With the last embers of their barbecue extinguished, Galen's group efficiently packed their tents, the rustling canvas a soft counterpoint to the vast stillness of the highlands, and prepared for their journey.
As they set off, Galen mounted his warhorse, a magnificent steed whose powerful gait was a reassuring presence as it followed the pace of the team.
The supply carts, laden with their hard-won spoils, dictated a slower pace, a fortunate circumstance that allowed Galen to divide his attention.
He closed his eyes, mentally pivoting his awareness back to his hidden base nestled in the mountain forest.
His morning nap hadn't dramatically accelerated the Altar of Kings' construction. The majestic structure remained stubbornly at the halfway mark, its completion still some time away.
The protracted construction time far exceeded that of the barracks, fueling Galen's anticipation for the unique surprises the Kings' Altar might hold.
Within the mental image of his base, the population had subtly shifted. Nine diligent farmers now tended the land, supported by a fledgling defense force of two stalwart Footmen and four surprisingly human Riflemen.
The composition of the ranged unit had initially surprised Galen. He had instinctively expected dwarves, the iconic marksmen of fantasy. Yet, these were undeniably humans, their builds lean and their movements possessing a different kind of agility.
These dozen or so combat-ready individuals were organized into two small squads: one comprising four Footmen and two Riflemen, diligently rotating patrols through the protective embrace of the surrounding mountain forest.
His immediate deployment to confront the troll threat after the initial training, followed by the subsequent exhaustion upon their return, had prevented Galen from properly observing his newly forged units.
Seizing this moment of relative calm, Galen meticulously scrutinized the two distinct combat unit types from his mental bird's-eye view.
Both the Footmen and Riflemen stood impressively tall, between 1.8 and 1.9 meters, their physiques hinting at strength and resilience, their faces bearing the fresh bloom of youth.
However, their equipment presented a stark contrast.
The Footmen's armor struck a chord of deep familiarity within Galen.
It was a set of gleaming silver-white plate armor, the edges meticulously trimmed with vibrant red.
In their right hands, they carried a pristine white shield, also edged in red, while their left hands gripped broad-bladed longswords.
After a moment of mental rummaging through the archives of his past life, recognition dawned. This was the iconic Monarch Set, a creation of the blacksmithing profession he had held in particular esteem in his previous existence.
He vividly recalled the hours spent on his Paladin character, painstakingly transmogrifying a set of Monarch armor, even meticulously sourcing a similar one-handed sword to complete the aesthetic.
And that shield! The countless runs through Shadowfang Keep until the coveted Commander's Crest Shield, emblazoned with a proud lion's head crest, finally dropped.
All that effort, all those tedious dungeon runs, solely to perfectly embody a Stormwind guard, even going so far as to feign nightly online patrols through the virtual streets of Stormwind City.
The sight of the Footmen's armor triggered a wave of nostalgic amusement for Galen's past "chuuni" phase, a faint, awkward smile gracing his lips.
Beautiful memories, he mused, a genuine warmth spreading through him. Carefree days of mining, farming mounts, raiding dungeons… I truly loved that game.
The Riflemen's attire, in comparison, was far more utilitarian: sturdy chainmail vests and leggings, practical brown leather boots, and shoulder armor crafted from a combination of leather and chainmail.
They carried long, slender rifles in their hands.
Their less comprehensive armor reflected their role as ranged damage dealers, minimizing their need for heavy protection in close-quarters combat.
However, anticipating potential close-range engagements, a sharp, bladed knife was affixed beneath the metal muzzle of their rifles, ready for chopping and thrusting.
Galen then mentally accessed their detailed unit descriptions.
Human Footman
Armor Type: Heavy Plate Armor
Weapons: Broadsword, Heavy Shield
Strength: Adept
Skills: Military Swordsmanship, Shield Defense (Unresearched)
Training Cost: 135 units of Gold
Consumption: Two units of Food per day
Human Rifleman
Armor Type: Medium Chainmail
Weapons: Bladed Rifle
Strength: Adept
Skills: Rifle Proficiency, Aimed Shot
Training Cost: 75 units of Gold 125 units of Wood
Consumption: Three units of Food per day
While the human nature of the Riflemen had initially surprised him, Galen recognized that it did not diminish their potential effectiveness.
Furthermore, considering the current geopolitical landscape – the Alliance was yet to be forged, and the relationship between Stromgarde and the dwarves was primarily limited to trade – the sudden appearance of a significant number of dwarves within his ranks would have been difficult to justify.
Ideally, he preferred the units trained at his base to be predominantly human.
As a prince of Stromgarde, a cornerstone of the human kingdoms, his burgeoning force should reflect his heritage.
In Galen's initial vision, the combat units trained at his base would form the core of his future legions.
Considering the scale of future conflicts, particularly against the Burning Legion, he anticipated needing an army exceeding 100,000 strong.
The base-trained army had the significant advantage of requiring no monetary upkeep, their only sustenance being food.
Moreover, their loyalty was absolute, their courage unwavering, and their ranks could be replenished with remarkable speed.
The absence of any notification regarding a population cap for his trained units was a particularly gratifying revelation.
The population of the Kingdom of Stromgarde was simply too small to sustain the kind of massive army he envisioned.
Galen planned to utilize the kingdom's existing military forces as an auxiliary component.
The current pinnacle of Stromgarde's military might resided in his father, King Thoras Trollbane, a warrior of heroic stature.
His cousin Danath would also ascend to heroic ranks in the years to come.
However, Stromgarde's resources beyond its renowned military were comparatively limited. The kingdom lacked the abundance of talent found in Lordaeron or the sheer wealth of Stormwind.
Galen couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.
Four of the original five paladins hailed from Lordaeron, not to mention the eventual arrival of Mograine and the legendary Ashbringer.
These individuals represented the very zenith of human combat prowess.
Logistics for his burgeoning force would rely on the magically fertile wheat produced by his farms.
In later stages, he could diversify his agricultural output, perhaps cultivating medicinal herbs for trade.
Building more farms and stockpiling food and medical supplies seemed a prudent strategy.
Azeroth's future was shadowed by three decades of relentless warfare, making food and medicine indispensable commodities.
With ample food reserves, he could face any crisis with confidence.
When the inevitable war with the orcs erupted, the human kingdoms would conscript vast numbers of soldiers, leading to a significant labor shortage and widespread food scarcity.
The rapid growth cycle of the magic wheat on his farms, requiring minimal labor for harvesting, presented a unique opportunity for wealth generation.
However, Galen had no intention of profiting excessively from national disasters.
The scale of the impending food shortage was so immense that even maintaining existing prices would allow his surplus to be continuously converted into substantial gold reserves.
A basic developmental roadmap began to take shape in Galen's mind as he rode.
His current focus was primarily on the period following the orcish war, a pivotal juncture that would determine his own destiny and the future of Stromgarde.
The kingdom's decline would tragically begin with that very conflict.
Bumping gently in the saddle, the small company traversed the rugged highlands.
Omar and Varokal, their senses sharp, took turns scouting ahead, skillfully navigating the territories claimed by wolf packs and raptors.
Finally, as twilight began to paint the sky, they reached the familiar, well-maintained roads of the kingdom.
Traveling westward along the road, Galen could already discern the faint signs of human habitation in the distance.
Not long after nightfall fully descended, they arrived at their destination: Crossroads, the town situated at the Y-shaped intersection of two major royal roads.
It was also the largest population center west of Go'shek Farm.
A groan escaped Galen's lips as he dismounted, the discomfort in his nether regions a sharp reminder of the long hours in the saddle.
He could have spared himself this discomfort, resting comfortably in the carriage alongside the wounded, but he had steadfastly refused.
Galen had always held himself to a rigorous standard, unwilling to indulge in even the slightest hint of indolence.
Riding a horse during future marches would be an unavoidable necessity.
He had to adapt.
He couldn't expect his soldiers to endure arduous marches while he, their commander, leisurely rested in a carriage, could he?
He aspired to be like Thoras, a king whose martial prowess was as renowned as his strategic acumen – one who could secure the realm with a pen and pacify the world on horseback.