The 7th’s march into Irine had been, for the past few weeks, unopposed. To denote the rabble militia that attempted to delay them as ‘resistance’ would be an insult to the rest of Irine. The baggage train behind the army had grown ever long as Alisson continually amassed supplies, far more than was necessary, from every settlement they crossed. The villages were ransacked and the inhabitants dealt with.

  It wasn’t exactly a great way to achieve long-term peace, this Alisson knew, but he wasn’t here to make friends.

  It was smooth sailing until one report from his scouts. They had sighted an enemy army, headed right toward them. He hadn’t expected an organized response for some time, but he supposed it was bound to happen eventually. Judging by the fact he knew nothing about this force other than the fact it was comparable or larger to Alisson’s, he opted to take a defensive position and await their arrival.

  There was a nearby river that ran east to west, to the south of which was a hill. That was where Alisson positioned the 7th. This was a good defensive position – It provided advantages in combat and gave them the ability to withdraw quickly if the enemy force was overwhelming. Attacking the 7th directly across a river and up a hill was a death sentence. If they tried to flank them, they would still have to ford the river at some point, to which the 7th could harass and contest and maneuvers.

  Alisson waited atop the hill for this force to arrive, half expecting it to just be another rabble of militia that could be easily defeated. Scouts didn’t always provide accurate information, and tended to overexaggerate. Regardless, what arrived was indeed an army. From their vantage point on the hill, Alisson saw a great force. One that was both substantial in size and armament. Alisson watched with intrigue, wondering what they intended to do. Once they neared, they were identified as the 87th, that hot-shot army that he had been warned about. The abundance of lavender colors looked stupid for an army.

  Some of the men even broke out in laughter. Regardless, the 7th was dug in, and ready. Skirmishers were on standby to sally down the hill, and intercept any crossing they might attempt.

  The army before them waited a full day before launching any action, thoroughly scouting the river and Alisson’s position. Mages were at the ready on both sides, wary of large magical strikes at such a close distance. It seemed the 87th purposely encamped as close as possible to the 7th to make them uncomfortable. Come daybreak, the first actions of the battle began.

  Above the 87th flew squadrons of Aerial Mages, which Alisson had no answer to other than conventional ground-to-air spells.

  The 87th massed at over a dozen points across the river, making it very obvious they were going to cross. Alisson sent out the skirmishers to harass them, but as the day progressed, he realized just how large the 87th was. It was easily double the size of the 7th, perhaps even more so. His skirmishers could do little to contest the crossings – Irinians mages shielded their infantry and parted the waters, rushing through the river with waves of heavy infantry.

  This occurred in tandem with a full-scale frontal assault, which took much of the 7th’s attention. Alisson believed that this might be it – One stupid charge that would end the battle – But the 87th were reserved, and it took Alisson too long to realize why. The frontal assault was just a distraction – Their main goal was to surround the hill.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  From there, the 87th could cut off his supply lines, and simply starve the 7th out, without needing to attack their fortified position.

  Once Alisson had followed this train of thought to its conclusion, sweat formed on his forehead. He’d been spoiled by human commanders. They were all so stupid. It had rubbed off on him.

  He should’ve retreated as soon as he saw the size of the 87th. Their commander evidently wasn’t an idiot either.

  “She got me…” Alisson growled. Dascha looked on worriedly as he stood at the top of the hill.

  It would take more than a good position to defeat the 87th. That much was evident. No. The 87th wasn’t special. It was their commander. Count Iquaintseer. His efforts would be henceforth spent fighting the Count, not the army.

  Alisson would pay for this mistake. But he attained valuable knowledge of his enemy’s strength.

  He gave orders to immediately pull back off the hill, and retreat south. They would have to ditch the baggage they’d pulled all the way here, along with most of their supplies.

  Although these supplies would’ve endowed Alisson the ability to hold a long siege on the hill, given the 87th’s size and veterancy, he doubted he could win in a long battle of attrition, and would probably need to stage a break out at some point anyway. This commander wouldn’t be foolish enough to hand him a victory even if she had them surrounded for an extended period – They were probably patient as well.

  Reinforcements from Sidonia would never arrive to relieve them either; by contrast, the enemy would only grow in strength.

  Given these suppositions, Alisson made the decision to abandon the hill.

  “Are you sure, General?”

  He was sure.

  “You’re going to leave our supplies behind!?”

  A necessary sacrifice.

  “We have the high ground! We can wait them out!”

  Being in enemy territory didn’t exactly give the 7th the benefit of time.

  His officers voiced their objections as they pleased. Almost no one supported his decision. They argued loudly at him as he sat in the command tent, his eye twitching.

  “You do what I tell you to do!” He snapped at them, slamming his hand on the table.

  The officers shut up after that.

  This was his mistake. He walked them into this mess, they had the right to be angry; but Alisson found his temper unable to bear their complaints. He overheard some of the nearby soldiers openly complaining about his decision;

  “Why aren’t we fighting? We came to this hill and now we’re just leaving when the enemy shows up?”

  “Be quiet! Battles between masters are decided in seconds. Have faith in the good General!”

  At least some of his troops trusted him regardless of the situation. Certainly however, running would never be a positive thing to morale.

  …

  “So they retreated…?” Nariseer mused before taking a long gulp of warm milk from a mug.

  The officers watched Nariseer’s throat bob for a long moment before one responded, “I-it appears they ditched their gear and food…they ran south late last night before our encirclement was complete.”

  “Hmph.” Nariseer put down the mug, stretching her legs out and erecting her back with a short whine. “…It doesn’t seem like Alisson is a total idiot…” Nariseer smirked. “This might be fun!” She looked to the officers around her, “Confiscate the supplies they left behind. Make sure nothing gets back into their hands. Send out the 505th south. Tell them to reach as many villages as possible. It’s imperative we work to starve the invaders out.”

  “Yes ma’am!”

  Nariseer kicked her legs, looking down at the map.

  Alisson will either be smart enough to back off and retreat back to his homeland, or a supply deficit will make him lash out and act stupidly. The choice was his. Nariseer had gauged this so-called 7th army. They were small and inexperienced. Open combat with Nariseer’s loyal soldiers was enough to topple them. It would take one hell of a good position or maneuver to put them at an advantage when facing the 87th – And that was assuming that Nariseer didn’t see through it first – A maneuver that Nariseer seriously doubted Alisson had the skill to organize.

  ***