Lord: I Grind EXP with Warband Panel

Robson ran his hand over the sword in his grasp. He had to admit, the Frank Kingdom had learned from its battles with the Beastman Empire; their entire logistical operation was running at an incredible speed.

After receiving the Prince’s Gold Coins, Robson immediately started working through two channels: Valentino and Viscount Luke.

The people Viscount Luke had previously arranged to be in Qimo Fortress also played their part.

Before long, ship after ship loaded with supplies docked at Blue Scale Port.

The only disappointment was the exceptionally mediocre quality of this batch of equipment.

Forget about the Magic Equipment from before; he had no idea what kind of hide was even used for the leather armor.

The only thing worth treasuring was probably the Divine Water shipped over from the church in the rear.

These were all a specialty of the Dawn Church—miraculous tools for treating external wounds and countering the Potion-fueled Beastmen.

’It’s better than nothing,’ Robson could only console himself.

By now, most of his Soldiers had already completed the first phase of training, transforming from Peasants into a militia.

But experience alone wasn’t enough; they needed equipment.

While this leather armor couldn’t stop sharp blades, it still offered a fighting chance against the stone weapons of the Beastman Empire. At the very least, his men wouldn’t be pelted to death with stones by goblins.

In reality, the equipment rate of Robson’s troops was already terrifyingly high.

After all, the Western Front was primarily composed of the Noble Alliance Army, and the quality of their soldiers depended entirely on the benevolence and power of the noble lords.

For the armies of many Barons, just being able to eat their fill was already the greatest blessing.

Of course, truly elite troops existed. The Standing Armies under the great northern nobles and the King, for instance, all adhered to a set of uniform standards.

But they were almost all on the central front.

"Good. Go ahead and distribute this equipment," Robson said with a nod.

Viscount Fuman, standing beside him, looked pained.

"All of it? Robson, we don’t have much in reserve..."

"Equipment is only good when it’s being used. We can’t let our boys go into battle bare-chested," Robson said in a tone that brooked no argument.

’I’ve always believed in using my best resources where they matter most. What’s the point of hoarding good things now, only to timidly leave them for the enemy?’

Besides, based on Robson’s observations over the past few days and his knowledge of past history, this so-called Siriel Defense Line probably wouldn’t hold for long.

The most important thing now was to quickly increase the strength of his men. As long as he had enough elite troops, he wouldn’t have to worry about securing resources.

"Report! Report!"

Just as the two were talking, a messenger ran over.

"Reporting, my lord! There are smoke signals to the due north!" the messenger said.

"Smoke signals? So soon?" Robson frowned.

These so-called smoke signals were Robson’s other-world adaptation based on his experience from a past life.

In this world, long-range enemy reconnaissance mostly relied on Griffin Cavalry or other types of flying cavalry in the sky.

After all, anyone who reached the position of a regional Commander-in-Chief wouldn’t be lacking in such resources.

But Robson was precisely the one who lacked them. A single griffin cost several hundred Gold Coins, a price that would bankrupt him before he could form a reconnaissance squad of any decent size.

Left with no choice, Robson could only borrow from the methods of his past life.

Robson frowned. ’How could these Beastmen move so quickly? It hasn’t even been that many days since their last attack.’

"How many are there?" Robson asked.

"Based on the number of smoke signals, there should be around two thousand of them, and they’re elites," the messenger replied.

"Close the city gates! Notify Bo Yang and have the First Regiment go up first," Robson ordered.

After Valentino and the nobles from the rear who had sought out Robson for training handed over their armies, the number of troops under Robson’s command had swelled.

Robson had organized them into regiments of a thousand men each. To compensate for his lack of junior Officers, he had even broken up some of the advanced units. Of course, the original Heavy Infantry phalanx remained untouched.

The so-called First Regiment was actually Robson’s old unit. The Second and Third Regiments were the new troops he took over from Valentino, and the Fourth Regiment was the unit handed over after his trade with the nobles in the rear.

Although the other units had reached the level of second-tier troops, their equipment had not yet been fully distributed, so they had to be held back for now.

"As you command."

...

Meanwhile, dozens of miles away from Qimo Fortress, Daimon stared curiously at the black-smoke-belching pile in front of him.

"What’s this for?" Daimon asked, pinching a small piece with his fingers, quite curious.

After parting ways with Marin, Daimon had force-marched through the night, reaching Qimo Fortress in just two days.

One had to understand, Qimo Fortress was one of the humans’ rearmost defense points.

The price for such speed was severely insufficient logistics. Forget the constantly running Centaurs; even the Gnolls riding on their backs felt like their skeletons were about to fall apart.

Clearly, a long-distance forced march was extremely taxing on a soldier’s body. Even if these Centaurs were the elites of their clan, they couldn’t withstand the trial Daimon was putting them through.

At this rate, forget about sieging the city; they’d be lucky not to get counter-attacked and slaughtered by the enemy the moment they arrived.

Since Daimon dared to do this, he was naturally fully prepared.

Daimon had requested a large quantity of Potions from his elder brother, made by the clan’s shamans. Drinking them would grant the blessing of the Beast God.

Of course, devout believers couldn’t just get a freebie from the Beast God. Any minor problems that appeared in their bodies after receiving the blessing were simply a ’gift’ from the Beast God.

But Daimon didn’t care. As long as he could claim the primary credit for this battle, it would all be worth it.

"General, should we arrange for the troops to take the Potions now?" the Jackal Wolfman Chief, Elimon, asked with a pained look.

Elimon had been in a daze for the past two days. The Gnolls held an unremarkable position within the Beastman Empire, usually surviving by attaching themselves to one of the major clans.

His tribe relied on the Centaur Clan.

For a weak race like theirs, good things rarely came their way, while trouble lined up at their door.

The Centaurs’ physique naturally meant they had no talent for siege warfare.

When Daimon came to his tribe a few days ago, Elimon had actually thought some good fortune had come his way. But halfway to their destination, Daimon told him that he was to lead his people, drink the potions, and open the city gates.

Realizing only halfway there that he’d been tricked into a suicide mission, Elimon was helpless. From the very beginning, Daimon had chosen the Gnolls precisely because he was certain they wouldn’t dare refuse.

"Yes, you can start distributing them now. Drink them when you get to the location.

When the time comes, you don’t have to do anything but open the city gates. The warriors of our Centaur Tribe will come to your aid.

Don’t worry, the enemy is very weak this time. Once it’s done, you will naturally get your share of the credit," Daimon said.

He chose this group of Gnolls mainly because he valued their small stature combined with their decent combat prowess.

Of course, the fact that they were easy to bully was also a factor...

According to Daimon’s plan, as long as nothing unexpected happened, they would be able to take Qimo Fortress smoothly and successfully complete the Prince’s mission.

If something unexpected did happen, he could use these Gnolls to test the waters, buying himself time to react.

’They’re just a small tribe anyway. If they die, they die.’

The Beastman Empire was a world where the strong were revered, and weakness was the original sin.