The palisade surrounding the town was now one layer higher than it had been three days ago.
On the first day, the orcs had used a battering ram to breach the western palisade. On the second day, the demons blocked it up again with new wooden stakes, thicker than before. The gaps between the stakes were filled with mud slurry and gravel, water was poured over the surface, and it froze into a solid ice wall.
There was also one more watchtower behind the palisade. Thick hemp ropes were stretched between the two towers, with iron plates and bells hanging from them that jingled and clanged with the wind.
Karl stood on a low hill, looking at the battlefield ahead.
The clamor drifted over with the wind.
"Hurry, shoot arrows!"
"Watch out! Take cover!"
The orcs were still fighting the demons.
The battlefield was about three hundred paces down the low hill, but the snow there had completely vanished, replaced by a stretch of gray-black mud.
The mud was covered everywhere with footprints, hoofprints, wheel ruts, and deep grooves left by dragging heavy objects. Further away, closer to the palisade, the ground had been blasted into several large craters, with a layer of foul-smelling water pooled at the bottom.
The wind blew from the direction of the town, carrying the smell of burning and decay up to the low hill. Karl's frost wolf sneezed, shook its head, and disgustedly buried its nose between its two front paws.
He saw a squad of orc soldiers withdrawing from the battlefield.
There were about thirty or forty of them, marching in two columns along a muddy, wretched little path back.
At the front was a tall orc carrying a battle flag on his shoulder that had been pierced by two arrows.
The orc soldiers behind him walked slowly, carefully carrying the wounded soldiers back.
The injuries on these wounded could only be described as horrific. One had a gash from a sharp claw running from his forehead all the way down to his abdomen, as if trying to tear him in half. Blood was still flowing, and one could see the wriggling organs inside.
They were considered lucky. Orc vitality was tenacious; even such severe injuries rarely killed them.
And behind them, on the battlefield, lay some orcs who hadn't been brought back in time. Some were still moving, some were not.
War was merciless. Both attackers and defenders would inevitably suffer casualties; no one was exempt.
Karl withdrew his gaze and led the orcs behind him back.
The wounded camp was in a valley behind the low hill.
This was originally a dried-up riverbed, with steep earthen slopes on both sides that could block the wind blowing from the north.
Now, the riverbed was covered with a layer of crushed stone and coarse sand, trampled flat, with dozens of tents pitched on it. The tents were sewn from old hides, and the seams leaked. Cold wind whistled in through those gaps, swirling inside the tents.
Bonfires burned in the open spaces between tents. Some wounded sat by the fires, some with bandaged arms, some with cloth wrapped around their heads, some lying on straw bedding, covered with tattered blankets, eyes half-open and half-closed, staring blankly at the fire.
An elderly orc squatted by a fire, holding a piece of dried meat. He tore off a small piece and stuffed it into the mouth of a young wounded orc beside him.
That young orc's left eye was wrapped in a bandage soaked through with blood, covering from the eye socket all the way to the ear, leaving only his right eye exposed.
He asked hoarsely, "Elder Glor, supplies... haven't arrived yet?"
Glor was the physician here, also the oldest orc in the entire army.
Glor didn't answer. He tore off another small piece of dried meat, stuffed it into the young orc's mouth, then gently patted his shoulder with a rough hand.
"Don't think about that. Focus on recovering."
The young wounded chewed twice, swallowing with difficulty. He stared at the fire, the light in his right eye growing dimmer and dimmer, like an oil lamp about to burn out.
Glor stood up and walked with his assistant to another wounded orc nearby. He squatted down, examined the orc's fractured arm, pulled out a small clay pot from his robe, unscrewed the lid, scooped out a lump of herbal paste, and smeared it on the orc's elbow joint.
The orc's body tensed, a suppressed grunt escaping his throat, but he didn't cry out. Glor spread the ointment evenly, then used a clean strip of cloth to immobilize the arm.
The orc assistant reminded him, "Medicine is running low. Bandages aren't enough either. Some can only be bandaged with old clothes."
Glor nodded silently. Just as he was about to stand up and enter a tent to check on the wounded inside, the tent flap was suddenly thrown open. A young orc shaman walked out and shook his head at the two.
Glor understood immediately. The orc inside the tent hadn't made it.
Glor's heart grew heavy, but corpses easily brought plague and disease. There was no time for mourning. He immediately ordered several soldiers to help carry the orc corpse out of the tent for a funeral pyre.
Karl walked in, watching as this orc's corpse was carried past him.
Following behind him was the Blood Axe Tribe's leader, Grolush. His stature wasn't particularly tall among orcs, but his shoulders were broader, his neck thicker, and his strength formidable.
Grolush's gaze swept over the wounded in the tents, over the bandaged arms and heads, over the blood-soaked straw bedding, over the corpse being carried away.
Anger surged up in his heart instantly.
"What are those slimes doing?"
"The promised eastern coast, the promised supplies... We're bleeding on the frontlines, while they're bouncing around in the swamp, counting their gold coins. We haven't seen a single arrow from them."
"Damn it, are we just going to let our warriors' blood be shed in vain?"
Everyone fell silent.
Karl didn't interrupt Grolush, because what he said was true.
Their supply line was far too long. Without the support of the orc fleet, the war against the demons would be a bitter struggle.
Just how long was this supply line?
Cross the Frost-Speaking Plain behind them, traverse the Reed River, walk through endless coniferous forests and tundra, and finally cross the blizzard line to reach the snow plains where the orc tribes were located.
But was that the end? No.
The orc tribes relied on southward raids every winter to fill their bellies, so naturally, they couldn't have any supplies stockpiled.
The other end of the supply line was actually the Orc Palaver, Kargaron, deeper in the snow plains, located in the Far North, an even more distant position.
Trying to transport supplies through such a long supply line required immense effort and time from them, but it also meant this line was extremely fragile, with limited cargo capacity.
This was also why they were so eager to land on the eastern coast—not only to deploy more orc soldiers but also to use maritime shipping to completely compensate for their weakness.
More importantly, the coming of winter would increase the difficulty of supply.
Their previous plan to attack the Slime Kingdom was to first establish a supply base inland, so they could better participate in the White Horse Kingdom's conflict.
If the Slime Kingdom wasn't cooperating now, before they got in too deep, they would have to retreat and teach this overconfident ally a lesson.
Just as Karl was about to speak, footsteps sounded outside the tent.
"Lord Karl, news from the south!"
A young orc soldier ran in, breathing heavily. He ran up to Karl, knelt on one knee, and pressed his right fist to his chest.
"Supplies from the Slime Kingdom are almost here. Food, medicine, arrows are already on the way."
"The Slime King also wrote a letter for Lord Karl, saying they highly value the Palaver's request and have decided to provide free material aid. From now on, new supplies will be delivered every month until the war ends."
After speaking, he handed the letter to Karl.
The wounded orcs all looked up, as if seeing hope.
Karl broke the slime wax seal, took out the letter, and read it. After a long while, his brow relaxed, and he handed the letter to Grolush.
"Take a look."
Grolush took it, glanced down. Being illiterate, he barely understood the contents.
In the letter, the Slime King expressed the recent difficult situation of the Slime Kingdom. The war in the Southern Territory had already consumed a large amount of their military strength. Recently, they had suffered an invasion by the Merchant Alliance, and the Dark Realm was almost lost.
The kingdom suffered heavy losses. Their main legion was captured by the Merchant Alliance, and they were considering paying a ransom.
The city had also been looted by New Sun followers. The treasury was emptied, and the entire city was left in ruins.
Even so, they were still willing to provide the orc army with sufficient supplies for the war. For this, they had gone to great trouble and effort, even borrowing many supplies from southern kingdoms, which were already on the way.
After reading it, Grolush's mood became complicated. His anger subsided greatly, and he even felt somewhat moved.
He could even imagine the pitiful scene of those slimes writing this letter, tears streaming down their faces.
Oh, his poor allies.
He was truly despicable for doubting the loyalty of these little blobs.
"These slimes aren't bad."
Even while suffering invasion, with their main country in trouble, they still borrowed supplies to gather resources for them. They were much more trustworthy than humans, and their attitude towards orcs was quite respectful.
This little brother was too understanding, making him feel ashamed instead.
Karl was thoughtful. He didn't just believe the slimes' words.
"How are our losses?" he asked the somewhat inconspicuous physician, Glor.
Glor: "In three days, we've lost one hundred and seventeen dead, over four hundred seriously wounded."
He didn't count the lightly wounded. Lightly wounded orcs wouldn't enter this camp anyway.
In orc thinking, minor injuries didn't even count as wounds. The wound might heal before it could even be bandaged.
"And the demons?" He looked at Grolush.
The Blood Axe leader thought for a moment. "Far more than us. Our archers shot down many of the cannon fodder they drove out from the Abyss—those imps, lesser demons, and other things. They're numerous but not tough."
"The real demons have armor, weapons, and can use magic. Their losses aren't heavy. They hide behind the city walls and rarely come out to fight us head-on."
Karl nodded. "Once the slimes' food and medicine arrive, we'll decide our next move. If they keep their promise..."
He didn't finish his sentence. Another set of hurried footsteps came from the valley entrance.
This scout was breathing rapidly, his face anxious, and he had many wounds on his body—his condition completely different from the previous scout.
"Lord Karl, urgent report from the rear!"
The scout's voice trembled, though whether from cold or something else was unclear.
"A demon force has appeared on the Frost-Speaking Plain, attacking our supply relay station. About a thousand demons."
"The Frost-Speaking Plain? How is that possible?" Grolush couldn't believe it.
They had placed numerous sentry camps and stationed legions on the Frost-Speaking Plain precisely to guard against such a situation.
How could the demons silently pass through their defensive lines and ambush the rear supply line?
The scout knelt on the ground, his shoulders trembling slightly.
"It's the New Sun followers. We found traces of them nearby."
"These followers used some kind of ritual to open an Abyss fissure and let the demons out, completely bypassing our defensive lines."
The tent fell into silence.
After witnessing those bizarre shadow followers and their sacred relic in the battle at Chester Garrison City in the south, the Xirik Church, this heretical cult, had already entered the orcs' awareness and received their attention.
They just had never encountered shadow professionals before. They hadn't expected these followers to be able to silently pass through layer upon layer of defenses, penetrating deep into the Frost-Speaking Plain.
Now it seemed they had still underestimated these heretics.
"Lord Karl, what do we do now?" Grolush paced anxiously.
"Withdraw," Karl said slowly.
"Withdraw to a position five miles west of Birch Grove Town."
"Contract our defensive line, hold the territory we've already taken, then send wolf cavalry to the Frost-Speaking Plain to find those fissures and retake the supply line."
He turned to look at the scout. "Go. Pass down my orders."
"Yes." The scout left.
After the scout left, looking at the still-anxious Grolush, he said calmly, "Grolush, you're too impatient."
"Orc pride never comes from blindness, but from our own strength. Do these demons really think this can stop our advance?"
He had known from the start that the supply line would have problems. Not because he had prophetic abilities, but because it was basic common sense.
An army deep in enemy territory, with a supply line stretching over a thousand miles, crossing plains, rivers, forests, tundra, crossing the blizzard line, all the way to Kargaron in the Far North.
This line was too long, too fragile, like a spider's silk stretched too taut—any gust of wind could snap it.
He also knew the demons wouldn't let this opportunity slip.
If he were them, he wouldn't either.
Those things crawling out of the Abyss might not understand tactics, but they understood hunger. They knew what would become of an army without food.
First, unable to march, then unable to wield weapons, then unable to stand up, finally lying in the snow, waiting to freeze into ice sculptures.
So he had made arrangements long ago.
"Have they arrived?" Karl asked, turning his head slightly to the priest behind him.
Ulgol behind him took a step forward.
"They have. They crossed the tundra last night, passed the Reed River at noon today, and should have entered the hilly region of the Northern Territory by now."
Karl nodded.
The "they" he asked about was a wolf cavalry regiment.
Five thousand orc cavalrymen, who had come all the way from Kargaron.
This was the largest mobile cavalry force the Kargaron Palaver could deploy to the battlefield in the shortest time.
They weren't for siege warfare. Wolf cavalry weren't good at sieges; frost wolves' claws couldn't get purchase on stone walls, and cavalry scimitars couldn't chop through city gates.
They were born to run, to move quickly across vast, uninhabited wilderness, to appear where the enemy least expected, to do what the enemy least anticipated.
He had loudly announced his eastward advance towards the Royal Capital, but in reality, it was to make the demons concentrate their defensive forces on the western defenses of the capital, thereby neglecting the defenses of the Northern Territory.
These wolf cavalry wouldn't come to the capital. Their target was to cross the snow plains and head to the Northern Territory.
He didn't know what purpose these demons had in occupying the Northern Territory.
But he knew there was a region within the Northern Territory called the Forge Region, where it was like spring all year round.
Their goal wasn't occupation, but plunder. There was ample food there for the wolf cavalry to seize.
The wolf cavalry could sustain themselves through war, feeding back to the main army, while also catching the demons off guard and dividing their attention.