FL - Chapter 65: Commanding from the Rear

After Viscount Webster explained the enemy positions and their risks, silence settled over the command tent.

Everyone waited for the next stage of the deployment plan.

Viscount Webster spoke in a grave, measured tone.

"According to our current intelligence, the terrain around Icetooth Mine is relatively open. Our safest course is to eliminate that stronghold first, use it as a foothold, and advance against the others one at a time."

Several old northern nobles nodded in favor of the cautious approach.

Before Webster could continue, a hoarse, drunken voice interrupted him.

"Old man, why are you dragging this out?"

Every gaze turned toward the head of the room.

Count Firth braced one hand against his chair and struggled upright. The drunken flush remained heavy on his face.

He pointed at the three red marks on the sand table.

"If we're going to attack, hit them all at once! Wipe out all three rat nests and be done with it! We have five thousand men. What is there to fear?"

The nobles exchanged helpless looks. No one knew how to respond.

The military advisor behind Firth coughed and offered a hasty explanation.

"What Count Firth means is that we can send three separate forces against the three locations. If everything goes well, the campaign may end ahead of schedule."

He was plainly trying to give the Count's drunken rambling a respectable interpretation.

Viscount Webster frowned. "You make it sound simple. Our forces are already limited. Dividing them means giving up any chance to reinforce one another.

"The Snowsworn excel at ambushes, and every one of these positions is dangerous. This isn't a game."

The rebuke ignited Count Firth's drunken temper.

He slammed the table and lurched to his feet. "Am I the commander, or are you? You're a vassal, yet you dare contradict your liege before everyone?"

On an ordinary day, he would never have spoken to Webster that way.

The Viscount had been his father's right-hand man and remained a loyal retainer of House Firth.

Count Firth held the superior title and legal authority, but when it came to genuine prestige and the power to settle strategy before the nobles and officers, his word carried less weight.

That authority belonged to the old Supernal Knight standing before him.

Firth knew it well.

But he was drunk, and years of resentment poured out with the wine fumes.

Viscount Webster's face turned livid, like he had been slapped before the entire room.

He didn't answer. He stood with his hands clenched behind his back and forced down his anger.

He was the vassal, and Firth was his liege.

Even if that liege reeked of wine and spouted nonsense, Webster couldn't allow him to lose all dignity in public.

Suffocating silence filled the command tent.

"Since you're too cowardly to decide, I'll do it!"

Firth staggered to the sand table and jabbed the three red markers.

"We'll take all three positions at once.

"Choose several southern colonization lords and those war-loving northern nobles to serve as the vanguard. I will remain in Snowhawk City and command from the rear!

"Three simultaneous attacks! That will display the might of the Fifth Legion!"

His voice swelled with pride when he spoke of commanding from the rear, like he truly believed himself a master strategist directing the campaign from afar.

No one answered.

Only a few awkward coughs and the crackle of candles beside the sand table disturbed the silence.

The nobles weren't fools. Everyone understood that Count Firth intended to use them as cannon fodder.

Even the southern nobles who had agreed with him moments earlier now looked uneasy.

Louis leaned back and watched the drunken display, remembering the morning's second intelligence report.

One thought entered his mind.

*A dead man is talking.*

But this development suited him.

He had been searching for a reason to secure a deployment. A young noble suddenly demanding a frontline assignment would draw suspicion.

Count Firth's reckless plan had now provided the perfect opportunity.

Louis raised a hand. "Count Firth. Viscount Webster.

"With your permission, I would like to lead my contingent to Clearfeather Ridge to survey the terrain and search for enemy traces.

"The paths there are narrow and the terrain complex. It is a typical mountain canyon. I've fought on similar ground and have experience establishing warning lines and withdrawal routes.

"If we locate the enemy before deciding whether to concentrate our forces, our chances of success will be far better."

The tent went quiet.

Many nobles stared at him in astonishment. They hadn't expected the young man at the center of attention to volunteer for a dangerous mission behind enemy lines.

Couldn't he see that he was being sent to die?

"What?" Jon raised his hand from the back without hesitation. "I'm going too! Wherever Baron Calvin goes, I go!"

Several nobles drew sharp breaths and whispered among themselves.

"Have they lost their minds?"

"Clearfeather Ridge? That's walking into a slaughter."

"How can they not see the trap?"

Everyone understood the danger.

This wasn't a vanguard assignment. They were expendable.

Yet Louis had volunteered.

Viscount Webster studied him in silence, trying to decide whether the young man's success had gone to his head or whether he had another motive.

Was Louis planning to flee?

Impossible. Only a madman would try. He could run, but his territory would remain, and the Governor's envoys were watching.

Desertion would cost him his title at best and his head at worst.

Perhaps killing Haskell had filled him with reckless ambition. Perhaps he now believed himself invincible.

Whatever the reason, Webster saw little harm in it.

If several hundred men marching toward death could buy enough time for Firth to sober up, the price was acceptable.

"In that case," Webster said, "Baron Calvin and Baron Harvey will lead their forces to Clearfeather Ridge.

"Reconnaissance is your primary objective. Do not engage recklessly."

"Yes, sir." Louis bowed his head.

Webster then named several southern colonization lords with little family support, ordering them to take detachments on feint reconnaissance missions against the other two strongholds.

The selected nobles went pale. They wanted to protest but couldn't find the words.

Everyone knew these weren't reconnaissance missions. They were clearing traps with human lives.

No one dared disobey.

Several even resented Louis, believing they would never have been selected if he hadn't volunteered first.

The council ended soon afterward. Viscount Webster outlined several logistical and supply arrangements before dismissing everyone.

The nobles rose with troubled expressions.

The entire Fifth Legion was now under the command of a Count who couldn't have been less reliable.