"If we look solely on the numbers of our current forces, we are clearly at a disadvantage," Times explained after returning to his position earlier at the foot of the stairway. "Skystead Keep has a total of 85,000 able-bodied soldiers while the kapres have a hundred thousand, my Lord Praeceptor."
'… These are unbelievable numbers, Dominion. I never thought your empire had this many people in it.'
'That must have been why Times was particularly insulted when I killed his people useless.'
I looked back at Times again while caressing my chin with my thumb. "It didn't seem like the enemy's 20,000 lead in numbers faze you much, my warlord."
Times frowned and flinched a bit when he heard what I just called him; it seemed like he didn't like the sound of "my warlord" much. Maybe I should try different titles instead. Nevertheless, Times answered me without much of a protestation.
"Not at all, my Lord Praeceptor," Times responded without an ounce of hesitation. "True, the kapres have the upper hand when basic arithmetic is taken into consideration, but about 60 to 70% of the enemy's forces are mere armed civilians, trained to fight for, at most, two months to a year. All of our soldiers have trained for most of their lives, and they are all battle-ready and well-experienced in strategy, tactics, and warfare after facing countless skirmishes in the last decade alone. We also have several war veterans with us like my brother and yours truly who had fought alongside Lord Dominion countless times for as long as we could remember."
"Hmm…" That's reassuring to hear, but I don't want to underestimate the enemy. We still have to respect their numbers. "How many men do each general control, lord warlord?"
Times took a step back and looked at me with a rather nasty scowl that he couldn't quite hide in time. The disgust in his eyes told me that he most definitely did not like that title AT ALL! Maybe he didn't like being called a lord? That's quite odd. Times shook his head lightly with eyes closed and replied to my inquiry with his usual stern face.
"10,000 for each general, my Lord Praeceptor; I also control 5,000 seasoned soldiers I hand-picked myself as well as 10,000 more soldiers formerly under the strict guidance of the late General Cassandra Aramis. Every general has a duty to report to me as their warlord and direct supervisor, but… as you can see, some of them had gone rogue over the past few years."
I looked at the current generals that still answer my call. Three. General Gavin Roma, General Castor Herd, and General Garland Troupe. If each general has ten thousand men and Times have five, then…
"Can we defeat them with just 45,000 men, warlord?" I'm starting to worry initially, but I still look at our current position positively since the enemy is clearly not skilled at sieges if we hadn't even lost a single bring in our defenses.
Again, it didn't seem like Times appreciated the title I referred to him as. Does he not like being called a warlord? What a strange man. Regardless, Times responded without a hint of trouble, seemingly understanding the logic behind my worries.
"I understand your worries, my Lord Praeceptor, but I can assure you that victory is already ours before the battle even began. If we play our cards well and capitalize the natural and man-made defenses of the Keep, we can efficiently execute their men until their numbers dwindle into a few tens of thousands before they could reach our walls."
"Should we anticipate an aerial strike?"
"I doubt that, my Lord Praeceptor. Based on what we saw when we flew above the enemy's camp earlier this week, it didn't seem like the enemy intends to create and use airships or even attempt any sort of aerial combat after their devastating loss three months ago."
"Loss? Is this not their first attempt to attack Skystead Keep, then?"
"No, my Lord Praeceptor."
"How many attempts so far, my soldier?"
It seemed like Times didn't quite like that title, too, as he looked at me with an even more confused expression now with his brows knitted tightly. Maybe he's wondering why I keep using weird titles to refer to him; it also seemed like the other generals had already seen through what I'm doing as they looked at each other while trying to stop their laughter. But Times is not amused. Still, he continued professionally as he had been doing for a while now.
"Three. The first time is when they tried to attack the Keep in the middle of the night by climbing, which is already a questionable maneuver to begin with. I still cannot, for the life of me, understand as to why they thought that would work, but for a few hours, it did seem like the kapres' attempt to take the Keep by surprise was working until my dear younger brother here saw through their buffoonery and immediately repelled the enemy's advance.
The second was their first attempt to use an aircraft to attack the keep, but they didn't really have much; I remember they only used ten aircraft, and from the looks of it, the entire operation was a suicide mission. They intended to run these aircraft straight into our walls and self-destruct using tons of explosives filling the aircraft's cargo freight. But I, Times Newell Roma, personally answered this tomfoolery with my elite guards and shattered their plans in midair. They barely even touched our walls.
"The third and the last one was just… tragic, to say the least. A hundred gargantuan and well-armed airships, operated by thousands of soldiers, went straight towards the Keep in the middle of a sunny afternoon; it's obvious already that Bismarck didn't wish to perform any useless tricks and tactics anymore. He just wants to go straight ahead and murder every Vyurborne soldier he could find. But that idiot clearly didn't understand the intricacies of aerial assaults. General Troupe and my dead younger brother here, both generals who still loyally answer your call, personally faced these soldiers with General Vertgren and General Flinch's help. In less than half an hour, the kapres have lost all their airships with no casualty on our side.
"In total, the Keep didn't lose any soldiers in any of those skirmishes while Bismarck lost 20,000 men. If that is not enough proof for you to trust your 40,000 well-trained Vyurborne soldiers, then I don't know what more you would need, my Lord Praeceptor. We don't need all generals to win this war."
"Hmm…" That is an impressive track record, and these generals had already proved themselves useful in past skirmishes.
"Hmm…" Dominion is right. That means we just need another devastating and one-sided win like what happened last time, and we could march through their camp at the mouth of Auld Mountain Pass, kill Bismarck, and take his soldiers into custody.
This might actually work.
"How many weeks do we have left before our enemy attacks?"
"My Lord Praeceptor…" Times let out a heavy breath, and the other generals all exchanged uncomfortable gazes at each other. "Four days. We only have four days left."
'…'
<…>
Well, shit.
"How can we be sure of this information?"
"The enemy is already arming their soldiers as we speak, my Lord Praeceptor. In four days or less, they would start marching towards us. We are already starting preparations; we only await your command."
"Great." I clapped as I took a deep breath. I didn't expect my first day to be this tense. "Do we have any plans to stop their advance, Times?"
Times gave me an approving look, and the corners of his lips slowly perked up; the other general also seemed to have enjoyed what I just said right then. They seemed to be enjoying themselves; was it something I said?
"Yes, my Lord Praeceptor. It's a simple one, but it's largely effective."