Even though he knew that there wasn't even enough time, he still wanted to train them a bit to avoid casualties as much as possible.
"Now," Sol growled, his smirk returning. "We are gonna train a bit before the actual battle. Drop your spears. Grab the heavy logs from the construction piles."
The recruits looked confused, but the absolute weight of his command forced them into motion. Within minutes, the two hundred and sixty men were lugging thick, petrified ironwood logs across the clearing, their muscles straining under the raw mass.
Sol split the formation into two groups. One hundred and thirty men formed the defensive center line, locking their bone-shields edge-to-edge in a tight, semi-circular crescent… the inverted wedge.
The other hundred and thirty men stood twenty paces away, gripping the heavy ironwood logs by the thick rope handles.
