Chapter 129: The Eight-Year War—The Beginning

"Raise your glasses and celebrate our gathering here," Bamond said, lifting his goblet toward the company.

The six people seated below him raised their glasses in turn. Seeing Bamond take the first sip, they followed suit and drained theirs.

Bamond set his glass down, looked at the familiar face to his left, and said with a smile, "Alcott, I never expected it would be so many years before we met again."

"Lord Bamond, it has been nearly thirty years since we parted at Windsor Castle. How time flies," Alcott remarked with a sigh.

"It certainly feels like a long time ago," Bamond replied, shaking his head. "The last time we met was when my elder brother inherited the title of Earl of Eagle. It is hard to believe so many years have passed in the blink of an eye."

He turned his gaze to the others. "Kadech, Flora, you two siblings have done well for yourselves. You have achieved much."

Kadech, seated in the first position to the right, smiled and replied, "Lord Bamond, thank you for the guidance you provided us back then."

"Thank my brother for that. If he hadn't specifically summoned me back from the military, I wouldn't have been able to provide you with that special training. It’s just that time has passed too quickly; in a flash, those two little ones have grown up." Bamond chuckled. "I hear you are betrothed to Medmonch's daughter. Remember to invite me for a drink when you marry."

"I certainly will, I certainly will," Kadech replied, looking a bit flustered.

Bamond then turned his attention to Flora, his tone softening. "Flora, I hear you are still unmarried."

"Yes, Lord Bamond," Flora said, meeting his gaze with composure. "I intend to wait until I have broken through to the Gold rank before considering such life matters. I have no interest in it for now."

"Still the same stubborn girl you were back then." Bamond recalled a scene from over twenty years ago and shook his head with a smile. "Follow your heart. After you break through to the Gold rank, if you cannot find a suitable man, come to me. I will introduce a few to you."

Flora blushed and nodded. This was the first time Vaelin had ever seen his aunt blush; it was truly unexpected.

"Brian, what is this? Seeing me and you don't even have the initiative to stand up and greet me?" Bamond fixed his eyes on Brian, who was sitting opposite Vaelin, and glared at him.

"Well... Uncle Bamond, long time no see." Brian stood up sluggishly. Looking at Bamond, he recalled memories of being beaten in the past and couldn't help but shiver.

"You were reckless from a young age, without a shred of business sense. Still, it was your luck to encounter the right subordinates."

"Uncle Bamond, you're wrong there. That was the old me; now I have been reborn—er, you are right, I must improve." Seeing the familiar smile across from him, Brian quickly changed his tune.

"Make sure you learn properly from your Magic Knight and don't slack off."

"Yes, Uncle Bamond," Brian nodded subserviently, hoping to avoid a beating later.

Finally, Bamond turned his gaze to Edgar and said in a relaxed tone, "Edgar, although this is our first meeting, we are kin, with blood thicker than water. If you encounter any trouble you cannot resolve, feel free to come to me at any time."

"Thank you, Lord Bamond," Edgar rose, bowed, and expressed his respectful gratitude.

"Come, let's have another drink. I am very happy to see you all today."

The banquet lasted for over two hours. The once-stranger relatives grew much more familiar with one another. Watching his third uncle laughing and chatting with his cousins, Vaelin felt the banquet had been well worth holding.

Vaelin was also impressed by his third uncle. Despite his busy schedule, Bamond had taken the time to learn about the other clansmen, effortlessly finding common ground and skillfully handling the deepening of their bonds. Vaelin was greatly struck by this and felt he had learned a valuable lesson.

...

Ten days later, the Salop Legion mobilized. Large combat units left the Brazilia camp in waves, heading toward the Ash-Grey Wastelands.

In less than ten days, the base, which covered forty square kilometers, was more than half empty, leaving behind fewer than one hundred thousand logistics personnel and auxiliary troops.

After several days of meetings, Vaelin was appointed commander of the 13th Transport Battalion. Together with the 14th Transport Battalion, they were tasked with delivering rations for the 6th Legion. In addition to his own eight hundred men, twelve hundred regular soldiers and two thousand auxiliary troops were assigned under his command, along with fifty Cocalos beasts.

According to the requirements set by the Salop Legion, regular soldiers had to be at least mid-level apprentices, while auxiliary troops consisted of low-level apprentices and ordinary human soldiers.

The composition of these thirty-two hundred men was complex; they were part of the military service quotas imposed by the Kingdom on baronial territories in the Cadro and Salop provinces that had failed to meet their defense requirements.

In other words, back in their hometowns, these people were the core military force of the local nobility, serving as essential tools for maintaining order and upholding aristocratic rule. But here, they were merely logistics personnel—cannon fodder to be deployed wherever manpower was needed.

"Kyle, go count the noble scions among them and give me an accurate figure."

"Yes, my lord." Receiving the order, Kyle led a squad of soldiers to screen the ranks for the noble-born.

A moment later, Vaelin looked at the sixty-plus noble scions standing in the front row, speechless.

Those wearing iron armor and carrying iron weapons looked somewhat decent, barely managing to maintain the appearance of nobility. Others were wearing breastplates, their weapons were lackluster, and they looked disheveled.

Vaelin paced back and forth, pointing randomly at one of them. "What is your name, which family are you from, and what is your profession?"

The noble scion, pointed at by the scabbard, stood up in panic, his voice trembling. "In reply to my lord, my name is Cook Dosland. I am from the Baron Dosland family, the sixth son of the current Baron, and my profession is a low-level Bronze warrior."

"How many men did you bring?" Vaelin asked, frowning at the young man in iron armor.

Seeing Vaelin's displeasure, Cook answered nervously, "According to the Governor's requirements, I have brought five Bronze-ranked professionals, fifty regular soldiers, and three hundred and fifty auxiliary troops."

"Who are the other four? Step forward."

As soon as Vaelin finished speaking, four other noble scions stepped out. Two were wearing iron armor, and two were in leather.

"You all belong to the Baron Dosland family, and those fifty regular soldiers are all members of your cadet branches?"

"Yes, my lord," a mature and steady-looking middle-aged man replied respectfully.

Vaelin waved his hand, signaling them to return to the ranks.

Perhaps this was the true face of the lowest-ranking baronial families in this world: sending their kin to the battlefield to fulfill quotas while hoping to make connections with powerful nobles. And in their eyes, he was exactly that—a powerful figure.

Though, come to think of it, he certainly was.