"What do you mean, 'no loss'?

  The army that the Holy Church spent so much to build was meant to conquer the world, and yet you squandered it all.

  Even the Blood Moon Horn was exposed prematurely, and you still have the audacity to cim there was 'no loss'?

  High Priest, in your eyes, what would count as a loss?

  Would it only be a loss if the enemy came and wiped us all out?

  Or perhaps..."

  Before Imann could finish, the masked figure raised his hand to stop him. "Enough. Let's end this discussion here. I believe the High Priest made an honest mistake this time, but such errors must not happen again.

  Compared to the nobles who have ruled this nd for countless years, our Skull Society's resources are far too limited to withstand such losses.

  We've gathered here from all corners of the world to overthrow the rule of the nobility, to step into the light, and to ensure that our descendants don't have to live like rats forever.

  Now, the opportunity has come. The enemy has abandoned their advantageous positions in the cities and is seeking to engage us in open battle. If we can defeat this noble alliance, the southeastern province will be ours.

  With the southeastern province under our control, the Kingdom of Alpha will be shaken to its core. The oppressed masses across the nd, long suffering under the nobility, will rise up in response.

  Using the Kingdom of Alpha as our base, we will ignite a wave of rebellion across the entire continent, just as we did three hundred years ago, sweeping across the nd.

  Victory will be ours!"

  "Victory will be ours!"

  "Victory will be ours!"

  ...

  As if injected with adrenaline, the crowd echoed the masked figure's words. It was clear that this was a heartfelt conviction.

  Although the mysterious "Holy Master's" rallying speech was logically nonsensical and utterly unconvincing, with the aid of magic, anything was possible.

  After all, this was a cult organization that couldn't operate in the open. No matter how beautifully they packaged their words, they couldn't hide their sinister core.

  With morale boosted, the Skull Society transformed into a war machine, ready to spring into action.

  The first wave of devout followers had already been sent to the battlefield as cannon fodder, so the recruitment efforts for the next wave naturally didn't go smoothly.

  But this didn't faze the Skull Society. If people weren't willing to enlist, they would simply press-gang them. Once in the army, they would be force-fed a "courage potion" and subjected to intense brainwashing, turning them into fearless soldiers.

  However, there were two sides to this coin. These artificially cultivated "warriors" often suffered a significant drop in intelligence, and the more bloodthirsty they became, the less rational they were.

  While they made excellent cannon fodder, there was no hope of turning them into true elite soldiers.

  Watching the chaotic procession, Count Piers, who had just been confidently strategizing, now wore a grim expression.

  Although he had known that the noble alliance was a mixed bag, he hadn't expected it to be this bad. On the very first day of the march, the serf soldiers had already descended into chaos.

  As everyone knew, the speed of an army's march wasn't determined by its best units but by its worst.

  Generally speaking, the rger the army, the more incompetent soldiers it contained, and the slower its march. Smaller units, on the other hand, were far more efficient.

  On the first day of the march, soldiers were already wandering off, unable to find their units. Watching the noble lords scrambling to locate their own men, Count Piers was furious.

  All talk of "speed being crucial in warfare" had become a joke. Not only were the first four armies in disarray, but the Fifth Army, responsible for transporting supplies, had taken dragging their feet to a whole new level.

  No matter how far the vanguard had advanced, the Fifth Army had only managed to cover a little over twenty miles. And this was only because Count Piers had repeatedly sent messengers to hurry them along. Otherwise, they would have been even slower.

  Hudson, trailing at the rear, had the most insight into this. It wasn't that he was causing trouble; it was simply that marching an army of tens of thousands was inherently a logistical nightmare.

  Optimistically estimating: if four soldiers marched abreast, with one meter between each row, a force of twenty thousand would stretch over ten miles.

  Hudson didn't know the exact size of the alliance's forces, but it took over three hours after the march order was given before his Tenth Regiment even began to move.

  Due to a shortage of draft animals, the soldiers had to double as porters, pushing supply carts along the way.

  While serf soldiers were well-suited to this task, efficiency was another matter entirely.

  With a three-hour dey at the start, and another two to three hours spent on rest breaks, cooking meals, and setting up camp, the actual marching time was only five to six hours.

  Under these circumstances, covering twenty miles in a day was the best the Fifth Army could manage.

  Unfortunately, this effort went unnoticed. Furious and embarrassed, Count Piers ignored the fact that the troops had been marching all day and convened an emergency military meeting that very night.

  Gathered around a bonfire, the flickering fmes cast shadows on Count Piers' grim face.

  "Count, the slow march is mainly due to the Fifth Army holding us back. If it weren't for the baggage train, we could easily cover fifty miles a day."

  The one boasting was Viscount Orn, commander of the Second Army.

  Without the serf soldiers, Hudson wouldn't have been surprised if they could march a hundred miles in a day. But with these men dragging them down, fifty miles was a joke.

  Hudson had tried it before. On the way here, he had once attempted to march sixty miles in a day, and the results were... best left unmentioned.

  It only proved the wisdom of the ancient military texts: "He who seeks advantage over a hundred miles will exhaust his generals; he who seeks advantage over fifty miles will lose half his army."

  If they forced the troops to march fifty miles a day, they would be in tears if they encountered the rebels. The exhausted soldiers would show them what true incompetence looked like.

  "Count, it's not that the Fifth Army isn't trying. The roads are too winding, and we don't have enough draft animals to pull the carts. We have to rely on human bor, so it's impossible to move faster!

  Besides, today was the first day of the march, and we started three hours te. Covering twenty miles is already a great effort.

  If the other units still have energy to spare, I suggest distributing the baggage among all the regiments to share the logistical burden. That should speed things up."

  Chelse, the commander of the Fifth Army, expined with a stiff upper lip.

  No matter what, the Fifth Army couldn't take the bme for slowing down the march.

  The first four armies were traveling light, while the Fifth Army was burdened with supplies. Expecting them to march at the same speed was simply unreasonable.

  "Chelse, it seems your military knowledge needs improvement. Distributing the baggage? Do you not realize that the main force needs to conserve energy to engage the enemy at any moment?"

  Commander Chris of the Third Army sneered.

  Shifting bme was one thing, but taking on the logistical burden was another matter entirely.

  They all knew their own limitations. If normal marching caused chaos, adding the pressure of transporting supplies would make the situation unimaginable.

  Spoileryou can support this transtion on patreon.com/KardTL

  [colpse]