Lord: I Grind EXP with Warband Panel

Chapter 302: Chapter 63: The Advancing Count Sriphine

Bathed in the light of the rising sun, Count Sriphine stared at the bloody scene before him.

Since Robson was after a swift and decisive battle, he had clearly given no thought to cleaning up. The battlefield was a complete mess.

Count Sriphine couldn’t imagine what kind of bloody slaughter had taken place here.

"Sir."

"Have you found the bodies of any human Soldiers?" Count Sriphine asked, looking at the adjutant who had come to report.

The moment Count Sriphine arrived in Ancient Dumu Town, he had rushed to the scene to search for the bodies of human Soldiers.

The military merit and southern factions had always maintained a good relationship on the surface. Moreover, the news of Robson winning victory after victory in a single night, turning the tide of the eastern campaign, was already spreading like wildfire across the Eastern Front. The Frank Kingdom had always held such warriors in high esteem.

For instance, while everyone was currently targeting Marshal Grantham at every turn, Grantham was already a legendary hero whose deeds were recorded in storybooks.

The adjutant shook his head.

Hearing this, Count Sriphine took another deep breath.

He’d heard that Robson had done well on the Western Front, but he never expected him to be this powerful!

Robson must have been in a hurry during his rapid advance and wouldn’t have had time to clear the bodies. The lack of corpses here could only mean one thing: the human Soldiers had suffered few, if any, casualties!

Looking at the ground littered with goblin corpses, he noted that nearly all of them had been killed right in front of Ancient Dumu Town.

’What does this mean? It means the rumors aren’t true. Robson didn’t use some divine strategy to attack the goblins while they slept and wipe them all out.’

’This wasn’t some scheme or trick. This was a victory won through sheer, brute force!’

’And that’s even more terrifying! Routing the Goblin Corps isn’t hard. The hard part is routing them in under two hours while achieving a minimal death rate!’

Amateurs watch the show, but experts see the method. As a core member of the military merit faction, Count Sriphine naturally understood the implications.

’Just how strong must this army be...?’

Count Sriphine sighed with emotion as he looked at the field of dead goblins.

"Sir, we’ve arrived at Ancient Dumu Town. What are your orders?" the adjutant asked Count Sriphine.

"My orders?"

At that, Count Sriphine was momentarily at a loss.

Ever since receiving the letter from Valentino, Count Sriphine had rushed to the battlefield without pause, fearing that a single misstep would cause the entire situation to collapse.

In truth, aside from Earl Uman, the person who most feared a collapse on the Eastern Front was Sriphine himself.

Earl Uman was mainly afraid of being made the scapegoat. Count Sriphine, on the other hand, had no reinforcements. Squeezed by the Kingdom’s various factions, his best chance was to successfully establish a foothold beyond the border on his first attempt.

The reinforcements from the great noble houses wouldn’t necessarily help a member of the old military merit faction like Count Sriphine, and Marshal Grantham was tied up on the central front.

But the tide of this war had turned too quickly. One moment it was a desperate emergency, the next, victory was at hand.

A losing battle is actually the easiest to assess: defeat the enemy, or everyone dies.

But a situation on the verge of victory required considering many political and economic factors.

"First, have the men make camp here. We’ve been on a forced march, and the Soldiers are exhausted.

And tell them to keep their hands to themselves. Everything here is someone else’s spoils of war. No one touches anything," Count Sriphine ordered.

.....

"Sir, Viscount Max has arrived. He wishes to see you."

Just as Count Sriphine was supervising the setting up of the camp, one of his personal guards came to report.

"Max? He’s here already?" Count Sriphine asked, puzzled.

Viscount Max was an important figure in the military merit faction, and its second-in-command on the Eastern Front.

Unlike someone like Count Sriphine, who came from an established line of Viscounts, Viscount Max was the illegitimate son of an Earl Clan. For an illegitimate son, the best outcome was to receive a title; the worst was to be driven from the family, or even murdered in the streets.

Viscount Max had been driven out of his family by his older brother. After a series of twists and turns, he eventually found his way into Marshal Grantham’s service and became a key figure in the military merit faction.

The military merit faction was composed almost entirely of such people: illegitimate sons and minor nobles.

"Quick, take me to him."

Led by the personal guard, Count Sriphine hurried to the entrance of Ancient Dumu Town.

A middle-aged, blond-haired man stood there, holding the reins of a white horse. For an illegitimate son, Viscount Max cut a dashing figure, though he was a bit too lean, not quite fitting the traditional aesthetic of the Frank Kingdom.

This, however, didn’t diminish the respect the members of the military merit faction had for Viscount Max.

Talent is valued everywhere, and Viscount Max was considered a rare strategist among the rough-hewn soldiers of the military merit faction.

"Max, my friend! How did you get here so fast? Where’s your army?" Count Sriphine called out as he approached Viscount Max.

He was puzzled to see that Viscount Max was alone.

"Count, why are you still here?!"

Count Sriphine had approached him warmly, but instead of a greeting, he was met with a look of utter exasperation from Max.

Still, the two were on good terms, so Count Sriphine wasn’t angered by the admonishment.

"Huh? What’s wrong? The men have been marching day and night. I was just thinking of letting them rest," Count Sriphine said, scratching his head in confusion.

"Argh!"

Viscount Max was practically frantic.

"I knew it! I should have come with you. Get the troops ready. We have to move out now," Viscount Max said.

"What? Why? Max, the army just finished a forced march. Moving out again now would be terrible for morale."

"Count, let me ask you, do you have any idea how far the war has progressed?" Viscount Max demanded.

"Of course I do. The situation is excellent. That’s why I’m not in a rush," said Count Sriphine.

Viscount Max stared at Count Sriphine in shock. ’It figures,’ he thought. ’There are some things you just can’t comprehend if you haven’t experienced them firsthand.’

Count Sriphine was a noble who had started as a mere Young Viscount; he’d never truly moved in the highest circles of power—Marshal Grantham’s camp didn’t count.

After all, things within the military merit faction were relatively straightforward. There wasn’t as much infighting; you only had to think about killing the enemy.

"The situation is excellent, you say? Yes, it’s excellent, but what does that have to do with you?" Viscount Max demanded.

"What do you mean ’what does it have to do with me’? Of course it... Hss..." Count Sriphine trailed off, the realization finally dawning on him.

"Uman caused this disaster, and now Robson and his men are getting all the credit for fixing it on the battlefield. Your name is nowhere to be found!" said Viscount Max.

"But what credit could we possibly earn by going to the battlefield now?" Count Sriphine asked.

"Of course it’s useful! You have to be on the battlefield for us to be able to maneuver things.

Uman caused a monumental disaster. Normally, he’d be buried in condemnation. Have you heard any?" Although Viscount Max was only an illegitimate son, he had spent time in the kingdom’s highest circles and naturally understood the basic rules of the game.

Viscount Max clearly understood the role the military merit faction was meant to play beyond the border.

After this battle, the northern faction would be finished, and the southern faction would grow in power.

For the military merit faction, once that political balance was broken, things would become much more difficult.

Hearing Viscount Max’s words, Count Sriphine suddenly understood.

’He’s right. Why isn’t anyone cursing Uman? This is bad... there must be a backroom deal!’

"So, we should press on now?" Count Sriphine asked, looking at Viscount Max.

"What else did you have in mind?"