Chapter 260: Marching Problems

The next morning, after breakfast, the noble alliance encamped north of the Stonehold began to march in formation.

Though each noble’s contingent had its own commander, chaos erupted when all these forces converged and moved simultaneously toward Stonehold City—there was only one road, and with everyone pressing forward, congestion was inevitable; entire units risked being scattered, individuals straying here and there.

Ronin had originally planned to sort out the formation once they reached Stonehold, but faced with this disorder, he, as commander, had to act.

First, he ordered Riedal, Macken, and others to halt every unit in place. Under the watchful discipline of the Ubeil Knight Squad, one noble’s column would advance fully before the next was permitted to follow.

Second, Ronin dispatched Jennie and Krami ahead of the marching columns. As each unit passed them, they were to record its details: the leader’s identity, combat strength, exact numbers of frontline troops and support personnel, and more.

Though the process was slow, it brought at least a semblance of order to the previously chaotic throng.

“I thought organizing the march would be Ronin’s greatest headache,” said the One-Armed Lone Wolf Gellman, surprised.

Though Ronin’s method was simple, for a first-time commander on the battlefield, resolving this so swiftly was impressive.

“Compared to Viggins, Ronin seems more adept at this,” added Marvin, nodding beside him.

As deputy commander, his primary duty was to assist Ronin during the assault; marching logistics were not his concern.

In truth, even without Ronin’s intervention, the noble alliance would have trudged into Stonehold eventually—just slower, noisier, perhaps with a few brawls along the way.

As they spoke, Riedal rode up, politely announcing: “Baron Gellman, your turn.”

Gellman nodded in acknowledgment, then gestured for his knight, Andrea, to lead his unit forward. He himself studied Ronin’s commander with a keen gaze.

“Knight Riedal, your shout earlier was no ordinary thing. What level are you now?”

It had been Riedal’s dragon-like bellow that had calmed the chaos—his voice alone had made the nobles realize this knight was not to be trifled with, and thus none had objected to the orders.

Riedal smiled faintly, offering no direct reply. “Perhaps, Baron Gellman, you’ll find out when the battlefield calls.”

“Hah! Then I shall watch closely,” Gellman said, and with that, he followed his men away.

“Viscount, your contingent is assigned to the rear,” Riedal reminded.

“No problem,” Marvin replied. “Talen, take charge of the column. I’m going to check on Ronin.”

“Understood, sir.”

Meanwhile, Ronin sat astride his Cloudstrider, surveying the now-empty campsite left behind by the departing army.

Overnight, the ground had become littered with refuse and excrement—like a festival ground abandoned after the crowds had gone, filthy and disordered.

Thankfully, they’d only camped for a single night. Had they lingered longer, sanitation would have become a dire problem.

For the transcendent, it mattered little—their bodies were strong, resistant to disease.

But for infantry, cavalry, and support staff—ordinary men and women—poor hygiene could spark plague, and that would be catastrophic.

“What are you pondering, Ronin?” Marvin approached.

“I’m thinking about how to handle sanitation during marches and encampments.”

Ronin turned to Marvin, recalling his veteran experience. “How did you manage it in your campaigns?”

Marvin, caught off guard, rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

He’d never given it much thought before.

“When we camped, we always chose locations downstream from water sources—to keep them clean.”

He pointed to the trash scattered across the hillside. “As for this filth? Don’t worry about it. If it gets too bad, we simply move. The wilderness is vast. Setting up new tents is easier than cleaning up.”

“That… is a practical approach.”

Yet Ronin frowned slightly.

Marvin’s method suited small, mobile forces. But once numbers swelled—beyond four or five thousand—the difficulty of relocating increased exponentially. Then, staying put became far more efficient.

And when the moment came for confrontation, when attack was imminent—when would there be time to shift camp every few days?

Solving sanitation was no simple matter.

After all, the support personnel came from countless regions, varied in discipline, and many obeyed only their own lords’ commands—making unified control a nightmare.

“Let’s wait until we reach Stonehold,” Ronin decided. “Once Toru, Koren, and the others arrive, we’ll deliberate.”

The noble alliance surged into Stonehold City in a vast, rumbling tide. The anxious townsfolk, seeing the overwhelming force, finally exhaled—the threat of the Polart Bandits was over.

Toru, Koren, and their men had already waited outside the gates. They would guide the columns onward, to prearranged encampment zones south of the city, awaiting further orders.

Ronin and the noble commanders would rest within Stonehold Castle.

“Hah! Welcome, Viscount of Ubeil, Commander Ronin, to Stonehold!” Koren boomed forward, greeting Ronin first, then bowing to Marvin.

He looked less like a wounded, defeated lord and more like a gracious host welcoming honored guests.

Ronin bowed politely. “I heard Baron Koren suffered grave injuries. You appear to have recovered well?”

“Thank you for your concern. I am fully restored.”

Koren’s mirth faded into solemnity. “This war will proceed entirely under your command. I shall do all I can to atone for my failures at Redmount Town. But first, allow me, as lord of Stonehold, to properly host you all!”

Ronin would not refuse. Besides, he saw the remaining noble knights already eyeing the castle with hunger for a lavish feast. To decline would invite resentment.

Under Koren’s guidance, they entered Stonehold Castle.

A far grander, sturdier fortress than Marshhold, its opulence betrayed Koren’s immense wealth.

Though danger loomed beyond the walls, though the Polart Bandits watched with bated breath, the noon banquet was as lively as ever—and Koren even announced plans for the evening feast.

War came tomorrow. Today, one must feast.

After wine and food had been consumed, guests were shown to their chambers.

“Sir, this is the summary Jennie and Krami compiled. Please review.”

Ronin took the parchment from Jennie and studied it carefully.

The noble alliance consisted of fifty-three contingents: 1,855 combatants, 7,421 support personnel.

Among the fighters: 95 professional knights—3 Silver, 8 Bronze, 14 High, 25 Mid, 45 Low.

Only eleven Bronze and Silver knights combined?

Ronin’s left eyelid twitched. He’d expected few transcendent warriors—but not this few.

Thankfully, the First and Fifth Knight Orders, along with Ubeil’s own forces, had not yet been tallied. Otherwise, with so few, how could they even hope to fight? (End of Chapter)