Transmigrated with a Demon-Refining Pot: Hehehe, Refine in an instant

As evening fell, Ron's party finally caught sight of the outline of Ironrock Keep.

The castle was more magnificent than I had imagined, with towering walls, numerous watchtowers, and torches blazing atop the walls as soldiers patrolled back and forth. At the city gate, a procession of lords had formed, their banners a jumble of colors, horses neighing, and voices clamoring.

Ron reined in his horse and looked it over for a while.

Everywhere I looked, there were unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar flags.

Some teams were large and powerful, with hundreds of people surrounding them; others had only forty or fifty people, which seemed meager in comparison.

He suddenly realized that there were so many lords in this wasteland.

Laun rode up on horseback:

"Sir, shall we join the queue?"

Ron nodded, and the group slowly moved forward.

When it was their turn, Laun handed over the conscription order. The garrison officer glanced at it, then surveyed the ranks behind him, flipped through the register, and looked up, saying:

"Baron Ron of the River Reach? You have been assigned to the Independent Regiment, and your camp is at C section number seven on the east side of the castle."

Walk to the end of this road, then turn left.

Ron paused for a moment:

"Independent Corps?"

The officer explained, "The newly arrived settlers are all grouped together for easier deployment."

"You lords all lead roughly the same number of men, around fifty each. It's easier to command you when you're all grouped together."

Ron nodded and led his team into the city.

The camp was set up on the east side of the castle, with rows of tents arranged according to their numbers. Ron found camp number seven in section C; it wasn't a large space, just enough to pitch a few dozen tents.

Ron went to arrange the campsite, while Hart went to gather information. Ron stood at the edge of the camp, looking at the surrounding camps.

The flag for section C, number six on the left has been erected. It has a stone wall drawn on it and looks sturdy.

Several soldiers were standing outside the tent, busy starting a fire and cooking.

No one has come to stall number 8 in section C on the right yet; it's empty.

Across from them, in section C, number five was neatly arranged, with a cucumber embroidered on the flag, and a young man standing next to it, looking this way.

The man met Ron's gaze, paused for a moment, then nodded as a greeting.

Ron nodded in response.

Hart returned quickly:

"My lord, I've found out. The Independent Legion consists of over twenty new lords, all from this year."

"The corps commander was appointed by Marquis Mammon. His name is Daniel Fig, and he is said to be a viscount in the frontier."

Ron raised an eyebrow: "Viscount?"

Hatt nodded: "Yes. I heard they're quite strong and brought five hundred men."

"For the new territories we've expanded, we generally require fifty people, about the size of a company. But some have sent over a hundred."

Hart explained the military structure of the frontier to Ron.

Ten people form a squad, and five squads form a company, with a company consisting of 50 people.

Ten squadrons make up a battalion, which has 500 men.

Five brigades formed a regiment, which consisted of 2500 people.

Each battalion was equipped with a supply train and an accompanying merchant caravan. Each corps was equipped with a quartermaster department, where soldiers could exchange military supplies for goods.

The supplies at the quartermaster department are more complete than those at a regular auction. Basically, you can exchange for anything as long as you have enough military merits, including titles.

Early the next morning.

Ron was studying a map inside his tent when he heard footsteps outside.

"Is Baron Ron here? Hey, you next door, come say hello."

Ron lifted the tent flap and saw a young man in his twenties standing outside, smiling with a shrewd look in his eyes.

"Victor Sprout," the man said with an aristocratic air, "Number 9, Section C. We're neighbors."

Ron smiled and waved in response:

"Ron Broccoli. Would you like to come in and have a seat?"

Victor didn't stand on ceremony and followed him into the tent, looking around and clicking his tongue in amazement:

"You tidied up quite well. My side is still a mess, my subordinates are clumsy."

Once the two sat down, Victor started talking non-stop.

He said he came from a fallen noble family, and his family had finally accumulated enough military merits over several generations to buy him a pioneering quota. He was very nervous about being conscripted this time.

"Brother Ron, how's it going on your end? In our area, a lord from the same period as me had his manor raided by bandits and hanged."

"I heard that several of the new lords have already died this year, those damned bandits."

Ron chuckled awkwardly and said in a low voice, "Bandits are indeed hateful. My territory was attacked by bandits once, and an entire village was burned down."

"Sigh! Who can argue with that?" Victor sighed softly.

"I arrived a day earlier than you, Brother Ron. I saw the lords in the rear of the other people's pioneering lands, and they all had teams of two or three hundred people."

"Our new lord is no match for them. We'll probably have to stick together for warmth."

Ron smiled and said, "It's good to stick together, but it depends on who you stick with."

Victor blinked and lowered his voice: "You're right. I went around asking around yesterday, and our independent regiment has about twenty people, all sorts of people."

"Eric from Stonewall Ridge on the left, I heard he used to be a border guard company commander, he's really tough."

He paused, then gestured with his chin towards the outside:

"And that guy across from you, Buck Cucumber, I heard he's some marquis's illegitimate son, and he thinks he's all that. I went to pay him a visit yesterday, and he didn't even lift a finger."

The duchy has five marquises, each of whom is a powerful noble who dominates his region.

Ron nodded but didn't reply.

Victor, seeing that he had made a good impression, chatted for a few more minutes before getting up to take his leave.

Before leaving, he turned back and said, "Brother Ron, come over and sit down sometime. I have some wine I brought from my hometown, it's quite good."

Ron smiled and agreed.

Send Victor away.

Ron was about to go to the market when a burly man walked out of the camp on his left.

He was in his early thirties, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with the marks of time on his face. He saw Ron and walked over to him.

"Eric Stonewall, next door."

Ron cupped his hands in greeting: "Ron Broccoli, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Eric didn't mince words, asking directly, "When I arrived yesterday, I noticed you'd packed up quite quickly. Are your men all veterans?"

Ron nodded: "I've been following them for a while now."

Eric hummed in agreement and gestured towards the north with his chin:

"This conscription is very dangerous. I asked my friends in the army, and they said that several large orc tribes with wolf-head banners have come."

"Seven or eight lords have already been killed. The Frontier Legion can only rely on the castle for a meager defense at the front, and quite a few small groups of orcs have bypassed the castle and are harassing the rear."

Ron's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained impassive:

"Thanks for reminding me."

Eric replied cheerfully, "We're all new here, so let's look out for each other. Call me if you need anything."

After saying that, he turned and went back to camp, decisively and cleanly.

Ron stood there, watching his retreating figure, lost in thought.

Are they all really this enthusiastic?

Now I don't even feel comfortable using you guys as a scapegoat anymore.

in the afternoon.

Ron, along with Hart and a few of his men, went to the market at Ironrock Fortress.

Inside the castle is a street dedicated to military supplies. There are weapon shops, armor shops, grain stores, pharmacies, blacksmith shops... and several shops with magical symbols hanging on their walls.

Ron went to a magic supplies store, took out the alchemical necklace shield given to him by Liulichuan, bought two energy stones, and spent six hundred gold dragons.

They also bought a lot of magic potions to keep on hand.

At dusk, the bugle sounded.

All lords gathered in the castle council chamber.

Ron led Laun and followed the flow of people forward.

The council hall was large enough to hold several hundred people, and several hundred lords were already standing there, a dense, imposing mass. Their respective entourages could only wait outside the hall.

Ron glanced around and quickly located the Independent Legion's position. There were about twenty lords scattered around the windows on the east side of the hall.

Victor waved to him, and Ron walked over and stood next to him.

I briefly met with the corps commander, Daniel.

He saw several familiar faces, including the two lords who had gone to the capital with him to receive their titles, and Baron Raymond of the Maolin Territory was also there. They nodded to him.

Not far away, Buck stood in the crowd, arms crossed, looking like he didn't care about anyone.

Several people surrounded him, whispering among themselves. He would occasionally nod or chuckle, his expression nonchalant.

After a while, the side door opened, and Marquis Mammon walked in.

The council chamber fell silent instantly.

The marquis was in his forties, with a square face and a scar running from his left eyebrow to the corner of his mouth.

He stood in the main seat, dressed in black armor and wearing a wolf-skin cloak, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Marquis Mammon is a peak-level second-tier Grand Knight.

Under his gaze, hundreds of lords felt as if they had thorns in their backs.

"Everyone is here."

His voice was filled with fighting spirit, and everyone in the hall could hear it clearly.

"The orcs have marched south, and eight cities on the northern defense line have fallen. The Wolfhead tribe has nearly 20,000 troops, while the Blackhoof and Bullhorn tribes each have over 10,000."

A collective gasp filled the council chamber.

The Marquis continued, "The front lines need men. Defense zones have been assigned, and everyone is to follow orders."

He waved his hand, and a lieutenant stepped forward, unrolled a roll of parchment, and began to read the list.

......

"Eastern Mountain Passes: The entire Independent Regiment is responsible for the eastern section of the defense line..."

Ron felt reassured when he heard his assignment.

After the list was read aloud, the lieutenant withdrew. Marquis Mammon then said one last thing:

"During the conscription period, all wars between territories must cease. Anyone who engages in internal strife should not blame me for being ruthless."

After saying that, he turned and left.

A buzzing sound filled the council chamber.

Ron was about to leave when he suddenly felt a gaze upon him.

He turned his head and saw his good neighbor, Boris.

The two looked at each other for a moment, their lips twitched slightly, then they looked away and went their separate ways.

There were too many lords this time, so it's unlikely that the two of them will have any further interaction.

Moreover, two high-ranking knight squires were only of average caliber among these old pioneering lords.

Most noble families, such as baronies and viscounts, have knights who are squires. Only counts and marquises typically have formal knights who are loyal to them.

But when it comes to dukes and a few marquises, there will be grand knights.

To establish a nation, one must have a dragon.