No wonder Marquis Mamon was so furious. Without comparison, there is no harm. The Eagle Legion once consisted of only two infantry regiments and one cavalry regiment, totaling fifteen thousand elite soldiers. But that was during peacetime. As one of the Kingdom of Garrel's national defense legions, a force of fifteen thousand was more than sufficient. However, in times of war, fifteen thousand seemed far too thin, especially with the inevitable casualties. Consequently, Marquis Mamon had no choice but to follow the king's orders, allowing the legion to absorb noble private armies, mercenaries, and adventurers.
After four years of relentless war, the Eagle Legion had been reorganized and scattered repeatedly, fighting countless brutal battles. Now, the only pure military forces remaining were the First Infantry Regiment, the Fourth Infantry Regiment, and parts of the Second Infantry Regiment. Among these, the First Infantry Regiment was the ace. The Fourth Regiment, primarily composed of new recruits, had slightly lower combat power than the fragmented remnants of the Second Regiment, made up of forces from major noble houses and mercenaries. Yet, compared to the Third Regiment, composed entirely of adventurers and private armies from minor and medium-sized nobles, they were far superior.
Marquis Mamon's fury stemmed from the Third Regiment. This bloated, inefficient force consumed nearly one-third of the Eagle Legion's resources and salaries while delivering less than half the combat effectiveness of the First Regiment. It was like a malignant tumor growing under the wing of an eagle that was supposed to soar. However, repeated requests to dissolve or reform the Third Regiment had been denied by the king. With years of political experience, Marquis Mamon understood the issue clearly: those minor nobles were merely extensions of the power of greater noble houses. To truly eliminate them would mean shaking the foundation of the kingdom itself.
With less than five days until the scheduled rendezvous, only a few scattered units of the Fourth Regiment had arrived. This blatant disregard for military orders infuriated Marquis Mamon further. He was already preparing to discipline his subordinates. In his anger, he failed to realize he was also a noble himself.
To the Marquis, minor and medium nobles were nothing more than nouveau riche families surviving on the achievements of their ancestors. Within three generations, these nobles would fade into obscurity, replaced by another batch of rising families. Only grand houses of count rank or higher, like his own, were true nobility.
Compared to the Third Regiment's incompetence, the Second Regiment seemed far more reliable in Marquis Mamon's eyes. To illustrate: the First Regiment was like his eldest son, full of promise and pride, his greatest asset. The Fourth Regiment was the youngest son—young and inexperienced, but obedient and full of potential. The Second Regiment was like a stepson, not as close as the other two but still worthy of some care. The Third Regiment, however, was nothing but garbage, best kept out of sight.
As for the cavalry regiment? That was Marquis Mamon's heart and soul, although it was currently under the control of his old friend and rival, Marquis Sandro.
After dismissing the messenger, Marquis Mamon rubbed his temples with his thumb. Battles might have been growing easier, but he felt increasingly weary. The endless political squabbles among the nobility, the minor disputes within his various regiments, and the constant headache of the Third Regiment wore him down. He began to wonder if he should take a long rest once the war ended.
"One more year," he muttered. It was the consensus among Garrel's leadership: the war must end within one year. If it dragged on any longer, Garrel would have no choice but to send envoys to their suzerain state, the Ormorian Empire, to request mediation. With only two million citizens, the small Kingdom of Garrel had already lost over a hundred thousand people in four years of war, most of them young and able-bodied men. Any further losses would shake the kingdom's very foundations.
Of course, Shiloh's losses were even greater. Fighting on home soil, their casualties were at least fifty percent higher than Garrel's. Furthermore, Shiloh's overall population and resources were slightly inferior to Garrel's. At this point, it was a matter of endurance, and Marquis Mamon firmly believed that Garrel would not be the first to falter.
"Once we take Bimor City, it will be up to the cavalry..." Marquis Mamon's gaze grew distant, his thoughts already skipping past the siege.
"What? You want me to send the cavalry regiment into the heart of the Bering Mountains? Soldier, you must be joking!" The tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man glared at the messenger kneeling before him. "How can cavalry navigate the mountains, let alone dense forests? Did I hear that correctly?"
The messenger remained composed despite the marquis's stern tone. "This is an order from the prince."
The marquis fell silent. He recognized the messenger's insignia: the gray-and-white emblem of the Lion Legion, surrounded by an intricate floral pattern reserved exclusively for Prince Kensel's personal guards.
After a long pause, Marquis Sandro said, "But Bimor City is about to fall. The day the city falls, the cavalry regiments are supposed to encircle it as planned. I cannot withdraw my cavalry now."
"I am merely relaying the prince's orders, my lord. The prince will handle the consequences," the messenger replied firmly.
Marquis Sandro hesitated. Orders were orders, but the timing was inexplicable. If not for the messenger's insignia, he would have dismissed the man outright.
"I need to discuss this with Marquis Mamon. Follow me," Sandro finally said.
Marquis Sandro, master of the Eagle Legion's elite cavalry and father-in-law to Baron Kyle, was an imposing figure. Unlike the wiry and temperamental Marquis Mamon, Sandro was a commanding presence—a peak-level knight-squire with a seemingly ageless appearance.
In Mamon's tent, the two marquises listened as the messenger explained. When the reason became clear, Mamon erupted in anger.
"The Duchess Kent is getting more outrageous by the day!" Mamon shouted.
Thankfully, only the three of them were present in the tent; otherwise, such words could have caused a scandal.
Sandro, more composed, asked, "How many troops should we send? Relying on cavalry alone won't be sufficient. The Bering Mountains are part of the Morphy Forest and are far from safe."
Mamon calmed himself and considered carefully. Angelina had been like a granddaughter to him; she was the only child who could sleep soundly in his arms. The urgency of the situation weighed heavily on him.
"Send three cavalry battalions and the Fourth Infantry Regiment. This will also serve as valuable training for them."
Sandro slammed his hand on the table. "Absolutely not! At most, I'll send one cavalry battalion. The Fourth Regiment cannot be spared. They are the main force for the siege of Bimor City. Are you planning to have the First Regiment attack instead? They haven't recovered from the Battle of Felmer Gorge."
"There's still the Second Regiment..." Mamon muttered weakly.
The two marquises continued to argue, their long-standing dynamic playing out once again.
Meanwhile, the poor messenger stood frozen, stunned by the sheer scale of the orders being thrown around. Three cavalry battalions? An entire infantry regiment? Marquis Mamon certainly had a grand appetite for ambition!