Ultimate Gamer System: Factory Must Grow!-Chapter 111: Silence at the crossroads

"You are finally here…"

Dorio sat down on a big boulder overlooking the very first crossroads one would encounter when moving away from the forbidden zone.

The path north led directly to the Evilbane domain, spreading across a vast, although sparsely populated, northern ground of the kingdom. A path that was currently empty.

On the other hand, the path that diverged from the main one and led east would direct one towards the heart of the kingdom and all the other territories found there. And right now, it was about to get extremely busy with the front sweepers of the prime minister's private army finally arriving to announce the coming of the main force.

"Took you long enough," Dorio added as he jumped down from his boulder and approached the sweepers directly.

At first, the men serving as the front guards of the army stared him down with openly hostile intent, their hands hovering over the handles of their weapons, with some already flashing their blades as he approached. Yet, once Dorio got close enough for them to recognize the markings on his shoulder pad…

"We greet the swordmaster!" The chief of the sweepers dropped down to one knee, his decisive action leading the rest of his unit to quickly follow suit.

They didn't need to understand why their leader bowed down. All they needed to see was him doing so to understand that the man they encountered wasn't here for them to fight with but rather for them to listen to.

"How may we be of service, your lordship?" the chief asked, more than fully aware of just who Dorio, the capital city's acclaimed swordmaster, served. And being the mercenary directly under the employ of the very same noble, he simply recognized the man to have enough authority to his name for his orders to supersede any order he received from his direct superiors.

"This is where the army is going to halt. Move any further, and their scouts," Dorio looked over his shoulder, back at the path that the sweepers were originally intending to take, "will take notice."

Contrary to his men, whose only job and life calling was to swing their weapons fast enough to kill their enemies while moving with enough agility to preserve their own lives, the sweeper's chief, currently renamed to be the leader of the army's front guard, had enough gray matter underneath the dome of his skull to connect the dots.

Or, in simpler terms, he had to be proficient with the tactics of the battlefield, even if the strategies of the greater campaign were to elude him.

That's why, with Dorio's simple warning supplemented by a quick look in the direction the swordmaster pointed at…

"Kasper, Jeal!" the chief called out, immediately turning his back to the swordmaster as he focused on his own men.

"Yes, sir!" Standing at attention, two soldiers came out from the crowd of his unit before reporting in as they fell down on one knee, striking the ground with their fists as they lowered their heads. "We stand for your orders!"

"Rush back to the army command and tell them one thing," the chief squinted his eyes as he turned his sights away from his men and stole yet another glance at the path south and the woods that hid the further stretches of it. "Tell them that on this small excursion of ours, it appears we've met our match."

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"Sir! We've spotted a group appearing to be sweepers, right at where the enemy swordmaster decided to make his stand!"

Several miles down south, where his men had long since completed the construction of the last piece of a whole system of field defenses, Osman sat down in his simple, almost rustic room.

Even though his rank, ability, and worth allowed him all the luxuries one could afford on what would soon turn into a battlefield, he never really bothered to indulge himself in those.

'Indulge too much, and you will be unfit to take part in the fighting. Indulge just right, and all of your men will hold you in contempt.'

As someone who stared at the very other end of the barricade as he was right now, he knew perfectly well just what the sight of the officers living lavishly did to the soldiers' morale when they themselves had to toil away in the literal dirt with nothing more than basic rations to feed on.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Armed with this knowledge, he knew better than to let himself enjoy any amount of indulgence. And while having a private office out in the forwardmost fort of their field defenses was already much more than a common soldier could ask for, just a single look at the inside of this place was enough for those simple soldiers to understand that rather than a luxury, this room was no different from a torture chamber.

Stacks of papers, written reports, and potential tactics rose up from the very floor and almost all the way up to the ceiling, occupying more than half of the free floor space of this simple, wooden office.

Obviously, for a place constructed out of wood and filled to the brim with paper, parchments, and paint skins, there was no fireplace to keep its occupant warm.

In other words, while the soldiers had all sorts of small and clever tricks to ward off the cold of the late nights, their very commander, the lone swordmaster of Callane's forces… couldn't even do as much, forced to stick in this cramped, cold room, constantly receiving more and more reports while trying to make the best sense of them all.

Even now, when the dirt-laden scout came in to report what he observed while literally spending the last night and better half of the day half-buried in the cold, wet ground, he couldn't help but swallow hard at the sight of the ordeal Osman willingly imposed upon himself.

"And that swordmaster, did he appear to be waiting for them?" Osman asked, either oblivious to or simply ignoring the look of concern this simple yet loyal soldier sneakily gave him while standing at attention. "And stand at ease, you've worked hard enough, so there's no need for the ceremony now."

With an open sigh of relief, the soldier relaxed, letting his arms fall along his sides before pulling them to the back and locking them behind his back.

"Yes, he did," the soldier replied. "From what I saw, while hostile at first, the sweepers all knelt down when approached."

Osman furrowed his brows a little.

"Good. As for the army, any sign of it yet?" he asked, slightly raising his eyes from several parchments laid on his simple desk that he kept studying even while listening to the man's report.

"No sign," the soldier shook his head. "At least, not a direct one. But I could see a cloud of dust rising in the distance. If my calculations are correct, they are a day of march away at most, sir."

For a moment, Osman turned silent and closed his eyes, trying his best to turn what he heard from the soldier into a picture in his imagination.

"And just to be sure, they came from…?"

"The east, sir," the soldier confirmed the obvious.

After all, what would be the purpose of an Evilbane private army arriving here when they did nothing when their son was sentenced to execution?

"Good. That will be all. Go and get some rest now. You've earned it, soldier."

"Yes, sir!"

Saluting on his way out, the scout then turned away, rushing towards the door. Yet, rather than leaving right away, he stopped right at the doors, his hand reaching out for its knob, never actually finding it.

"Sir, if I may…" he muttered, turning around to face the swordmaster once again, his face filled with concern and hesitation. "You are the leader of this entire army. If people like me are tired, it won't affect the war effort. But if you keep working in… a place like this?"

The soldier shook his head before biting down on his lower lip, fully expecting either a harsh punishment for speaking out of turn or an outright demotion for addressing the swordmaster with what amounted to a personal inquiry.

"Thank you for your concern, but as a swordmaster, I no longer need to concern myself with small inconveniences like," Osman threw a quick glance around his office, "this place."

The swordmaster then shook his head before putting a small smile on his face.

"Now, seriously, go get some rest. I will have no use for you if you fall asleep on your next assignment."

With that, the scout finally left, leaving Osman alone with his thoughts and all the inconveniences that, contrary to what he just said, bothered him perfectly well.

Being a swordmaster only meant he was one of the most powerful close-combat fighters in the whole kingdom, but it didn't render him immune to the cold, wear, or exhaustion.

That immunity was something he gained by living this kind of lifestyle for the better part of his life instead.

"If they are stupid, it's all going to start in a day or two. If they are not, then in three to four days, after they get their men to rest," Osman whispered to himself, finally turning his eyes away from the dozen small-scale maps displaying not only the position of their now finished field defenses but also the lands placed further north.

By all means, Callane's army was now at the ready to receive the charge of their enemies. Whether the kingdom itself was ready to suffer through this conflict and its consequences, however, was not Osman's concern.

Still, there indeed was one concern that kept ringing in Osman's head, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

'It was all your plan, my lady,' he thought, placing his palms against his face as he breathed out a long, exhausted sigh.

'So where the hell are you? By all means, weren't you supposed to be back with that magical lover of yours by now?'