The city was in complete chaos. Countless people from nearby villages flooded into the city, making it extremely crowded. Those who were self-sufficient farmers with some savings, small landlords, or merchants might find shelter, but the poor tenant farmers and serfs were not so lucky. They had to rest on street corners and by the roadside, shivering in the cold wind.
In contrast, the messengers of Count Albert were constantly shuttling through the city.
"All males aged sixteen to forty-five must go to the armory to receive weapons!"
"Lord Albert has issued a general conscription order! Every male must accept the conscription! Please proceed to the military camp for training immediately!"
"Those who do not accept the conscription will be treated as traitors!"
Meanwhile, soldiers were continuously gathering at various points in the city and reporting to the military camp.
The Churches of Justice and Life were transporting cartloads of food out. Both churches had set up relief points specifically to supply these refugees. The priests and paladins of the churches were doing their best to maintain order, comforting and advising the refugees to stay calm and restrained.
Of course, the two churches were also actively promoting their doctrines.
Simultaneously, many soldiers were moving among the refugees, looking for all eligible males. Each time a man was taken from the crowd, cries would echo from many families.
At this moment, an unexpected guest arrived at the Church of Justice.
Theresa, dressed in a black diagonally strapped dress with silver buttons and rivets, wearing black rhinoceros leather high-heeled boots, walked into the crowd with her staff. Her enchanting figure was wrapped in a long brown coat containing camel wool. The sorceress's face was as cold as eternal ice, exuding an aura that kept people at a distance. Seeing this, the refugees quickly made way for her.
Only a handcart blocked Theresa's path. On the cart, a boy and a girl were desperately gnawing at black bread. Their ravenous behavior indicated they were starving.
The sorceress noticed the black bread in the refugees' hands was of the worst quality, mixed with sawdust and dirt. Yet, many refugees were crying, repeatedly thanking the Church of Justice for their help. Many serfs had run out of food after just two or three days of fleeing.
The fragility of the small-scale farming economy in Nord was evident.
The words Ryan had told her, "I hope you can treat everyone fairly," echoed in Theresa's ears. She took a deep breath and, with as gentle an expression as she could muster, said, "Move aside."
"Ah! What a beautiful big sister!" The little boy looked up and saw a beautiful big sister standing in front of him, speaking with sparkling eyes.
"Oh! Lucas!" The children's mother was horrified and quickly rushed over to protect her children. "Madam Sorceress, I'm sorry, very sorry. We didn't mean to offend you! We'll move, we'll move!"
The sorceress said nothing and walked straight into the Church of Justice.
Paladin Alfred was having lunch, holding a bowl of meat soup with a large loaf of white bread, enjoying his meal. Seeing Theresa walk into the church, he nearly spat out his food. "Ms. Trovik?! What... are you doing here?"
"Giving black bread to the refugees outside while you drink meat soup and eat white bread?" Theresa retorted instead of answering his question.
"Justice requires a price. If we give them the same white bread and meat soup, it would harm them and everyone else." Alfred wiped his mouth. "Alright, what do you need?"
"I want to ask about some matters regarding Ryan..."
Miyodenhaven, the military camp.
People were coming and going in the camp.
"Sir, here are your things!" A piece of chest armor and a uniform were thrown in front of a teenage boy, followed by a battle axe as tall as he was.
The boy took the weapon and stared blankly at the battle axe, unsure of what to do.
An elderly farmer also received a long spear from the soldiers. His hair was already gray, and his body hunched as he sighed softly.
Ryan stood nearby, watching the conscripted militiamen and volunteers receive their weapons. Cartloads of Count Albert's coins were being transported from the lord's warehouse, and each conscripted soldier received a few silver coins as pay and a few days' worth of rations.
The price they might have to pay, however, could be their lives.
The half-elf stood beside Ryan. As part of the city's immediate combat force, he, along with Falk, Rost, and others, had also been forcibly conscripted by the lord. Estelle stood by Ryan's side, shaking his head. "I don't see the need to conscript them. Sending these people to the battlefield is just sending them to their deaths."
"Stable boys, tenant farmers, workers, cooks—they are not soldiers," Ryan shook his head but continued, "But we still need them. The enemy is a barbarian army of over four thousand. We only have three hundred regular troops and a few hundred volunteers... These people are no match for the barbarians. Moreover, unlike you elves, our population... is a resource that can be sacrificed."
Estelle was speechless. The half-elf had faced barbarians before and knew that under the blessing of chaos, the barbarians' combat power far exceeded that of ordinary people.
Through forced conscription, Miyodenhaven had raised an army of over two thousand, but how effective these militiamen would be remained unknown. Ryan knew that what he could truly rely on were Count Albert's three hundred regular troops, six hundred volunteers, and the church's paladins.
In reality, even the paladins could not be counted on. Ryan watched as the conscripts gradually formed ranks under the officers' distribution, deep in thought.
The commanding officer was dividing the conscripts into three groups.
The unconverted civilians made up one part, ordinary rank professionals another, and elite soldiers were selected separately.
For the unconverted civilians, who hadn't received any enhancement from becoming professionals, their arms wouldn't be stronger, nor their bodies more enduring. Once someone successfully converted to a professional, they would receive a significant physical enhancement, improving strength and endurance, and their chosen profession would further enhance specific attributes. For instance, a warrior's physique would strengthen, while a ranger's agility would increase.
But civilians? They had nothing.
An ordinary professional could handle five or six unconverted civilians. In the military, civilians generally didn't appear among the ranks.
So these militiamen were only given spears. Their only training involved learning to thrust with the spear and charge with it. As for their effectiveness... it was uncertain how much they would contribute.
Ryan had once read a military manual on how to command such militiamen. It simply stated: "Only issue commands to charge and advance. Do not give any complex instructions beyond these two orders."
He remembered laughing alone in his room for a long time after reading that manual.
Ordinary professionals required no further description.
Elite professionals, however, were entirely different.
Each elite professional had learned a unique talent and received further physical and ability enhancements. They could handle themselves independently in battle. Their bodies could now learn and execute unique combat skills. Therefore, elite professional troops were the elite forces upon which nobles relied. Three elite professionals working together could easily handle a platoon (typically 32-48 soldiers) of ordinary professionals.
Not to mention, when Ryan was still an elite knight in his youth, he and a fellow knight drove away dozens of ordinary bandits, taking them down one by one.
That was the difference in combat power.
So how did professionals advance?
Three methods: fighting (killing), training, and divine favor.
The reason Ryan felt he couldn't rely on the paladins was that they lacked an essential aspect: advancing through combat. Ordinary paladins advanced not through practice but through devout prayer, relying on the gods' power to aid their advancement.
The gods were generous in granting their devout followers divine favor. Hence, among paladins, legendary strongmen were the most numerous on the continent. But that didn't mean they were the strongest.
This method of advancement was quite weak. Take Ryan as an example. As a legendary warrior of the initial level, he had been forged through countless blood and fire battles, repeatedly tempered in real combat. His strength far surpassed that of an average initial legendary level strongman. Ryan alone could easily handle five or six initial legendary paladins, smashing these tin cans one by one with his warhammer.
Yes, the combat power of paladins was just that weak. Someone once mocked them, saying, "Wearing the thickest armor, taking the hardest hits."
Of course, some paladins were exceptional fighters, but most lacked real combat experience. That was why Ryan, knowing he and Theresa could handle the manticore, still called Alfred. He hoped his friend could gain some real combat experience, which might save his life in critical moments.
Divine Shield, the divine spell, seemed formidable, but it wasn't entirely reliable—not all beasts were as mindlessly aggressive as manticores. Ryan's method of dealing with Divine Shield was to kite them. These tin cans moved slowly and lacked long-range attack capabilities. Once they activated Divine Shield, Ryan would attack while evading. An ordinary Divine Shield lasted no more than six seconds, and even a legendary paladin's shield lasted only twelve seconds. It was easy to outlast this duration.
Moreover, Divine Shield wasn't entirely invincible. Its essence was like a god's power forming a 360-degree iron box around the paladin. Under the god's immense power, nothing short of a Sanctuary-level attack could harm the person inside. But that didn't mean the iron box couldn't be moved. Ryan had tried, and with his strength, he could directly hammer
the iron box, along with the person inside, away.
Getting back to the point, Ryan forced himself to focus on the present situation.
Now, even Nord's regular troops were no match for the barbarians.
The barbarians' strength lay in their constant, bloody warfare and the chaos gods' blessings. In such circumstances, an equal number of human soldiers wouldn't be a match for the barbarian raiders.
"Even with these militiamen, our defensive force barely reaches two thousand. My suggestion is to rely on the city's fortifications for defense," Estelle advised. "The city walls can boost morale and reduce casualties."
"No, Estelle," Ryan shook his head. "Defending the city is a last resort. In the many wars against the barbarians that I've participated in, we rarely defended the city."
"Why?" The half-elf was puzzled.
"Besieging the city means low morale and allows the barbarians to freely obtain supplies from nearby villages. The barbarians came suddenly. Many noble families only had time to take part of their possessions. Many commoners didn't have time to retreat to the city. Should we close the gates and watch the barbarians massacre them?" Ryan said bitterly.
For the barbarians, they never considered consequences or cared about reputation and morality. Their goal was to bring destruction to the south and take wealth back to the north.
"Doing nothing and deciding to defend the city will quickly crush morale," Ryan indicated the militiamen. "At that point, the barbarians won't need to besiege the city; these militiamen will already have broken down."
As he said, the militiamen's faces were full of numbness, fear, and unease.
"Humans are fragile," Estelle said disdainfully. "We are willing to shed our last drop of blood for the forest."
"We are also willing to shed blood to defend our country! Estelle, please don't compare your elves to us humans," Ryan retorted sharply. "Each of your people awakens their professional talent at thirty-five, but for us humans? Less than forty percent of us awaken our professional talent!"
Yes, the elves' racial advantage was that significant.
"Mr. Ryan, Lord Albert wishes to see you at the count's castle immediately. There is important military information!" A messenger came to Ryan and saluted him.
"What's the matter? What happened?" Ryan had to bid farewell to Estelle and rode Pinecone to Albert's castle.
Albert's count's castle was located on a small hill within the city of Miyodenhaven, complete with comprehensive defenses and a moat. There were also two cannons on the walls. During wartime, the soldiers here were far more numerous than usual. Seeing Ryan arrive, the guards lowered the drawbridge.
Albert and his two knights were discussing the current military situation in the conference room. Knight Walnut, Nickle, had a mixed expression of joy and worry.
"Mr. Ryan, there's good news... and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?"
"Let's start with the bad news."
Ah, the most useful aspect of a militia composed of civilians is to create a show of force and wave flags. Expecting these weaklings to be effective is unrealistic. Reality is not a game where a squad of low-level spearmen can stop a heavy cavalry charge. That doesn't happen in real life.