The military camp became busy very early the next morning.

  There was no special signal; it was simply that as soon as the sky began to brighten, groups of soldiers started leaving their tents. Some checked their horses’ reins, others sat sharpening spearheads. The sounds of metal, men calling to each other, and supply carts rolling across the damp ground… all blended into the familiar noise of an army preparing to march.

  From a distance, the scene might give the impression that the force of the noble alliance from last night was quite considerable.

  But upon closer inspection, that impression faded rather quickly.

  The soldiers came from many different territories. Their equipment was uneven. Some wore old chainmail, while many others had only leather armor or thick cloth tunics. Wooden shields mixed with iron ones; long spears and short spears of every variety could be seen.

  Weapons were not the biggest problem.

  The real issue was formation.

  Many units did not stand in straight lines. The spacing between soldiers was uneven. Some men were still chatting even as the ranks had already begun to move.

  To put it bluntly, most of this force looked more like militia hastily gathered together than a properly trained army.

  Philip observed everything from behind his own troops.

  He did not look surprised.

  Small territories rarely maintained standing armies. When war came, nobles simply summoned farmers to take up weapons. That had long been the norm.

  Yet even among small territories, the quality of soldiers varied.

  The clearest example was Roland’s force.

  That unit stood not far from Montserrat’s, so Philip could see it quite clearly.

  A little more than thirty men.

  A few wore chainmail, while the rest had only leather armor. Their shields did not match. Their spears were of different lengths. When they moved, formation barely existed—they simply walked together as a group.

  To be honest, it was probably the worst unit among the nobles participating in the alliance.

  Philip found this somewhat ironic.

  Roland had been chosen as the leader of the alliance last night, yet his own force was among the least organized. He had poured most of his financial resources into magical research. Considering that, the situation was understandable.

  Of course, no one said it aloud.

  Among nobles, people generally avoided stating such things directly.

  Interestingly, Montserrat’s situation was the exact opposite.

  Philip’s force consisted of only twenty soldiers.

  Not many.

  In fact, it was so few that it would hardly impress anyone.

  But when they assembled, their formation looked rather… neat.

  Two lines of spearmen stood straight. The spacing between soldiers was fairly even. When they moved, they maintained their formation quite steadily.

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  Not because they were elite.

  Simply because, before departing, Philip had forced them to drill their formations for several days.

  With only twenty men, organizing formation was not difficult.

  Yet when placed beside the disorderly groups of soldiers around them, Montserrat’s unit unintentionally appeared… rather well disciplined.

  A noble passing by noticed it.

  “Those are Montserrat’s troops?”

  A knight beside Philip answered for him.

  “That’s correct.”

  The man watched them for a few seconds more.

  “Quite a good formation.”

  Another noble overheard and turned to look as well.

  “Hmm… they look fairly disciplined.”

  Comments like these began to spread rather quickly.

  No one openly said that Montserrat’s soldiers were strong. But simple remarks such as “disciplined,” “good formation,” and “quite orderly”… repeated several times gradually created a different impression.

  One knight even remarked,

  “It seems Montserrat has an elite force.”

  Philip heard that while riding behind his troops.

  He did not turn around.

  Twenty farmers drilled in formation for a few weeks.

  Elite?

  The thought almost made him laugh.

  But Philip offered no explanation.

  Sometimes letting others misunderstand was not necessarily a bad thing.

  The army began marching once the sun had risen higher.

  The dirt road passed through low hills, with sparse forests on both sides. The wheels of supply carts creaked behind the marching column.

  Family banners fluttered here and there along the line.

  From afar, the force appeared quite large.

  But standing among the ranks, one could easily notice many less impressive details.

  Some soldiers chatted as they walked.

  A few had to run forward to maintain their positions.

  One supply cart became stuck when passing through a patch of soft earth.

  Philip observed all of this with calm composure.

  He had not expected a perfect army.

  What occupied his thoughts more, however, was something else.

  The alliance formed last night… made him think of an interesting structure.

  The Count commanded the campaign.

  The small nobles beneath him still maintained their own forces.

  Yet when the situation became dangerous, they gathered together to protect their own interests.

  It was a rather familiar structure.

  If one expanded this model to the scale of the entire kingdom, the relationship between the royal family and the nobility might not be very different.

  The king would stand in a position similar to the Count.

  The great noble families would resemble these smaller lords.

  They cooperated when necessary… yet always sought to protect their own power.

  Of course, that was merely speculation.

  Philip did not possess enough information to confirm it.

  Still, the thought struck him as rather noteworthy.

  …

  Inside the campaign’s command tent, the Count was studying a map.

  This man was not a fool.

  He had received scout reports two days earlier.

  Rebel groups had begun gathering near the borders of the territory.

  Their exact numbers were unclear.

  But one thing seemed fairly certain.

  They were preparing to attack.

  A knight standing beside the table said,

  “My lord, the scouts report that a large group is moving through the eastern forest.”

  The Count did not look surprised.

  He had already expected that.

  What concerned him more was another question.

  “The reinforcements still haven’t arrived?”

  The knight shook his head.

  “No news yet.”

  The Count frowned.

  According to the original plan, allied lords from nearby regions were supposed to send troops to assist. Not a large force, but enough to create a clear advantage.

  Yet until now, those reinforcements had not appeared.

  There were several possibilities.

  Perhaps they were simply marching slowly.

  Perhaps they had been delayed.

  Or worse…

  Perhaps they were deliberately waiting to see how the situation developed before committing themselves.

  Among nobles, such behavior was not uncommon.

  The Count tapped his finger lightly against the table.

  His own strength was enough to defeat the rebel forces.

  But he did not want to do it alone.

  Winning a battle was simple.

  But if the price was the weakening of his own forces… that was another matter entirely.

  In the world of feudal lords, armies were power.

  A lord weakened by war could easily become a target for other families.

  The Count understood that very well.

  That was also why he had summoned the smaller nobles to join this campaign.

  If a battle occurred, they would stand on the front line.

  Meanwhile, the Count’s elite forces… would play the decisive role at the end.

  At least, that was the plan.

  However, there was still one point that made the Count uneasy.

  He looked down at the map once more.

  If the reinforcements did not arrive…

  If the rebel forces were larger than expected…

  Then the coming battle might become far more complicated than he desired.

  The Count placed his hand on the map, thinking.

  On the other side of that forest, the rebel forces had already begun to move.

  And it seemed the battle would come much sooner than many in the marching army expected.