As the sun rose, the sounds of hammering, horses' hooves, and shouting mingled together in the Ulster military camp, bringing a touch of life to this land covered in ice and snow.

Early in the morning, Vulgar, who was patrolling the army with his guards, came to the shady side of a tent and found a naked corpse lying in the snow. He frowned and asked the people next to him, "What happened?"

A soldier stepped forward, turned the body over, examined it carefully, and said to Vorgal, "Sir, there are no external injuries from a fight. It seems that he froze to death in the middle of the night, his clothes were taken away, and he was dumped here."

An aide approached Vulgar and said worriedly, “This winter is exceptionally cold. People can freeze to death even in the city, let alone on this open plain.”

Vorgal gave him a cold look and gave the order to the soldiers: "Find a cloth to cover the body and throw it out of the camp."

On the way back, someone again advised Vorgal: "Sir, is it wise to hold out like this? Our army is clearly far superior to those rebels. Why not take a direct attack and annihilate them?"

The latter looked around and found that almost everyone's expression showed that they shared the same thoughts as this person, so he explained: "Before the battle, you must first figure out who our enemies are. Gladiators who have survived countless battles in the arena, and barbarians who survive by hunting in the forest. Although these people lack systematic military training, they are first-class in individual combat and stealth ambush."

"So what? We have a well-trained army and superior equipment!"

Vorgal shook his head: "If the war takes place in the forest, our advantage will be reduced to the minimum. Think about it, in a dense forest, surrounded by towering trees that require two people to encircle, the army's formation cannot be deployed, and the effectiveness of projectile and hurled weapons will be greatly reduced. As for the enemy, the snow can serve as their hiding places, the trees can serve as cover from arrows, and the extremely complex terrain can provide them with the best battlefield for fighting."

Someone raised another question: "But our slave-catching teams have raided their camps before, and they always returned victorious."

Vorgal loudly reminded them, “Don’t forget, the slave-catching team’s victory was based on three premises! First, the raids were never scheduled for winter; second, the barbarians did not unite with the gladiators to form a rebellion; third, they lacked a strong leader… Yes, mine is Boyle. In the past, I always thought he was nothing more than a reckless, foolish, and insignificant ambitious man, but his performance in the arena has proven me wrong. If this fellow is not eliminated now, he may become the kingdom’s most terrible enemy in the future…”

Hearing the surrounding people still talking, Fugal softened his tone: "The second batch of supplies from the Kingdom will arrive at the camp soon. Right now, we have cut off all the supply lines to the rebel camp. According to my calculations, even if Boyle starts searching for and storing food after returning to the camp, the reserves will only be enough for them to last until early February. In other words, as long as we hold out here for two months, the rebels will collapse without a fight."

"What if they abandon the camp?"

“That would be even better. In addition to the roaming cavalry, I have also laid an ambush in the south of the forest to intercept them.” Vorgal’s gaze passed over the wooden stakes in front of him and looked at the vast forest in front of the camp. He said calmly, “If the rebels escape, this force can be used to slow them down and give us enough time to catch up with them; if they split up, we can attack the rebel camp directly.”

After a pause, Vorgal looked away: "The most crucial question now is, when exactly will these starving rats crawl out of their holes?"

Vrijal's question did not last long.

Two mornings later, just as he was having breakfast, the sentry captain of the watchtower rushed into his tent, shouting, "The enemy is here!"

Vorgal was startled at first, then remained silent for a moment, and finally put down the food in his hand, smiling as he said, "It came faster than I expected."

Stepping out of the tent, he glanced at the panicked sentry captain and asked with displeasure, "Where is the enemy? How many are there?"

The sentry captain stretched out his trembling hand and pointed to the empty space in front of the camp.

Following the direction the other person was pointing, Fugal looked up at the sky and was startled by what he saw.

In the morning sunlight, several thin, long wisps of black smoke drifted above the forest, looking strangely eerie.

Fugal turned his gaze to the sentry captain and asked incredulously, "Those are ours...?"

The latter, with a mournful face, said to him, "That's right, sir, those were our outposts in the forest. They were all destroyed by the enemy, not one of them was spared!"

"So where are the people? At least half of them should have escaped back by now, right?!"

The trembling sentry captain closed his eyes and gently shook his head.

"Not a single one came back alive?!" Fugal grabbed the sentry captain by the collar, pulled him in front of him, and roared, "You bastard! Are you trying to fool me?! Every soldier at each outpost is an elite soldier, and they're all equipped with a warhorse. And you're telling me not a single one has returned?!"

The sentry captain cried out, nearly collapsing, "Sir, I don't know, I really don't know!"

Fugal released his grip and cursed fiercely, "A bunch of useless trash! You couldn't find out anything about the enemy's numbers or composition!"

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