Baron Kyle sat atop his warhorse like a wise sage, calmly commanding the advance of the troops. From a distance, Caesar watched the baron with deep admiration. When would he ever achieve such composure and skill? His horse, Bru, was a handful—slow, temperamental, and prone to giving him grief. If not for Caesar's formidable strength and the natural aura of intimidation he exuded, he doubted he could keep the stubborn beast in line.
It was now noon, yet Baron Kyle had not given any order to rest, nor did he plan to for the entire day. The reason was simple: they were only a day away from Bimor City. Caesar had received word that Baron Kyle and Baron Kashir planned to march through the day and reach Bimor City before nightfall.
For the common soldiers, fatigue was unavoidable. Even the squad leaders had to stay vigilant, keeping a close eye on their men to prevent anyone from falling behind. Over the years, the number of soldiers who had vanished without a trace accounted for nearly half of the overall casualties. There was no room for carelessness. Of course, this vigilance was mostly required of squad leaders and below. Caesar, on the other hand, was enjoying a comfortable ride alongside Jelson, chatting idly on horseback.
The baron's policy of providing horses only to those ranked as company leaders and above was, in Caesar's opinion, an act of great generosity. The dull monotony of marching had transformed into a pleasant experience. Caesar could spend time chatting with other company leaders, borrow a bow to shoot at passing birds for a tastier supper, or even chase clouds under the pretense of "practicing his riding skills." Life was good.
Caesar had just returned from inspecting his squad at the rear of the formation, ensuring that no one had fallen behind. A faint lipstick mark from Chassie was still visible on his cheek. Yes, his squad was made up of spirited and energetic young men—falling behind was not a concern. If there was any issue, it was Jelson's responsibility as the primary company leader. Caesar, as the vice leader, only had to manage his own subordinates.
The relationship between Caesar and Jelson was remarkably harmonious. Jelson would occasionally complain jokingly about Caesar's laid-back attitude at mealtime, and Caesar would respond with a grin, "You're my junior, Jelson. It's only natural for me to let you handle more responsibility."
"Caesar!"
Uncle York rode into the center of the formation, calling out to Caesar.
"Coming!" Caesar spurred Bru forward and joined York.
"What is it, Uncle?" he asked.
"Kid, keep those women hidden. Don't let the common soldiers catch wind of them!" Uncle York said sternly, his brow furrowed. "And keep your head down for the next few days. We're approaching Worel City, and there's likely to be a tough battle ahead. Make sure you shine in front of the baron when the time comes."
"Understood, Uncle," Caesar replied quickly.
With a curt nod, Uncle York turned his horse and rode back to his squad. Caesar made his way back to Jelson, reflecting on the reprimand. He had indeed been a bit reckless lately, though it was partly because he had grown familiar with veterans like York.
When Caesar had first been promoted to company leader, he had been occupied with campaigns against Phalanx City, raids on wandering villages, and black market dealings in Worel City. He had little time to familiarize himself with his new social circle. Fortunately, Uncle York had taken him under his wing, teaching him valuable insights. It was from York that Caesar learned about Baron Kyle's exceptional riding skills, honed during his youth while studying abroad in the Ormorian Empire—a place Caesar regarded as almost mythical.
"Move it! Don't fall behind!"
The sharp cries of squad leaders echoed through the ranks. Caesar, once a squad leader himself, now saw the truth from a higher vantage point: squad leaders were the backbone of the army. Each ten-man squad formed a tightly-knit unit, and these units combined to create the powerful force they had become. Compared to Baron Kashir's troops, Caesar noticed that their army was superior primarily because of the stronger cohesion among their squad leaders. Why was that? Even as a former squad leader, Caesar couldn't fully explain it.
Like a fool guided by a wise man, Caesar felt he could unleash extraordinary strength under Baron Kyle's leadership. He had no illusions about his intellect; he knew he was no scholar. But he also knew that by following people like Baron Kyle, Young Master Soren, or Uncle York, he could rise higher. And he had succeeded—he was now a company leader. In his own eyes, he was the smartest among the fools.
Caesar looked forward to reaching Bimor City. Yes, there would be a fierce battle before that, but battles no longer frightened him. Four years of war had hardened him. He couldn't guarantee he'd survive the upcoming battle, but he was certain he wouldn't die in a small place like Bimor City.
There was another reason for his anticipation. Uncle York had promised to take him to the logistics division after the army regrouped. With luck, Caesar might find some useful potions there. Potions, in Caesar's eyes, were tied to the mysterious world of magic. When he had asked Uncle York about the connection, the old man had been vague. But one thing was certain—there was a connection.
Caesar's fighting energy had stagnated for weeks. Although he had been training for just over a month, the initial rapid progress had slowed to a crawl. It made him uneasy. Soren had refused him Red Sea Flower, the treasured potion for knights, saying it wouldn't help him. At first, Caesar had been unconvinced, but eventually, he accepted Soren's reasoning. After all, Soren wasn't the stingy type.
"Red Sea Flower is a rare elixir for knight squires, reserved for nobles with deep heritage," Grace had told him one day when he was brooding over his lack of progress. It was then that Caesar realized Grace was no ordinary woman. He resolved never to let her slip away.
Raffi, the young maid, had also grown closer to Caesar. To his surprise, she had consumed Red Sea Flower before, twice in fact, given to her by her head maid for protective duties.
"We'll reach the outskirts of Bimor City by dusk. Hopefully, we'll run into some old comrades," Uncle York said to Caesar. The old man was well-connected, not just in Baron Kashir's forces but across the entire Second Legion.
"Uncle, you must introduce me to some of your friends," Caesar said with a grin.
"Sure thing, kid!" York replied heartily. His open and bold personality had earned him friends everywhere, especially in the army.
At the Aers Valley near Bimor City, the temporary headquarters of the Eagle Legion stood. A sea of dark green tents filled the barren valley. At the center, a brown eagle banner flapped proudly in the wind. Inside the largest tent, an elderly man with a hunched posture listened as a black-uniformed officer reported.
"Half of the Second Legion is now in position!"
The elderly man was Marquis Staehr Mamon, known as the "Falcon" by the king himself—a legendary figure across Garrel.