Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest

Lion Territory.

Count Filin had just seen off the entourage of Sir Pierre.

This knight and he got along well, and they had a harmonious relationship during this time.

He repeatedly urged them to stay, but the latter had made up his mind to leave.

To be honest, Count Filin could understand their reasons for departing; the supplies were depleting tremendously, and the soldiers were muddled and disheartened. No matter how the priests encouraged them, they couldn't awaken their spirits.

Privately, some said they had fallen under the magic spell of the Blasphemers.

An indescribable fear quietly seized the soldiers' souls, leaving them devoid of fighting spirit and their limbs feeble.

They swore it must be the work of some Extraordinary Power!

If it were merely the conscripted soldiers, that would be one thing, but a considerable number of the Conquest Knights were also affected, becoming passive in battle.

The Conquest Knights were supposed to be fearless.

But now they despairingly realized one fact——

When facing hundreds or thousands of fully plate-armored foot soldiers, no charge by the Conquest Knights would be effective.

The Conquest Knights cursed in secret that this was not a mortal army, but vile creatures brought from Hell by the Blasphemers. The Holy Throne should dispatch his divine knights.

Before leaving, Sir Pierre advised him to look out for himself.

It was a kind warning, but it sounded particularly harsh to Count Filin, like a terminal patient suddenly receiving bad news.

After Pierre and the Nobles left, Lion Territory was left with only the Earl's forces, mercenaries from the isles, and the troops brought by Makor.

Though the forces seemed abundant, their adversary was the tyrant of the Blasphemers.

"Sir, Lord Makor says he needs to see you." The castle steward found him.

Count Filin's expression darkened at these words, and a gloomy cloud surged in his heart.

"I'll go right away!"

He quickly headed to the castle, praying to the gods not to let the worst happen.

But reality is not swayed by human will.

Makor, his face like a rock, with rough and peeling skin, and algae-like blue hair, spoke to the Earl in the main hall.

"Lord Filin, I must leave as well."

"This, this cannot be!" The Earl exclaimed, "I do not agree, I absolutely do not agree!"

Makor was the coalition's commander, and the troops he brought from the Stone Castle could still maintain combat strength against the Blasphemers, and they were Lion Territory's greatest reliance now.

Once Makor also withdrew his troops, Lion Territory would be isolated and helpless.

"The Swamp Mercenaries and islanders will assist you, as long as you promise them benefits, like land and knightly titles."

The Earl was full of indignation: "But you know better, those people are not trustworthy; they would kill for money and status, but not sacrifice their lives."

"That will depend on your decision." Makor's face seemed eroded by seawater, his dark blue eyes akin to the tides of the night.

"No! I cannot contend against that tyrant..." The Earl was restless and unwilling to comply, his anger unprecedentedly high.

When he suddenly looked into those dark blue eyes, his anger was instantly quenched, and he could only feel breathless, as if drowning, stricken by a sea serpent, sinking into the dark abyss.

Not until Makor averted his gaze did Count Filin, coated in cold sweat, show his terror.

He realized that was the power of the Fury Bloodline.

"I beseech you, my lord," he turned to plead, "I am willing to do anything as long as you don't make me face that tyrant alone."

Makor shook his head, "I failed. My father and my wife Hena are both writing to summon me back."

Makor furrowed his brows.

He had been extremely exceptional from a young age, skilled in commanding and battling, leading a region upon adulthood, and never had he faced such a defeat.

He couldn't win in direct combat, couldn't win in field battles; even deploying the Surging Wave Knights found no openings.

He felt that army seemed to come from the legendary ancient Divine Mysterious, disciplined like a saga, advancing and retreating measuredly…

To defeat them, a new path must be forged…

Makor silently made up his mind.

Hearing it was an order from the Fury King, the Earl shivered and was left speechless.

The Black Castle King was ignorant of administrative affairs, and Duke Pine was now truly the Black Iron Regent King.

He guided the Church Authority to guard the Northern Front against the Dragon Clan.

To topple the Blasphemers, uniting many Nobles, providing Lion Territory with a continuous supply of logistical support.

The former succeeded; the gods successfully defended against the Dragon King's Fury in Iron Flower County.

But the latter failed; the coalition found that remote city unassailable.

By now, supplies were no longer sustainable.

In fact, they had run out of food in the winter.

Last year's drought reduced harvests in most areas of the Black Iron Land to almost nothing, living by tightening their belts, unwilling to launch an attack.

This time, Makor planned to take over ten thousand soldiers from the Stone Castle, unable to continue the standoff with Roman; otherwise, they would literally starve to death.

The Earl was well aware of this but was unable to accept the truth of becoming an abandoned pawn.

Makor quickly left Lion Territory, leaving behind a mess and some nameless mercenaries merely there to get by.

Count Filin, pale and desperate, watched the back of Makor recede into the distance.

...

No one expected Roman's counterattack to come so swiftly, like a spring compressed to its limit.

The last batch of noble troops had just left when the Blasphemers launched a massive assault.

It is unfortunate to have a tyrant as a neighbor.

Because no one knows when he will suddenly strike.

Count Kant knew this all too well; he was sleeping soundly in his castle when Roman raided the village, forcing him to flee his home two years later.

Roman didn't know what choice Count Filin would make.

Because it didn't matter.

His desire was now overwhelmingly strong!

Expand!

Expand fiercely!

He had developed in the barren hills for seven years, six of which were spent pioneering and farming, lacking everything, with hardly any room for maneuver!

It was time to occupy richer lands!

The River Valley Army had extremely high individual quality. Once armored, all were First Rank foot knights, having undergone two to three years of high-intensity physical training, with some veterans trained for six or seven years, boasting a high battlefield survival rate.

More importantly, the organizational system, tactical maneuvers, troop type specialization, organizational degree, and complete equipment all had no weaknesses.

Roman never cared about individual bravery.

Because systemic strength is the true strength.

In today's Middle Ages, the River Valley Army was the pinnacle fighting force on the land!

Jet dispersed the army, splitting it into dozens of attack points, initiating assaults by company units, maintaining communication with each other, forming a nodal encirclement network.

Dozens of attack points advanced towards the core castle of the Lion Territory, while the remaining troops acted as support.

The River Valley Army's grassroots structure was well-established, allowing for flexible and free movements during mobilization.

The Lion Territory still had defensive forces, both local and external forces such as mercenaries and Free Riders.

But when faced with River Valley's steel supermen, they were speechless.

Even if a company had only sixty men, they could take down six hundred troops.

Challenge my River Valley War God? Do you even have the capability?