Chapter 437: The Time For The Next Command
The training ground hummed with activity as Lyan surveyed his new forces. Four thousand soldiers stood at attention, their uniforms crisp, their movements sharp. The infantry formed neat lines, their spears glinting under the midday sun. Lyan’s sharp eyes took in their precise formations and steady discipline, a faint smile tugging at his lips. This was a force he could shape, a spearhead capable of piercing through any opposition.
He moved to the archers next, their bows strung and quivers brimming with arrows. They practiced rapid-fire techniques, their arrows streaking through the air to thud against distant targets with satisfying precision. Among them, a grizzled veteran barked corrections, his keen eye catching even the smallest mistakes.
"Steady your hand, soldier. It’s not about speed but precision," the veteran said, adjusting a younger archer’s stance. Lyan nodded approvingly; the man knew his craft.
The cavalry—a mix of sleek warhorses and sturdy mountain breeds—were next. Riders practiced maneuvers, their mounts weaving effortlessly between obstacles. The sound of hooves pounding the earth filled the air as the cavalry split into formations, their lances gleaming.
Lyan’s gaze lingered on the engineers. They worked diligently, assembling siege equipment with a practiced efficiency. Catapults were tested, and barricades reinforced under the watchful eyes of their commanding officers. This group was vital, the backbone of any prolonged campaign. Without their ingenuity, no army could sustain its momentum.
Finally, he reached the specialized units. Among them were trackers, demolition experts, and even a small contingent of alchemists who prepared volatile concoctions. Their leader, a wiry man with sharp eyes, approached Lyan, saluting smartly.
"Baron Evocatore, the specialized units stand ready. Whatever task you set us to, we’ll execute it without fail."
Lyan nodded. "Good. Precision and adaptability will be our greatest weapons. Ensure your men are prepared for both."
As he continued his inspection, Lyan’s gaze sharpened. He stopped to address the gathered officers, his voice firm yet measured. "You’ve seen what’s ahead. Discipline and unity will be what sets us apart from the Varzadian forces. Train as if every mistake costs a life, because it very well might. And remember—this isn’t just about winning battles. It’s about securing the future of Astellia."
The officers saluted, their resolve clear. Lyan turned, moving toward the command tent, where he knew Abraham, Ravia, and Raine were waiting.
Inside the tent, Abraham leaned over a rough map spread across the table, his weathered hands tracing the contours of key locations with practiced precision. The lines of his face, etched deeply by years of experience, seemed to mirror the intricate paths on the map. His steady voice carried a quiet authority as he outlined his findings. "Here," he said, tapping a point on the map, "is where their defenses are weakest."