As the morning sun rose, the winter gradually passed, and the earth began to show some greenery.

A large number of farmers were conscripted, working tirelessly in the fields.

Derrick rode his horse, patrolling the area.

The progress was slightly faster than expected.

The Augusta Territory, while not exceptionally wealthy, was still a relatively prosperous place in the Saint Miler Province, with ample water sources and fertile land.

Derrick inspected the area back and forth, ensuring everything was proceeding according to plan.

He then returned to Augusta City, where the rough framework of the city was already taking shape, and the blacksmith's forge was burning day and night.

"Send all surplus weapons, including heavy armor, to the armory," Derrick instructed, which also included the old earl's order.

In reality, the weapons and armor were stored in the military barracks, as the city still had no real functions.

The vast city now only housed a few civilians and low-ranking blacksmiths and craftsmen.

Derrick stood on the partially constructed inner wall, his gaze growing cold.

Would it be worth it to sacrifice for victory?

He already had an answer.

Sorry, I can't be a saint.

In the end, he returned to the military camp.

Within his territory, a private army of 12,000 men was in training, spread across several camps.

The daily consumption was enough to leave any noble dumbfounded.

Even the Perez family could not afford such expenses.

For Derrick, it was no different. Maintaining such a large army would bankrupt him in a year.

If not for the recent looting in Saint Miler Province, he would have already gone bankrupt.

Annual expenses alone exceeded 15,000 gold coins, not to mention basic equipment, which added another 20,000 gold coins. Without producing and selling the supplies himself, he would have already been on the brink of ruin.

Maintaining such a large army for an extended period was an enormous burden.

But for Derrick, if he could just hold on, perhaps the burden would lessen. At least if most of them died, the pressure wouldn't be so great.

If he couldn't hold on... well, there was nothing more to say.

Even with these struggles, Derrick's actions were considered mad in this world.

If you included the overstaffed Saint Miler army, his forces made up 30% of the entire military in the Saint Miler Province.

"Not enough, still not enough. Increase the training intensity, increase conscription. I need more soldiers, more elites."

Derrick's orders even put pressure on the knights.

However, his personal prestige was enough to silence any opposition, at least until he failed.

In fact, aside from Derrick, the entire Saint Miler Province was also fervently training, recruiting, and fortifying its defenses.

The two countries hadn't fought a major war in years, meaning the Kingdom of the Holy Cross had the capacity to launch a large-scale campaign.

The pressure would soon fall on their side.

As for domestic support, due to various reasons, it would be delayed, and this had already become a consensus.

Moreover, the barbarians couldn't help but be on guard, which meant a large portion of their forces would be diverted.

The northern nobility’s influence was stronger than anyone realized.

The entire northern provinces were considered part of the northern nobility's territory.

This was not only reflected in military power.

When Count Perez called for secret action from several major noble families, Derrick once again saw the extent of their power.

A large amount of grain was quickly transported to Saint Miler Province through the northern nobility's channels.

As local power players, it was easy for them to hide their movements from outsiders.

A lot of grain had been smuggled from mountain bandit Lloyd’s territory, and similarly, it had been moved from other marauder gangs.

Even if some rumors leaked, it would not fully expose the operation.

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This made Derrick realize just how strong the local power of these territorial lords truly was.

Everything was proceeding in an orderly fashion, waiting for the spring rains to arrive and raise the river’s water levels slightly.

News from the Kingdom of the Holy Cross began to trickle in.

The younger brother of the king, Duke Sebastian Bruno Fernandez, was personally appointed as the commander of the western campaign.

The Holy Cross Church’s Cardinal Archbishop was personally assigned as a military chaplain.

The Sword of God, Baron Connor Rader, served as the deputy commander, and they had gathered an army of 200,000 to march westward.

The years of recovery had allowed the Kingdom of the Holy Cross to reach its peak in power, and they were seizing this opportunity to explode with force.

In hindsight, if it weren’t for the barbarians' sudden attacks, both nations might have launched a northern campaign to reclaim lost territories, which would have truly put them in a two-front war.

Now, the conflict had shifted.

The Saint Miler Province had once again broken the thirty-year peace between the two countries.

This news caused a stir in the Saint Miler Province.

A large number of residual forces began to stir up trouble.

The scale of this war was unprecedented, the last time anything similar happened was during the fragmentation of the Holy Union Kingdom.

Not to mention the stirrings within the Saint Miler Province, even within the Holy Cross Kingdom’s western campaign, internal conflicts had already begun.

Out of the 200,000 soldiers, 150,000 were farmers recruited from various regions.

The Holy Cross Church played a huge role in stirring up these peasants.

Of course, they were also used to relieve the pressure of population growth.

To the nobility, unruly peasants were nothing but useless scum.

What they needed were strong slaves, skilled craftsmen, and military talents.

Yes, it sounds absurd, but they would rather buy expensive skilled slaves than promote talent from the peasant ranks.

But that was the reality—bloodline supremacy was particularly strong in the Kingdom of the Holy Cross.

This mindset led to various shocking social phenomena.

Ignorance was only relative. Perhaps in the eyes of the Holy Cross nobility, their own beliefs were correct—bloodline theory was the truth, and God was everything.

Thus, the noble Duke Fernandez, born of divine blood, was placed in command.

But did he have enough prestige to command the army?

Yes, at least until his failure, this title would be enough.

If there were no challengers, Fernandez's campaign would face no internal resistance.

But Baron Connor Rader, the Sword of God, also held noble blood, and his devout faith had earned him the support of the Church. His years of military service had earned him significant prestige.

A single failure wouldn't defeat him. During a meeting between the two, they argued fiercely.

"Birch Fortress is a tough nut to crack. We need to change direction."

"Have you been scared by the Loke people, Baron? I am the commander!"

"I don't agree."

"I think you've taken money from the northern knights."

The two parted on bad terms, and the Cardinal Archbishop remained silent, merely watching.

When Duke Fernandez returned to his tent, his furious expression instantly calmed.

Yes, his anger had been an act.

Though the argument had been intense, he had revealed none of his trump cards.

His contact with Lord Lovett was one of his secrets.

Even without this intelligence, he could crush the enemy with sheer numbers.

"As long as I don’t make a mistake, victory is mine."

For the first time as the commander of an army, the young Duke had a clear understanding of his situation.

Baron Connor had the Church's support, but did not he, born of divine blood, also have the Church’s backing?

These 150,000 peasants were the result of a deal between the Church and the Royal Family.

No one—no one at all—was prepared to let these 150,000 peasants go.

The truth was, 150,000 lives would be sacrificed, staining the land with blood, as Duke Fernandez expanded his dominion.