"Send word to Lulong Fortress! Tell them under no circumstances should they open the gates for the refugees!
They can lower supplies from the walls if necessary, but do not, I repeat, do not open those gates!" Rynar's eyes widened in alarm as he suddenly realized the implications of refugees arriving from the south.
The system always refreshed displaced people at the borders, and if Lulong Fortress opened its gates to take them in…
Rynar had no doubt that these desperate refugees would turn into a frenzied mob, fighting the garrison for food. The five hundred fortress guards wouldn't be able to hold back such a tide. And if the fortress were taken over—well, that would be a disaster of epic proportions!
"Damn it, System, you're screwing me over again!" Rynar was devastated. If he lost the fortress, reclaiming it wouldn't be impossible, but it would come at an immense cost. He would be forced to bleed his forces dry and then spend years recovering.
Just the eight Meteor Dragon Towers alone could wipe out over a thousand of his troops. If those towers had better aim, they could even take down Caslow without much trouble.
"This…" Caslow immediately grasped the severity of the situation. A chill ran down his spine as he quickly summoned his mount. "I'll go warn them!"
Leaving behind only those words, he took off, vanishing from Riverguard in an instant.
Caslow was, after all, an experienced Dragon Knight. And no sane Dragon Knight would ever willingly go up against a war fortress equipped with eight Meteor Dragon Towers alone.
That was a sure way to turn himself from a revered warrior into some unknown historical footnote, worshipped only for his legendary foolishness.
(Some unknown historical figure: "I was only gone for three days, why is everyone celebrating my demise?")
"Should we send a warning to the Tupet Forest as well?"
Reynard grimaced, his nerves on edge. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how riddled with vulnerabilities their land was.
"No need. The centaurs are far smarter than we give them credit for. They won't approach starving refugees without caution. At most, they'll send someone to inform us."
Rynar had great faith in Bardel, the centaur chieftain. Survival in the harsh northern environment required intelligence, and the centaurs were experts in reading situations.
Rynar was certain they wouldn't welcome the incoming refugee horde with open arms.
"By the way, send word to the knights patrolling the outer perimeter! There might be trained soldiers among the refugees.
We cannot rule out the possibility of high-ranking warriors hiding in their ranks." Rynar exhaled sharply.
He recalled hearing about a noble who once encountered an entire hundred-man cavalry unit disguised among refugees—his barony had crumbled overnight.
"Oh, thank the heavens! Your Highness always has such wonderful news…" Marcus, the city defense officer, looked like his head was about to explode. His stress levels had already been sky-high, and now this?
"If we have no other choice… we'll have to take drastic measures." Omsk clenched and unclenched his fists.
As a sixth-tier warrior, he had seen his fair share of bloodshed. If necessary, he wouldn't hesitate to use force, even against their own people. To him, protecting the kingdom and its honor was paramount.
"No! No! No! That's a crime! They are citizens of the Empire, our own people! They need aid, not slaughter! You butcher!" Radir shouted angrily, his voice filled with righteous fury.
"Don't glare at me like that! I fight for the Kingdom and the King! Anyone who threatens this land is my enemy!" Omsk, gripping his sword tightly, unleashed his sixth-tier warrior's aura, pressing it heavily against Radir.
"Tsk!" With a soft click of his tongue, the pressure suddenly vanished. Standing before them, clad in mage robes, was Dylan.
"Knowledge tells me that our enemies are never our own people but the shadows and darkness lurking in the abyss. Lord Omsk, you've overstepped! Alchemists may not specialize in combat, but I assure you, I can still teach you a lesson you'll never forget."
Dylan slammed his staff onto the ground, and a dazzling array of six-pointed star magic circles spiraled into existence around him.
"Enough! I asked you all to discuss solutions, not to flaunt your power and pick fights!" Rynar groaned, rubbing his temples. The eternal rivalry between warriors and spellcasters was giving him a headache.
"Your Highness, I stand by my opinion… but I cannot allow these refugees to overrun our land," Omsk said, taking his seat in silence.
"As a noble, I believe we should focus not on avoiding the refugee crisis but on how to accommodate and assist them. After all, they are still citizens of our Empire, merely displaced," Dylan sighed.
As a sixth-tier practitioner, he held the same status as high-ranking nobility. While he lacked a title or fief, his influence was on par with a landed viscount.
"Your Highness… Our population is indeed sparse, and reinforcements would be welcome, but we must acknowledge that we lack the resources to handle a large influx of people.
I cannot risk the Empire's last hope on such a gamble," Omsk sighed, looking at Rynar with concern.
Dylan fell silent at these words. The current population of Riverguard was indeed small.
The number of incoming refugees was unknown, and if they were too many, it would be the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Damn it! If only we had another year!" Dylan slammed his fist onto the table, his voice filled with frustration.
The real issue was Riverguard's limited supplies. If the refugees had arrived after the autumn harvest, things would be different. With a stocked granary, the city could have handled even tens of thousands of new arrivals.
Rynar slumped into his chair, scowling. The northern human population had always been sparse, constantly under threat from orc invasions.
Aside from River Running and Karlrock Crossing, there had been no major human settlements. Farmland was scarce.
Only after Rynar and Aranthor led humans north—along with the dwarves reclaiming their homeland—had the region begun to recover its former prosperity.
"If worst comes to worst, we'll have to seek aid from the elves. The dwarves' supplies won't last much longer… Only the elves still have reserves," Rynar murmured, rubbing his chin in thought.
"We should also mobilize civilians for large-scale fishing operations! Thank the heavens for the bounty of the River Running!" Marcus added.
"Fish can only sustain us for so long. It's not a staple. Grain is still the key issue," Omsk shook his head. A diet of nothing but fish would lead to serious health problems.
"We can mix in wheat husks and bran to bake coarse black bread. It's unpalatable, but with fish soup, it should keep people from starving," Radir suggested.
"Let's assess the situation first. Your Highness, are you certain about this information?" Dylan looked at Rynar skeptically. How exactly did he know a refugee crisis was coming?
("What am I supposed to say? That I have a system? This is just the system messing with me again!") Rynar grumbled internally.
"What's the big deal? Refugees arrive all the time. Do we really need to make such a fuss?" A Battanian archer, patrolling the outermost perimeter of Riverguard, muttered to himself.
He couldn't understand why their prince was acting like a madman, deploying every mobile unit. Even the knightly orders had been sent out!
"Oh, Dragon God above! What the hell is that?!" Suddenly, he spotted a massive black tide rolling in from the northeast.
"A flash flood? But this is the plains—where would a flood come from?!" The archer slapped himself to stay focused, then activated his skill—Eagle Sight!
His vision sharpened instantly, and as he peered into the distance, he saw the "flood" for what it truly was.
"Dragon God! Those are Rapid Infantry! Their armor is so worn down it's turned black! What have they been through?!"
A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Realizing the sheer scale of the approaching refugees, he fired a magical signal flare. A blazing red dragon-head symbol exploded in the sky.
"Gods above! They're speeding up! King Rynar… it's not that I lack courage or loyalty… but there are just too many of them! I have to fall back!"
The Battanian archer turned his horse and fled toward Riverguard, fearing he'd be torn apart if he stayed.
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