Chapter 188: How The Pieces Are Played

The scene in front of us had transitioned yet again.

This time, however, the changes were drastic.

Gone were the idyllic sun-swept meadows and rolling green hills, replaced instead by muddy waterlogged fields, separated by long stretches of cobblestone roads, all set beneath a miserable grey-black sky that exploded in thunder and lightning in unpredictable, rhythmless pulses.

Well, I guess this means we’re officially past the tutorial…Though I didn’t expect the next level to be England on a good day… I thought slyly to myself as I awaited Thalmin’s eventual explanation of where here even was.

“Welcome to Talsyn’s Crossroads, or at least, what will be known as such following his victory here today. Because on this day, many, many generations ago, a young rebellious noble found himself tasked with a mission of insurmountable significance — the elimination of a loyalist army.” Thalmin paused, making sure he made ‘eye contact’ as best he could despite the helmet’s encumbrance. “This man would later become a member of the extended royal family. My family. His name, and indeed his legacy, became synonymous with the Havenbrockian way — an overture to convention. So whilst his detractors may lambast him for being ‘stuck in his ways,’ they merely see the forest for the trees. Because it was his intimate understanding and stubborn adherence to standard, tried-and-tested tactics and strategies that granted him the insight necessary for his successes. His victories, therefore, whilst not the most innovative or profound, were ultimately flawless in their practical execution.”

“This—” Thalmin paused, gesturing at the bleak vista around us. “—is one such battle. An ode to conventional wisdom with the unique distinction of being uncharacteristically… ‘clean.’ Each stage and every phase in this operation panning out in such sequential clarity that it almost perfectly embodies an ideal battle as is taught in the texts, rather than the utter chaos it often becomes in reality. This is why the Battle of Talsyn’s Crossroads — or as it was known at the time, The Miserable Stretch — is always brought up as the first case study to any aspiring commander. It demonstrates some of the fundamental lessons in the principles of maneuver and concordant warfare, and it does so through a real historical example.”

I listened along carefully, Thalmin’s words resonating throughout the sight-seer with the somber stoicism of a war documentarian.

This made the whole scene all the more engaging, like the preamble to one of those big war docu-epic marathons which required half a day to finish, lasting longer than the battles themselves.

Indeed, things started to materialize almost exactly as I’d expected from a historical docu-drama epic, with the map slowly being populated with those old-timey miniatures, each representing individual units and their specializations; the latter two observations would be proven right as those figurines dematerialized, giving way to formations of individuals in their stead.

The whole shape of the operation quickly came into focus as soon as all parties had taken their positions.

I didn’t really need clarification on either heraldry or colors when the actual lay of the land lent itself to Thalmin’s introduction of this whole operation’s aims.

In front of us stood two very different formations, positioned in two vastly divergent postures. Populating the cobblestone roads, squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder and barely avoiding the mud flanking them, was an army on the march.

Meanwhile, perched precariously on the haphazard hills and within the last few vestiges of old growth vegetation not cleared for farmland was a far less cohesive force. Divided by both composition and distance, peppered wherever there was elevation and cover, was an army group with a far more aggressive stance, all of them built around ballista crews.

It was eminently clear which force was ready and deployed for the offensive, and which was the target of this carefully drawn-up ambush. And that was without even taking into account the other, larger, highly mobile elements of the rebel forces lying in wait just behind those ‘artillery’ positions.

But even with prep work on their side and an ambush taut and ready to ensnare the approaching loyalist forces, the matter of sheer numbers still made victory a relatively uneasy prospect. Especially when it looked like Thalmin’s forces were outnumbered at least two to one; it was a fact that Ilunor would be quick to pounce on.

“You do not possess the sufficient forces to counter an enemy who vastly outclasses you in every respect.” The vunerian proclaimed boldly before quickly correcting himself. “Historical accounts notwithstanding, I am merely commenting on what I can observe, and from what I can see… the odds were most certainly not in your favor.”

Thalmin raised a brow at this, and so did I, as Ilunor’s particular… angle just didn’t really click with either of us.

“You of all people should know that numbers alone do not make a battle. The usage of enchanted arms can close that critical gap, level the playing field, and overcome, if not outright circumvent, the numerical advantage.” Thalmin shot back.

However, his words did little to dissuade Ilunor. If anything, it only emboldened him.

“You should have taken Professor Vanavan’s musings on semantics far more seriously, Prince Thalmin.” Ilunor snickered cockily, placing his snout between a single hand as if to strike a pose. “The operative word at play is forces, not numbers.” Ilunor stated plainly before gesturing and then highlighting the ballista units with a glowing outline. “I do not see the appropriate amount of either supplies or enchanted siege weapons required to sustain the overwhelming force commensurate with the strategy your ancestor so clearly wished to employ. Furthermore, I see no logistics, no mage dedicated to such ends, or anything else which would hint at a means with which to replenish your stocks once they are ultimately depleted.”

Thalmin raised a brow, mildly thrown off by the vunerian’s… accurate and insightful analysis; a far cry from what his opening statements had initially led the both of us to believe.

“You’re correct, Ilunor.” Thalmin acknowledged with a grin, a response which finally caught Ilunor off guard. “What you see here is the entirety of the stocks available for the duration of this operation.”

“But that’s not enough.” Ilunor insisted, tapping his foot to reiterate his point.

“Not for the tactics you so clearly are used to, no.” Thalmin nodded, forcing me to be the one to squint this time around. “You’re thinking of exclusively relying on enchanted bolts to entirely overwhelm, and then subsequently annihilate the enemy force, aren’t you?”

“Naturally.” Ilunor nodded. “It is clear that with both the numerical and qualitative advantages the loyalists possess, the only true means of overcoming such odds is by relying instead on a strategy of focused, sustained, unrelenting magical force. How else are you to annihilate an army with the capacity to simply trample over your disparate forces? How else are you to face an enemy so organized, so large, that they would need only to march across the hills like a swarm of locusts to claim victory, culling your men like chaff before the scythe? The only winning move here is to render them to cinder from range using your ballistae. There is no other way. It’s only logical after all.”

“Logical, yes.” Thalmin raised an open palm in agreement. “But only for those who are accustomed to an environment conducive to such wasteful thinking. Scarcity is the matron of all creativity, after all, so I understand if your material wealth has blinded you to the wealth of creativity demanded by the scarcity of an adjacency.”

To my surprise, Ilunor did not immediately shoot down Thalmin’s thinly-veiled jabs, nor did he stir up a new fuss.

If anything, Thalmin’s jab at his wealth seemed to have given him something of a free pass to continue uninhibited. Or maybe, just maybe, the pair had progressed further along in forging something of a working relationship in the intervening months.

“To an adjacency with limited means, and especially for a rebellion without access to the greater tradelines beyond one’s realm, the liberal employment of such scarce war materiel could simply not be countenanced. This, in turn, elevates what you may see as a trivial siege weapon into a weapon of strategic importance given the limitations of its use. In short, we simply could not rely on large enchanted weaponry as a sole and primary instrument for conducting warfare. Instead, we needed to use said weaponry to create the conditions for victory most conducive to our strengths.”

“And what, pray tell, are these strengths?” Ilunor shot back.

“The same sort of strengths which repeat itself on a far larger strategic scale — persistence, and morale — in the knowledge that the fates have decreed our cause as justified.”

“Motivation? That’s it? It takes more than faith to win a war, Prince Thalmin. You know this.”

“Oh, I do. But it’s not pure faith itself that wins wars. It’s the ripple effects that, when purposefully and carefully exploited, can allow you to turn the tide closer in your favor. Armies are built on faith. Discipline, courage, resolve — they all lead to the mortar that turns disparate individuals into a formidable fighting force. If one were to compromise said mortar, crack it, break it, then one would have undermined the very foundation of what makes an army effective. Because no matter how large an army, if you’re unable to command it as a cohesive force, you’re no better than a band of brigands fighting as individuals.”

We were quickly pulled out of the battle, looking down at a far larger map with many operational markers denoting battles, army movements, and logistics chains all spanning a whole continent with borders so complex that it could only be described in two words — border gore.

“You of all people should’ve probably heard how the war ended.” Thalmin continued. “We didn’t need to besiege the capital, let alone invade it. In fact, we were let in by the city guards. By the time the wars of reconciliation were over, what little threads of legitimacy were left had been swiftly snipped and shorn by the reality of the situation — the former royals had nothing left to stand on. Their last stranglehold on power was through the armies of the Crown, and with their cause so thoroughly denigrated, there was no one left who would lift a hand in their defense. The remaining armies — of which around half were still active in some capacity — simply looked the other way when we took the throne as restitution. And it was through battles such as the one at Talsyn’s Crossroads, which helped to give that nagging loss of faith an immutable shape and form, turning vague notions of internalized defeatism into an undeniable reality.”

From there, he highlighted a large city nestled near the center of the map, which was obviously the capital judging by the Crown hovering above it. South-west of that, however, was another city, highlighted by several raised swords held in lupinor hands.

“But you are right to question matters of functional practicality, Ilunor. The erosion of enemy morale and the undermining of the faiths would not be possible without a grander strategy capable of engendering such notions and exploiting it when it matters most. Indeed, this was the premise behind the Battle of Talsyn’s Crossroads. It was merely a part of a far grander campaign, one with the aim of whittling down and dismantling Crown forces, one brigade at a time. It was risky. It required an aggressive posture which had all the risk of fracturing once supplies inevitably ran dry. But the alternative was to suffer a slow and grueling defeat by a thousand cuts, as our own stretched and battered supply lines were harassed, severed, and cut dry by local Crown forces.”

We quickly zoomed back onto that depressing patch of dirt, watching from a hill as the loyalist army moved down through the crossroads in question.

Conversely, the at-the-time rebel army hid behind the crests of hills, beneath the heavy brush of overgrown weeds, and just under the lips of hastily dug-out foxholes.

Their formations were… far more disparate, condensed and miniaturized versions of the massive royal army, all built around the heavy crew-served ballistae we saw earlier.

Indeed, all the elements of Thalmin’s preamble were shown proudly on display here, integrated in a combined arms operation that was poised to be far more tactically involved than just two walls of bodies slamming against one another.

Thalmin would be quick to further elaborate on this with his typical boisterous narration, as each ‘category’ of unit was highlighted in different colors.

“The loyalist forces were deployed in a fashion typical of a mobilized force. Armsmen in the front and center—” He paused, circling their formations in red. “—cavalry at the flanks and wings, with a few scattered ahead as forward scouting elements—” He began circling, not using his finger… but an ornate cane he’d conjured from his bag of holding. “—archers behind the front and center lines—” He continued doing much of the same, highlighting them in green. “—with chosen ones clustered in sections and packs assigned to larger formations of armsmen and archers.” He circled them in orange, peppering them in the midst of far larger groups.

“There is nothing admittedly wrong with this formation, though the clustering of both warbeasts and gargoyles around the army commander is perhaps the only demerit of note in this operation.” He tapped his cane near the middle of the formation. “Gargoyles excel at breaking enemy lines. Whilst warbeasts exploit said openings to sow chaos amidst their ranks. To keep them sequestered so far back takes away precious time for their deployment. But I digress…” Thalmin shrugged before circling the final element to this whole formation — the ballistae. “Again, is it wrong for them to be positioned at the back? Not exactly. It’s convenient, allows for rapid deployment too if things go wrong. But they’re also woefully open for attack, a fact which you shall soon see.” Thalmin grinned.

Sure enough, we saw the rebels’ far less centralized forces highlighted in the same colors, further reinforcing the concept that they’d essentially formed smaller regiment-sized groups of roughly the same force composition.

And whilst a good chunk were built around their artillery pieces, a few seemed far more highly mobile — namely, the cavalry companies, their forces scattered around the periphery with both gargoyles and warbeasts chomping at the bit.

Chosen ones were, as expected, scattered within all of these individual groups, with no battalion or company possessing a greater concentration of them than the other.

This left the main ‘bulk’ of rebel forces unaccounted for as of yet until Thalmin briefly panned the scene over towards the empty plains immediately behind the hills.

Standing at attention in a looser, yet no less cohesive grouping was a force consisting primarily of armsmen and the odd chosen one, their positions held in reserve and hidden from view of the enemy.

Time continued marching out of sync with the thunderous storm above. A storm… that I was beginning to suspect was anything but natural.

“Horrible weather for a battle, huh?” I offered.

“Oh, that isn’t a storm, Emma. It’s—”

“The war in the heavens, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Thalmin nodded. “The beginning of which should signal the start of our gambit.”

I nodded, watching with intent, eyeing the ten or so artillery companies as they each aimed their ballistae at the loyalist forces.

A moment passed, accompanied by the sharp tack-tack-tack of the winches.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Then another, this time marked by the creeeaaaak of the torsion cords.

At the same time, row upon row of archers likewise drew their bows, awaiting the silent signal from their commanders.

Finally, after an affirmative nod from each group leader, all hell broke loose.

THWWWOOOOOSH!

A hundred silent projectiles flew directly at an unsuspecting army, accompanied shortly thereafter by a trailing, arching rain of smaller arrows.

The lack of any propellant, any charge, any, well… anything was eerie, especially as each bolt reached the height of its arc, entering into its terminal phase, and then ultimately—

BOOOM!!!!

—landing both within and, surprisingly, around the capital army’s formations.

Chaos should have erupted at this point.

But it didn’t.

Despite the devastation of that first strike, the enchanted warheads seemed to be… lacking in the UMPH of a typical HE shell back home.

Were they still devastating? Yes. They were comparable to mortars in explosive potential, but… the initial explosion clearly wasn’t the intended effect here.

Fire was.

Whilst most of the bolts landed around or within the dense ranks of the loyalist armies, a good chunk of them had seemingly ‘missed’ and landed just outside of the edges of their formations, cleaving between their flanks.

This prevented their immediate deployment or any major movements, as much of the ground itself had become impossible to traverse in the span of seconds.

There was a decision to be made on the part of the enemy.

And that decision had to come soon, as another volley of bolts threatened to rain further destruction on their position.

Yet despite this initial success, a glance at each of Thalmin’s ballistae painted a grimmer picture than I thought.

“As Ilunor had so insightfully commented earlier, enchanted bolts do not come cheap, Emma.” Thalmin admitted, gesturing at their rapidly dwindling stocks.

However, no sooner than he acknowledged that did he gesture towards the enemy, highlighting their frantic motions, disparate orders, and growing disorganization that led them towards the parts of the roads still free of flames and the boggy fields surrounding them.

“But the enemy doesn’t have to know that…” The lupinor grinned deviously.

“This is a shaping operation, isn’t it?” I offered.

“Yes.” The mercenary prince nodded with a toothy grin. “We’re not really in the business of giving the enemies choices, but rather dilemmas. Do they risk the open road, trading speed and increased evasion for the possibility of being hit by a fire bolt? Or do they take the safer path in the muddy fields, lowering the risk of both burning and the bolts even activating their spells upon impact? At least, that’s the calculus when it comes to the unmounted forces. Their cavalry, however? Well… they’re preparing for a counterattack, hoping to neutralize our ballistae.”

The prince paused once more as he gestured to the rapidly dwindling supplies at the heels of the ballista crew.

“Do you notice how they’re setting up their own ballistae?”

“Yes?”

“And you remember how they’re positioned behind their forces?”

“Oh.”

“It’s wonderful how they’ve effectively created their own barricade to their one path back out of this muddy terrain, haven’t they?” The mercenary prince grinned further as the creaks and whines of the rebel force’s artillery pieces grew in haste, their arrows now pointed at their rapidly deploying counterparts down below. “And wood too. More fuel to the fire, I suppose.”

FWOOOOSH!

KA-BOOM!

Sticks, splinters, and long pieces of timber exploded into the air as flames were quick to follow, erupting from the broken remains of the loyalist forces’ ballistae.

But those direct hits weren’t the main issue here.

Fwoos… BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

It was the ammo storage carriages going up in flames around them that truly inflicted the most damage, as each destroyed carriage brought with it the wrath of a minor industrial disaster, almost entirely crushing any chances of an effective counter-battery fire at the rebel forces.

It was around this point that the ‘artillery’ fire started to wane on the rebel force’s part, leaving just under half of the loyalists’ ballistae untouched in one capacity or another.

“Are you rebels just sloppy?” Ilunor chimed in, crossing his arms as he did so. “You didn’t even destroy all of their most powerful weapons! What’s more, you’ve only blocked half of the road leading out of here! On both sides of that! They can still move freely, to either retreat or—” Ilunor paused, stopping himself, as the battle in front of us continued regardless of his input.

The effect here was clear, and it was about what I expected.

The loyalist forces were scattering, but without much of any real way out.

They could barely squeeze through what few openings were behind them, as subsequent explosions and the fresh kindling offered by their ballistae had turned a fairly large road into a narrow one-way street.

The same could be said for the front, as despite the fires dissipating somewhat, subsequent bolts continued to harass the front to fuel the already-existing flames.

This left the flanks as the only viable means of escape, but even so, continuous rains of both enchanted and unenchanted arrows made even that prospect difficult… and that was on top of the boggy ground severely encumbering their movement.

“Dillemas.” Ilunor parroted Thalmin’s earlier explanation. “But just how do you plan to exploit what is ostensibly just an inconvenience? You will still face a formidable foe, one way or another.”

“Indeed.” Thalmin nodded. “But look.” He gestured towards the enemy, the chaos and panic within their ranks now reaching a fever pitch as orderly formations started to tear at the seams.

“Ah.” Ilunor acknowledged with a shrug. “I see your earlier monologue has now come into play. An excellent use of foreshadowing, I give you that. So what happens now? Will you slay each soldier as they break formation and lose cohesion?”

“That would be the ideal scenario, yes.” Thalmin began. “That was always the plan, or rather the hope. Because no plan really ever survives first contact with the enemy.” He once again gestured at the rapidly developing situation, as chaos seemed to calm down somewhat, leading into a new, unexpected posture.

They’d begun to hunker down. What was almost broken ranks now condensed into new battle lines, fresh formations, and that was all despite the constant harassment from the flurry of arrows, as overhead shield walls were beginning to form amidst the densest of the ranks.

What’s more, the flanks had begun to move. Chosen-one knights and scouts alike rallied groups of armsmen, gargoyles, and warbeasts into smaller, faster, more agile groups aiming to track down the rebel forces.

“Never think of your enemy as a caricature of an opponent.” Thalmin continued. “Because at the end of the day, they are as capable of rising to the challenge as you yourself.”

“So this whole song and dance had been for nothing?” Ilunor chastised. “You were hoping for a complete rout, but instead have signed your own death warrants.”

“Not quite.” Thalmin responded with yet another bold grin. “We’re simply moving into the second phase of the operation. We now had them right where we wanted them. Because whilst a full rout would have been ideal, this second scenario is very much still conducive to our aims.”

Ilunor narrowed his eyes in response as we watched company after company of knights approaching the hills.

The scattered organization of rebel forces prompted these loyalist knights to inevitably separate, as they attempted to cover more ground.

“Defeat in detail.” I responded plainly, garnering a nod from Thalmin.

“Indeed.” He acknowledged, before turning to Ilunor. “We’ve forced them to relinquish that one advantage you believe to be so instrumental to their success, Ilunor.”

The vunerian wordlessly watched on as these smaller formations of knights on horseback had begun to close in on the rebel ballistas… only to be intercepted by the awaiting anti-cavalry armsmen, their pikes forming a wall of pointy pain at the oncoming forces.

Many of the knights quickly changed their posture, now circling around these formations in an attempt to find a gap, only to be pelted at by archers perched elsewhere behind the lines.

Though this wasn’t without reprisal, as many of the chosen ones had begun demonstrating the horrors of advanced weapon enchantments Thalmin had so proudly shown earlier.

…

Scores upon scores of frontline pikemen were downed by those hunter-killer spear-blades, with the only thing keeping the knights from truly breaking through being the rebel archers’ ceaseless barrages, taking out either them or the horses they rode on.

This forced them back, bringing forth golems and warbeasts in their stead, with the intent of breaking through the thinning rebel lines.

And yet, this effort too would be thwarted, as both armsmen and archers armed with weapons designed specifically to combat these threats moved forward to support their severely outmatched pikemen comrades, inserting themselves into and in front of their lines to keep these two mindless heavy-hitters from breaking through their lines.

It wasn’t easy, though.

In fact, it was downright brutal, as both gargoyles and warbeasts did exactly what Thalmin had mentioned earlier.

They smashed through men like a heavy power-armored exo against unarmored infantry. Every soldier, regardless of their armor, was either crumpled, tossed, or simply smashed flat beneath their heel.

It took at least an entire platoon’s worth of specifically armed and trained men to take down just one of those gargoyles. Their tactics were well rehearsed, as they coordinated strikes to first disarm, and then ultimately destroy these stony beasts, piercing through the opalescent ‘gel’ layer on the outside with their aforementioned specialist gear, all in an attempt to strike at the glowing filigree and core beneath.

The warbeasts, however, were a mixed bag, with archers managing to take down some in a single shot if aimed right, whilst others somehow survived despite looking like a living pincushion.

This pattern repeated itself across the entire rebel line, as loyalist forces attempted but consistently failed to break through their individual formations.

“Like I said, Ilunor. The aim of this operation, and indeed with any war, is to force the enemy to fight on your terms. So in lieu of breaking their formations and completely routing them, we’re now forcing them to relinquish their numerical advantage, engaging them on smaller, more favorable terms, and whittling them down engagement by engagement.”

There was a… somberness to Thalmin’s tone of voice here; a silent acknowledgement of the brutal calculus of war despite the victories it would lead to.

Still, he kept focus on demonstrating precisely what we’d discussed earlier.

One after another, he began breaking down the efficacy of these specialized forces.

He showed just how useless normal arms were against gargoyles, as pike and sword alike bounced, wobbled, got stuck on, or completely broke upon impact with their opalescent shell.

This stood in stark contrast to the specifically designed gargoyle-killer glaive, as it cleaved straight through the ‘shell’ almost like jelly… only to be met with the harsh stone beneath. So instead of ineffectually hacking away at the stone, they aimed for the filigree, cutting them off from the ‘core’ of the gargoyles, and in doing so, causing their limbs to go limp one strike after another.

There were the rare few strikes that managed to hit a gargoyle’s core, killing them on the spot. But that was rather difficult when you had what amounted to a magical S-AMCP twice your size attempting to melee you to death.

These engagements progressed for a good while, as Thalmin continued pointing out each and every minor thing he could, in as much vivid detail as any typical hyperfixation would demand.

From the specific enchantments cast on individual bows.

“—as you can see, these specific archers are blessed with the assignment of anti-warbeast actions. Their bows, as such, are imbued with both strength and durability enchantments built into the core of the—”

To their arrows.

“—I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that fire, lightning, and sharpness enchantments were the only primary mainstays, as there actually exist poisons so potent that a single accidental prick would lead to immediate—"

And of course, to how each and every other weapon worked in an actual combat setting.

All of which is to say, I had my report summary cut out for me.

By the end of it all, the loyalist forces had finally been whittled down to just their hunkered-down, ‘core’ army. One which now had sacrificed almost the entirety of their horseback units, gargoyles, warbeasts, and just about anything else that could feasibly move up to engage with the speed necessary to overcome their mobility issues.

However, by this point, they’d since cleared that initial kill zone, instead moving up and out of the fields and up into the higher elevations where the rebel forces had been entrenched.

Ilunor, noticing this, began scanning their ranks before turning to Thalmin expectedly.

“You’re about equally matched in numbers now.” He openly observed with neither malice nor anything remotely complimentary coloring his voice.

“Not just that… they’re in a deficit of specialized units necessary to successfully conduct concordant warfare. A fact which will be exploited…” Thalmin paused as the loyalist armies seemed poised to engage as a single, cohesive mass. The rebels did the same… but had placed almost exclusively gargoyles on their front lines. “... now.”

Hundreds of lupinor-shaped gargoyles sprinted towards the loyalist lines.

The moment of contact was neither stopped nor even slowed down by the seemingly impenetrable shield walls.

Instead, they folded like paper.

Each gargoyle penetrated the enemy lines like a railgun round through Level-3 body armor.

They left clean holes in their wake and a wavering front line that began to panic as their backlines were ravaged in one swift, concentrated strike.

However, before the anti-gargoyle units even had the chance to engage, the next phase of the engagement was quickly put into play — the warbeasts.

They were let go not long after those ‘holes’ had been made in the frontlines.

And they exploited them with the ferocity and savagery one would expect.

About a thousand warbeasts managed to successfully exploit the openings left by the gargoyles, ravaging ranks, killing indiscriminately and ignoring both pain and damage until something actually vital was hit.

But by then, each warbeast had managed to kill, maul, or sufficiently damage both the physical integrity and the morale of the loyalist forces.

The frontlines, surprisingly, managed to hold despite this.

The same, however, could not be said about their flanks. The arrival of the rebels’ horseback forces cut through those soft and exposed sides like a hot knife through butter, cleaving and carving their way through an already-battered force.

Not surprisingly, this was where the entire thing collapsed.

The rebel armsmen in the rear of the formation barely even managed to encounter a cohesive fighting force by the time they’d moved up to engage them.

Indeed, the whole thing was over far quicker than I’d expected, especially considering the absolute slog that was the defeat-in-detail phase of the battle.

There was no pomp, circumstance, or discrete signal to mark that the battle was ‘over.’

There was only a gradual decline in cohesion, in engagements, until finally things reached a watershed moment where there was no one left or willing to fight.

Victory arrived not with any declaration of surrender or grandstanding, but instead with an army successfully routed or killed.

Eventually, the enemy commander’s personal banner was found half-buried in the muck of the fields.

That was perhaps the only real way to tell that victory had been achieved.

“A little underwhelming considering how this battle began.” Ilunor offered.

“When your mission is to eliminate an army by any means necessary, that often is the case.” Thalmin responded plainly. “There’s no grand speech or marching band to mark the moment when victory is achieved. There’s only the silence of the dead to remind you that it’s all over.”

Indeed, even Ilunor managed to grapple with the gravity of the situation, allowing for silence to dominate the air, just as the battle in the skies above reached their ultimate conclusion.

“Well then. Any questions, Emma?” Thalmin finally spoke, a toothy grin marking his latent excitement.

“No. I… think that was thorough enough, Thalmin.” I nodded, allowing the lupinor to completely take the lead here.

“Well then, might I suggest we continue with the war in the heavens?”

“What’s the rush, Prince Thalmin? You’ve yet to cover the other half of the war below.” Ilunor chimed in, uncharacteristically excited this time around, especially considering the military context of the presentation. “I did say I would be the conscientious moderator of this whole venture, after all, did I not? To make certain you did not undersell the awesome scope of contemporary warfare?” He beamed.

“What in ancestors’ name would you wish to present that I have yet to—” Thalmin paused, cutting himself off before he could continue. “—aethraships?”

“Aethraships.” Ilunor grinned cockily, extending both of his hands out to his sides, their palms reaching for the skies above.

At that point, several distant foghorns could be heard, interspersed with a series of rapid-fire mana-notification pings from the EVI.

The winds around us started to kick up dust, dirt, and debris, as the vistas behind Ilunor became drenched in a thick fog. This thick, impenetrable haze was subsequently pierced by two massive bowsprits emerging from its depths, both of which came to a rest at his awaiting palms.

“And maybe if we have time, or if the princess is willing, she could put in a word or two for her kind’s unique predisposition for flighted warfare.” The executive kobold capped off, flashing a golden glint from his fangy grin.