"This Harvin, not much to look at and a bit ugly, but he’s reliable. Have him feign defeat, and look, it’s as if he really lost."
Zelaken studied Nidesar’s expression and tested the waters as he spoke.
"Hmph, can’t win a battle but excels at pretending to lose... Have the rebels advanced?"
"They have advanced."
"That’s enough."
Sitting on the terrace of Gale Castle, Nidesar petted his large sand sculpture without observing closely.
If he had looked carefully, he would have noticed—
The knights’ armor, loosened during their retreat, clanged noisily against each other.
So helts were askew, and so had even discarded all their armor, returning alone.
The longswords, cracked and worn, were thrust into the ground, reflecting the evening’s glow.
Their banners no longer fluttered but were rolled up, hanging limply on the poles.
In one corner of the camp, a few knights sat around a campfire, their faces covered in dust and sweat, their hands trembling with goblets of wine.
The wine sizzled as it spilled onto the armor.
Their conversation was intermittent, occasionally punctuated by awkward laughter.
This wasn’t feigned defeat; this was clearly a real defeat.
Nidesar, however, hadn’t looked closely, convinced it was unnecessary.
As long as the effect was right, what transpired in between didn’t matter.
Luring the rebels forward was just the first step of Nidesar’s plan.
Unlike Bo Ao Lie, Nidesar wasn’t from a traditional noble estate, so he didn’t possess the Empire’s Imperial Knights’ unfounded arrogance.
Nidesar believed in the adage, "A lion uses its full strength to catch a rabbit."
Moreover, this rabbit had turned over even the Imperial Chain, sothing that made Nidesar quite wary.
Thus, Nidesar summoned more than a hundred knights who had fought against the Salvation Army within five days, seeking their opinions.
Though he still didn’t know much about the Salvation Army, he at least had a rough impression.
Nidesar’s gaze fell on the discarded spring gun on the table, his fingers lightly brushing over it.
According to the knights, this long-barreled weapon was the reason for the Salvation Army’s unbeaten record.
So knights called these weapons "lightning sticks," but Nidesar knew that was just the commons’ misnor.
According to intelligence from the rats in Joan of Arc Castle, the real na of this weapon was a spring gun.
The range of this spring gun was about a hundred steps, easily piercing armor. He suspected it most likely utilized so alchemical reaction or special magic.
Nidesar was no stranger to such alchemical or magical weapons.
He even had an alchemical whistle of his own that controlled sand sculptures.
However, unlike other spells, they allowed for dense casting and even rapid casting.
When casting magic, interference occurs; when a wizard casts spells, there shouldn’t be another wizard casting within a two-ter radius.
The spring gun, however, had no such restrictions: clean and simple.
A weapon this handy, Nidesar wished to have a set of his own.
For a black man from the desert like him, there were no prohibitions or roundabout principles—if it was useful, he used it.
Perhaps precisely because of this, he repeatedly failed to receive promotions.
After all, the Church was always process-oriented, not results-driven.
"How’s the imitation of these weapons coming along?" Nidesar extended his arm forward, and the sand sculpture spread its wings and soared, diving toward the farming peasants.
To counter the spring gun’s advantage, Nidesar gathered nurous artisans attempting to replicate it.
"Not yet..."
"Ah—my eyes, it took my eyes!"
"Get off, get off, don’t peck , Papa!"
"Sanni, run fast!"
Zelaken’s thoughts were interrupted mid-sentence by the screams emanating from the fields.
He coughed, cleared his throat, and avoided looking at his own people.
"So far, we haven’t succeeded in developing it."
"I personally dismantled that spring gun; isn’t the structure inside particularly complex?" Nidesar stroked the spring gun tube in his hand, his voice calm and steady.
Zelaken imdiately advised, "Your Excellency, the artisans have all tried. We even brought in the Wizard prisoners from the Red Copper Fortress, but still haven’t managed a successful imitation.
They’ve made progress: this period saw several imitations made, but for so reason, either they lack the rumored power, or they simply can’t be unwound."
"Your Excellency, I believe, the so-called ’lightning stick’ rumors are just knights making excuses for themselves. It’s probably just an ordinary crossbow."
Nidesar squinted suspiciously: "Truly?"
"It’s the truth!"
"Really? I don’t believe it." Leaning back in his chair, Nidesar crossed his legs, "One person might say that, but if so many people say the sa, can I not see the holes in the armor?"
Zelaken wiped the sweat from his forehead and quickly diverted attention: "We’ve received news, just as you predicted, the Salvation Army dispatched troops early."
With his narrow eyes sweeping over Zelaken, Nidesar let out a cold laugh, refraining from pursuing the conversation further.
"Where have they advanced to?"
"Seems to be Black Pottery Town."
"Only advanced twenty li? That’s cautious." Nidesar rocked back and forth in his chair.
But this result was sowhat anticipated by Nidesar. After all, if it were him, he’d probably also choose Black Pottery Town.
At least from the border to Black Pottery Town, there were so Miner Rabbit Forests and Black Mud Hills to block cavalry; beyond the Black Mud Hills to Gale Castle, it’s over a hundred li of endless wheat field plains.
"Yes, Harvin was beaten like that; did the lure fail?"
"As long as they’ve co out, our strategy has succeeded."
Analyzing the repeated failures of the Imperial Chain, Nidesar deduced that the peasant rebellion relied mainly on three factors—narrow terrain, armor-piercing spring guns, and the lightning magic Witch.
The main tactics were rapid maneuvers and pieceal attacks. If the Royal Constitution Knights and the Imperial Chain acted together, even if Joan of Arc Castle fell, the Battle of Pavia wouldn’t be lost.
Facing the rebels’ three advantages, Nidesar’s response strategy was to retreat, concentrating dispersed forces to prevent being defeated individually.
Once the rebel infantry quickly marched onto the plains, their terrain advantage would be nullified.
Plains terrain was the domain of cavalry.
As for the lightning magic Witch, battles could occur on clear days, then the monks could use Scripture Recitation Divine Technique to suppress her.
Finally, the armor-piercing spring guns could be countered with harassnt from the bow cavalry and through the peasant soldiers. Eventually, they would deplete.
After extinguishing the enemy’s three main advantages, what was left was to unleash the knights’ genuine prowess.
Nidesar, true to his sand sculpture moniker, was always known for his craftiness and patience, excelling at wearing down foes with harassnt before delivering a fatal blow.
In the first stage of luring the enemy, he initially thought Harvin and Kasedar might slip up, but it was executed rather well.
"Were the funds and supplies all transported away?"
"All except for the immovable assets were transported."
"Good, give so gold, ivory, and spices to Harvin and Kasedar to reward their achievents." Nidesar had always been generous to those who contributed.
"Alright, okay." Zelaken felt a bit toothache at that mont.
A clear eagle screech rang out, and the gray-yellow sand sculpture, holding a shriveled eyeball and small fingers, perched on Nidesar’s arm.
"Oh, good boy, good boy!" Nidesar extended a finger, gently stroking the sand sculpture’s head.
"But, Your Excellency, I have a small question." Avoiding the bloody sculpted head, Zelaken cautiously inquired, "What if they persist in staying in Black Pottery Town and refuse to co out?"
"Impossible." Nidesar affectionately grood the sand sculpture’s feathers, "Their grain supply relies entirely on Kasha County. They are stationed in Black Pottery Town.
Supplying two lines with food, their grain reserves and transportation capacity can’t withstand it, and the Church’s offensive at Ansen Castle is quite successful, seemingly about to conquer it.
Should he have any sense, he would think of ending the war quickly. When they can no longer hold back and step onto the plains, that’s when it becos our battleground.
If the plan is executed to perfection... not to be disrespectful, but the rebels have already placed one foot in the grave."
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