O’Neil Castle was bustling with activity.
The King’s first batch of Standing Army troops had finished stationing themselves. The total number of defenders in the entire fortress soared to thirty thousand, making it the most fortified on the Western Front.
Fortunately, O’Neil Castle was built along a river and was a massive military port in its own right. In tis of peace, it was also a haven for smugglers.
In the inner city of O’Neil Castle, several figures dressed in lavish brocades were pointing and gesturing at an old parchnt map.
"Your Highness, a reply from Count Valentino."
Noah’s aide-de-camp entered the council hall, breaking the silence.
The crowd present, including Count Fernando and Earl Norwich of O’Nel City, all turned their gazes toward the aide.
The aide-de-camp held the docunt in his hand, suddenly feeling a wave of nervousness.
"Read it."
Although he already knew the gist of the situation, Prince Noah still clung to a sliver of hope.
"Esteed Prince... Qimo Fortress has recently been besieged by 30,000 enemy troops, and Baron Robson has suffered heavy losses... The enemy Werewolf Race is once again laying siege to Mold Castle, requesting reinforcents..."
"That’s enough. You’re dismissed."
Prince Noah sighed. Of the thirteen great noble houses on the entire Western Front, he hadn’t been able to mobilize a single one.
Five of them had even asked him for reinforcents in return. Including the one just now, that made six.
In truth, he couldn’t entirely bla them for their lack of loyalty. Their missions had all been issued by the Kingdom Council, and compared to Prince Noah’s future, they were all more concerned with saving their own skins.
If the royal family wanted to bypass the Kingdom Council and directly mobilize the front-line legions, only Louis III taking action personally would offer any hope of success.
But the consequences were not sothing the royal family could bear. If Prince Noah screwed up, at worst it would be his failure alone. If Louis III screwed up, the future stability of the kingdom would be thrown into question.
"Count Nofuman is injured, Count Valentino is pinned down, Earl Kels can barely protect himself..." Earl Norwich listed them off from the side as if counting his family treasures.
He had been vehently opposed to Prince Noah choosing to station himself in O’Neil Castle. Although His Highness the Prince had brought an army, he intended to launch a counterattack.
But Earl Norwich never even had the chance to refuse; Marquis Oscillate had already planted the man here.
Under the Prince’s nose, Earl Norwich had no choice but to cooperate. If he were to prove uncooperative, the King’s thunderous wrath was not sothing just anyone could withstand.
Having already been dragged into the ss, Earl Norwich naturally hoped to pull more people down with him. Unfortunately, it was obvious no one was buying it.
"There’s no other way. Let’s proceed with our original plan," Prince Noah said with a sigh, then looked at Count Fernando, who was frowning at the map beside him.
O’Neil Castle was now completely surrounded. As the largest fortress on the Western Front, the enemy’s command tent was a re thirty kiloters away.
In a few days, when the third wave of the offensive began, the enemy would surely use this place to make an example.
Rather than being so passive, Prince Noah would just lead a charge himself. Regardless of the results, as long as they scored a net positive, they would return to the castle at top speed.
The rest could be left to the governnt’s propaganda departnt.
Prince Noah would take the Extraordinary Knight Order out for a little spin, bully a few Goblin Tribes, and then run before the enemy had ti to react.
Under Prince Noah’s brilliant leadership, the kingdom’s army achieved a kill ratio of dozens to one right under the Beastman Prince’s nose, with Prince Noah returning in triumphant victory.
Those who knew the truth would surely criticize it, but it would be enough to fool the masses.
Although doing this wouldn’t earn Prince Noah the sa level of prestige as Prince Samon, it was the safest option.
"Alright, let’s do it that way," Count Fernando said with a frown and a sigh.
It was a safe plan, to be sure, but his dream of becoming a count with real power would likely be postponed for a long ti.
...
As night fell, Chief Aili was drinking heartily in his tent, carousing with his friends and relatives.
Alcohol, on the Beastman Grassland, was a rarity.
The Beastman Grassland was primarily pastoral, and the few valleys suitable for farming were firmly controlled by the major tribes of the Beastman Empire.
In the Beastman Empire, the amount of arable land a race possessed essentially represented the extent of that race’s power.
The current chaotic situation within the Beastman Empire was due to the mismanagent of the last two Beast Emperors, who had lost more than half of the arable land, causing the Beastn’s strength to plumt.
Chief Aili gazed at the cup in front of him. The light reflected by the fire was as beautiful as sothing from a fairy tale.
If not for the necessities of war, these rarities would have had practically nothing to do with Chief Aili.
"Report! Report!"
"Chieftain! This is bad! Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
"Enemy attack?" Chief Aili’s head was fuzzy.
"Oh, an enemy attack. Tell them to attack again tomorrow. This Chieftain is going to bed." Chief Aili could barely open his eyes at this point.
Nearly everyone in the tent was in the sa state as Chief Aili: muddle-headed and unable to understand a thing.
This was also why the goblin race had been so pathetic for thousands of years.
Fortunately, however, there was still soone who wasn’t drunk. Or rather, he hadn’t had the chance to get drunk yet.
"Enemy attack!" The one who spoke was Soria, a minor leader in the tribe.
’This is bad!’
Soria quickly took two steps forward and started shaking Chief Aili.
"What are you doing? What are you doing?"
Chief Aili finally sobered up a little. Seeing Soria on top of him, a chill of disgust rose in his chest. He hurriedly used his Douqi to clear his head and kicked Soria away.
"What was that for? Aha! Soria! I’d long heard you were up to no good, but I never thought you’d make a move on this Chieftain!"
Chief Aili pointed at Soria with a look of utter disbelief.
Soria wore a pained expression, at a loss for words to explain himself.
"Chieftain! Enemy attack! Soone just reported it," Soria explained, pointing outside the tent.
"Enemy attack? Where?" Aili was stunned.
"Enemy attack! We need to report to Lord Ian imdiately!"
This ti, Aili’s brain finally caught up.
"Still sleeping?! Get up! Pigs don’t even sleep as soundly as you lot!"
Aili started waking up the other leaders in the tent, while he himself picked up an iron sword he had previously captured from the humans.
It wasn’t that the Beastman Empire was so poor that even Extraordinary individuals lacked iron weapons. They had them, but as for the quality...
The enemy’s cause of death was more likely to be from being bludgeoned, or perhaps tetanus—though of course, it wasn’t called that in this world.
"Where are the enemies now?"
Aili asked as he walked out of the tent.
Where were the enemies? The question was answered instantly, for at that very mont, a human cavalryman was couching a long spear, its blade aid directly at Chief Aili.
When the enemy revealed the strength of a Bronze Third Tier, Chief Aili still couldn’t believe it.
’So the strength I was so proud of is not even worth ntioning in this war.’
Chief Aili only felt his body lift into the air, the sensation of pain not yet having reached his brain.
His last sight was of the Knight’s breastplate: a red dragon and bear.
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