Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Sassan camp, commander's tent.

Cassius sat in a chair, with the military map he had looked at countless times spread out in front of him.

Almost five days have passed since the supplies were burned.

Those five days were incredibly agonizing for him.

With an army of 25,000, the daily consumption of food and fodder for the men and horses was astronomical.

The soldiers had to be extremely frugal with the little dry rations they carried, and they could only survive by hunting and digging for wild vegetables in nearby areas.

Cassius dared not send his soldiers any further than that, fearing they might be spotted by the elusive mage and get hit with another fireball.

If the grain transport team doesn't come soon, he will have no choice but to send a group of people to collect grain from more distant places.

But how many people should we send? How far should we send them? What if we encounter that mage in the ditch?

These questions kept swirling in his mind every day, giving him a headache.

"We don't know if the subsequent grain transport teams will be ambushed..."

"If that mage sets his sights on the grain transport team, we're truly doomed."

He stood up, walked outside the tent, and looked at the gray sky to the south.

Reinforcements, reinforcements, when are you finally coming?

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside the tent.

Immediately afterwards, a messenger rushed in and knelt on one knee:

"General! A force of about two thousand men has been spotted in the south. Judging by the flags... it's our supply convoy!"

Cassius's eyes lit up: "A grain convoy?! They arrived so quickly?"

He frowned again, suspiciously saying, "Could it be a trap? What if that mage is pretending to be an ally to deceive me..."

The messenger swallowed hard and continued, "It shouldn't be... because there's still one person in the group."

"Who is it?"

"A...giant." The messenger's expression was a little strange. "Riding a black warhorse and wearing full black plate armor, that must be General Olaf!"

Cassius paused for a moment.

Giants, black warhorses, black plate armor…

"That certainly sounds like it..."

Before he could think it through, a commotion suddenly broke out outside the tent.

Then came gasps, screams, and the loud crash of something being overturned.

Cassius's expression changed, and he grabbed the longsword beside him and rushed out.

As soon as he rushed out of the tent, he saw a huge dark figure walking towards him.

They really are giants.

The man was at least 2.2 meters tall, with broad shoulders and a thick waist.

His face was square and stern, with thick eyebrows and big eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard around his chin.

He wore a full set of black plate armor, the plates covered with intricate runes that gleamed with a cold, eerie light in the sunlight.

He had a two-handed greatsword hanging at his waist, with three fist-sized rubies inlaid on the hilt.

Although he set off later than the reinforcements, he arrived faster than them.

On the way there, they also escorted the grain transport team.

Wherever he went, the soldiers cheered and waved their hands, shouting "General Olaf!"

The man walked up to Cassius and glanced down at him.

"Cassius?"

The sound was like thunder, making people's ears ring.

He looked you up and down. "How come you look so haggard after just a few months?"

Cassius gripped his longsword tightly and swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure if the person in front of him was really Olaf.

What if it was an illusion created by that sorcerer?

What if they're trying to scam him?

"You…" he began, his voice a little dry, "How can you prove you are General Olaf?"

The man paused for a moment.

Then he laughed.

That smile sent chills down Cassius's spine.

"Proof?" the man said. "Sure, I'll give you proof."

Before he could finish speaking, his hand came slapping down.

Before the slap, there is a high-pressure airflow generated by excessive speed.

Before Cassius could even react, he felt a tremendous force slam into his face.

He flew out like a cannonball, spun around in the air thirty or forty times, and then crashed heavily onto the ground forty meters away, rolling several dozen meters further.

Dust flew everywhere.

The surrounding soldiers were stunned.

Cassius lay on the ground, his face buried in the dirt, his mind buzzing.

But he wasn't angry; instead, he smiled excitedly.

Because in that instant, he felt a familiar force.

That despicable mage certainly doesn't have that ability.

Only one person could deliver a slap like that.

He raised his head, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, and his smile widened.

"That familiar force..." he murmured, "It really is General Olaf!"

Olaf strode over and looked down at him.

"Do you believe me now?"

Cassius got up, ignoring the blood on his face, and knelt on one knee.

"Cassius, welcome General Olaf!"

The surrounding soldiers then realized what was happening and all knelt down.

Olaf waved his hand: "Get up. Don't kneel here like you're mourning a funeral."

He turned and walked towards the main tent.

……

Inside the head coach's tent, Olaf sat in the main seat, with Cassius standing in front of him.

Olaf looked him up and down a few times.

"Does your face hurt?"

Cassius touched his swollen cheek, a smile spreading across his face: "The general hit me, how could it hurt?"

Olaf leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

"Tell me, what's going on? What happened with that mage?"

Cassius took a deep breath and recounted the whole story.

From sending out scout teams to transport the Eye Demon, to the scouts losing contact, to the vanguard battalion being attacked, and then the supplies being destroyed, leaving them with no choice but to hold their ground and wait for reinforcements.

Olaf remained silent for a long time after hearing this.

His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, making a rhythmic "tap-tap" sound.

What level do you estimate he to be?

Cassius said carefully, "At least Level 11, Paradigm Rank, and very likely more."

"Exemplary class..." Olaf murmured the word, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

He stood up, walked to the map, and stared at the location of Rild City.

Silent for a long time.

Then he turned around and looked at Cassius.

"You did the right thing," he said. "We shouldn't act rashly."

"Then, General..." Cassius tentatively began.

Olaf waved his hand, signaling him to be quiet.

"Although I am a hero-level mage, as you know, you can't always argue with mages."

He paused, then continued, "However, you should have noticed as well that something is very strange. If he really is a Paragon-level mage, why didn't he use a single fourth-ring spell?"

"I also have my doubts about this matter, but those dozen or so third-circle spells are real. If they were on scrolls, the cost would be far too high. If they were multiple elite-level mages, I also cannot act rashly."

"Good, so let's wait a bit," Olaf approvingly said. "We'll wait until the 80,000 troops arrive."

"and then?"

"Then..." Olaf's eyes narrowed, "sent a group of men to attack the city."

"If a Paradigm-level mage intervenes, then it's real; if not, then it's fake."

"If it really exists, then I'll take action."

Cassius lowered his head: "General, your insight is brilliant."