Chapter Seventy-Five: Deciding on a Strategy

  "The greatest difference between the giant swordsmen and the long spear soldiers is that they need discipline, we need combat skills." The instructor stood in front of nearly a hundred new recruits and said, "So, you few can go home now."

  In front of the team, four young men wearing new soldier uniforms hung their heads in shame. When they heard "you can go home now", the four people raised their heads simultaneously. The nearly hundred new soldiers were also shocked.

  "Report, sir!" one of the four said first, "Requesting the officer to give us another chance!"

  "There's no chance now." The instructor shook his head. "This time we're recruiting volunteer soldiers, and there's no more time to help you practice combat skills."

  The four of them looked disheartened.

  "What are you doing... Oh, I see." The instructor suddenly realized, "Don't worry, you've been eliminated, not deserters who were dismissed from the battlefield."

  Then there is a statement about the difference between being eliminated and dismissed. The central idea is that being eliminated during training is just embarrassing, but being dismissed on the battlefield is what's truly shameful.

  Those who were fired felt relieved, while those who weren't felt depressed - it turned out that they had been intimidating us all these days!

  "Go back and practice well, if the farm work at home is too heavy, don't come again." The instructor concluded, "People like you who only have physical strength will only be able to mix a share of battlefield casualties compensation when they go to the battlefield."

  In almost every temporary hundred-man squad, there were eliminated new recruits. These people carried their own weapons and looked back at the simple camp where they had lived for many days, feeling melancholy and hurt. However, no one cried out loud, after all, just being eliminated was already embarrassing enough.

  "Alright, now I'm going to announce the formal roster." The instructor pulled out a carefully stored papyrus from his body and unfolded it, saying, "Based on the performance in previous training and the final personal combat technique inspection, there are currently 90 people left in this team. Joanie Smith!"

  Jiang shouted: "Yes!" Then he ran out of the team and came to the instructor's front with a salute.

  "Now, in the name of the Northern Army Volunteer Corps, I confer upon you the rank of Shi Fu Zhang, commanding the first nine men of the first row. Now lead your men out of formation and reassemble to one side, awaiting orders!"

  "Yes!"

  "Paul Orwell!"

  "Yes!"

  ……

  The appointment ended, and nine 3x3 small squares had gathered on one side.

  "From now on, I, Wolfega Frederick, will be the centurion of this under-strength century of one hundred men." The instructor announced, "The decurions will take their squads for a final three-day training to get familiar with your subordinates. Three days later, we will set out!"

  "Yes!" they chorused.

  "Disperse!"

  After the disbandment, the leaders of the ten husbands gathered their men together, and Jonyi was no exception.

  "Decurion, you're something else." William Brown was assigned to Johnny's squad, "We're counting on you from now on!"

  "Yes, yes! Take care of yourself, sir!" The others chimed in similarly.

  But there is indeed some convincing factor in this. Although Jony only barely tied with Lancelot, among these ordinary people, he can also be considered a young and promising talent. These new recruits who wield giant swords and swing them left and right cannot defeat Jony, who fully utilizes the power of his German two-handed sword style.

  "The giant sword is a technical weapon." Johnny still remembered old Stefan saying to himself, "This is no longer the era of Odin's seal."

  Smiling and accepting everyone's flattery, Joanie turned to the main topic: "Alright, let's start training."

  Training is nothing but teaching skills, formation advancement, everyone has practiced it. What needs to be done now is just coordination.

  The volunteer army was originally supposed to train for a longer period of time, but some bad news accelerated this process.

  "Crossbow? Chain mail?" Whether it was Iwida, Albert, or even the King and the Pope, they all had the same reaction when they heard this astonishing news.

  What's worse, similar news came one after another, and some didn't even get out - not every raiding party was inept with crossbows.

  Four squadrons were annihilated and one is missing.

  "If I'm not mistaken, this has something to do with our western neighbors, Your Majesty," said High Priestess Eirin Talis, bowing her head in the palace of Odin's sanctuary.

  Allen wore a black robe, the brim of his hood covering his face. Black consumed everything, symbolizing Odin's followers could contain everything and hide all suffering in their hearts. When the priest shed his black robes on the battlefield, it meant that endurance had reached its limit, and they would go on a killing spree.

  However, this symbolic meaning does not seem to be accepted by the entire continent. One of Tannin's propaganda during his invasion of Osead was that these black-robed people were "evil".

  Nowadays these fanatics seem to have some movement again.

  "Unless I'm mistaken, Allen," the king rapped his knuckles on the table, his handsome face, inherited from his ancestors, not much marred by the passage of time. "Unless the Velsans sent it by sea route. But as far as I know, those barbarians don't have a port."

  "But why are they doing this?" The Pope furrowed his brow, "According to intelligence, the desert kingdom further west has not made peace with them, and these white robes have also attempted to develop in the south of Velsa, it's impossible for them to attack us again."

  The king smiled and shook his head: "Only Odin knows what those guys are thinking. Maybe they have a guilty conscience, afraid that we will take advantage of the situation to send troops, so let the barbarians hold us back?"

  "If that's the case, they've succeeded." The Pope's brow didn't relax. "Because to start a war in the North, our stockpiled grain is no longer enough for us to make another push westward."

  Ossetian custom, secular and ecclesiastical authorities jointly govern affairs.

  "Your Majesty, Field Marshal Friedrich requests an audience."

  The military also participates in politics.

  "Your Majesty, I have an idea about the war in the North." General Friedrich strode in, his face confident. The old man who had stepped down from the position of commander-in-chief of the Northern Army got straight to the point.

  "Please go on."

  "Build fortresses and expand the borders outward!"

  "Build a city?" Allen asked aloud, "Who will build the city? It's spring plowing now, the people of Ocedin can't be recruited, are we going to let the army build it?"

  The king also looked curiously at Field Marshal Friedrich.

  "No, let the barbarians build the city for us," replied the marshal.

  "Barbarians? Are you referring to slaves, General? Don't you know Odin's attitude towards the institution of slavery?"

  "Marshal, I hope you can give us a past explanation." The king also said with some dissatisfaction, "Our ancestors shed countless blood to end the slave system on this land, and now you want it to start again?"

  "No, no, Your Majesty, Your Holiness, please do not misunderstand." The marshal explained calmly, "The barbarians who are building the city for us in the plan are not slaves, but people who want to become citizens of the Osdin Kingdom."

  Intimidate with force, entice with bread, repay the debts of ancestors through labor, and finally become a member of Ossetia. This is the Marshal's plan.

  "How many tribes are willing to accept Odin's glory?" Allen raised doubts, "Our pastors have tried before, but all failed. These wild men who were breastfed by winter wolves in the wilderness only know how to plunder and kill!"

  "No, Your Holiness, the situation is now different from what it was then." Field Marshal Friedrich's aged face showed a hint of excitement and confidence. "Since the founding of Osdin, we have never had such an obvious advantage in military strength. Although our scouts were attacked, the overall trend of the barbarian tribes is still to flee. They are afraid of us, Your Holiness! Any appeasement must be based on a foundation of absolute military superiority, and that foundation has now been established!"

  "That is to say, the barbarians can no longer plunder and fight, so it's easier for them to accept Odin's teachings and become one of us, right?" The king was deep in thought. "This does make some sense, after all, before the chosen people of the gods arrived, the Asgardians were nothing but barbarians on this land."

  Allen nodded, but still had something to say: "Then why build a city? Our war with Tania just ended not long ago, and there is still a lot of land at home that needs people to cultivate. Why push the border line outward again?"

  "This is it." The old marshal suddenly felt a bit embarrassed, "Expanding territory and borders, that's all."

  The king smiled and shook his head: "Hehe, forget it for now, my general. There will be plenty of opportunities to expand our territory in the future, but not now. This time, we'll just set up a few relay camps on the expedition, build a city... let's talk about it later."

  The tone of this expedition was thus set at the high-level meeting. What's more, the old marshal was disappointed that his plan was not recognized at all, whether it was building a city or expanding outward. On the contrary, the proposal to absorb the barbarian tribes was accepted.

  It's really depressing.

  Deep in the wilderness, the wind quietly warmed up, but the white snow still covered the ground. Robust men wrapped in thick animal hides were moving back and forth inside and outside the city, transporting food and weapons. The wooden high wall had taken shape, and someone was digging traps outside the wall. Rows of tents were densely pitched farther away from the city, and piles of bonfires brought a hint of warmth to this still-cold world.

  Outside the city walls are the tribesmen of Ussuri; inside the city walls are the elite of Ussuri.

  "Wise Wolf Great Shaman, please convey my humble prayer to Azughal." The Usurian chieftain kneeled on both knees, "Can we defeat those detestable Osetinians?"

  At this time, Wolf the Great Shaman was no longer a person, he was the spokesperson for Azugul in the mortal world. Some questions do not need to seek answers from God, people only want some psychological comfort. So Wolf put his hand on the chief's head and answered in a strange tone: "The people of the bitter cold land will always triumph over the cowardly scum of the south, with the weapons presented by those heretics in the west, Azugul's followers must win!"

  Then he rose to his feet, muttering in a language the Usurie chief did not understand, and began to dance around him with strange steps. In an instant, when Wolf Great Shaman pointed his finger at the chief, the Usurie chief felt a surge of courage fill his heart.

  "Thanks to the great Azugul!" The Ussuri chieftain reverently picked up the bony necklace on his chest, with a piece of white bone pendant. He kissed the bone pendant, and his eyes flashed with blood light.

  "Honorable Chieftain, ruler of the Ussuri tribe on earth, for Azugar the Great God, bravely accept the challenge!" Wolf encouraged from the side with a charming tone.

  The Ussuri chieftain pushed open the wooden door of his hut, and in the sunlight, his figure was bathed in an otherworldly glow. Facing his waiting subordinates outside, he raised his arm and shouted: "The great god has spoken, we will surely win!"

  "We will win!"

  "We will win!"

  The voices inside the city walls spread outside, triggering wave after wave of cheers.

  "We need more people to join us." The chief turned back, saying this to Wolf, his eyes no longer having the fervor of earlier. Instead, they were replaced by a cold and bloodthirsty feeling.

  This gaze reminded Wolf Great Shaman of past times, reminding him of the history of this chief before his eyes.

  "And besides, great shaman." The Usuri chieftain glared at Wolf. "If you can't influence me forever like that, then don't try to speak to me in that strange voice again. I am a devout follower of the Great God, but I will not tolerate the Great God's servant using his name to influence me, deceive me, understand?"

  These words were drowned out by the cheers of the outsiders, but they gave the great shaman a chill. He remembered that this chieftain, who had been known as a madman since childhood, had done such things before, whether it was killing enemies on the battlefield or killing people in the tribe. Moreover, the death of the previous great shaman was very suspicious...

  "Yes, Chieftain." The proud great shaman lowered his noble head.

  The tribal leader's face broke into a brilliant smile: "Very good. The magic you just used was pretty good too, I felt great, haha."

  The great shaman's head hung even lower.

  In the new barracks, Johnny sat on the ground, wiping his gun. Occasionally stood up and swung a few times, soon fell back to the ground.

  "This thing is useless in battle formation." He sighed softly.

  "What's on your mind, Tenno?" William Brown asked, clapping Joni on the shoulder and sitting down beside him.

  "William, don't do that again, it's too dangerous." Johnny turned back with a look of discontent, "If I were a veteran or an adventurer, you'd be dead by now."

  "It's nothing to be afraid of," William said carelessly. "What are you thinking about? I see you're staring blankly here."

  "I'm thinking, a sword this long isn't suitable for the battlefield, is it?" Jony said. "There are so many people crowded together, you can't even swing it."

  "This is Odin's weapon." William shrugged his shoulders. "And when fighting, wouldn't it be better to scatter a bit?"

  Jony shook his head, stood up, and took an attacking stance: "If it's a charge, then you can also make stabbing and slashing movements. Last time the instructors were teaching us five or ten at a time, they were all crowded together, either stabbing or slashing - many moves are not applicable!"

  "This, war doesn't need any tactics, does it?" William looked at Johnny, "A group just charges forward like this, no matter what weapons they have, there's no tactics anymore."

  "What's good about practicing then?" Jony sat back down, "Isn't that just like a long spearman?"

  "This...," William hesitated for a moment before saying uncertainly, "Don't we need personal martial skills when we disperse?"

  "After saying that, he waved his hand: "Ah, why think so much? It's always been like this in battles, and there's no problem. As long as we can win. Take those long spear soldiers for example, aren't they also unable to beat the giant sword warriors? We charge in, cut off their spearheads, get close to them, and they're done for."

  Jony thought so too, but still had some small knots: "If we line up in a row, wearing heavy armor, chopping neatly..."

  "Good idea." William nodded in agreement. "But didn't you say that the giant sword wasn't specifically for chopping?"

  "An axe!" Johnny exclaimed excitedly, "A long-handled battle-axe."

  "This... will do." William furrowed his brow, an axe wasn't exactly the Osadin people's favorite weapon, although some did practice with it, they didn't like it. "There's a problem, how can a long-handled battle-axe block a barbarian's slashing?"

  This problem has no solution.

  "Never mind, it's been like this for many years. What can you do? You think too much, don't you?" William comforted Johnny, "Come back to the tent with me quickly, the brothers are still waiting to hear your story."

  The career of a pseudo-poet has never ended.