Drissian Fourth Army, January 1731 City of Ber, Province of Ciresia, Osterian Empire.
Three generals sat by each other in silence, the map before them depicting their resounding success and the discussion for their next move. Though through their silence, a shout cut through.
"What did you do!?"
Klein bursts in, his eyes burning in anger as he stomped his way over to Weissman.
Warner then stands between them, his voice filled with caution, "Don't do anything you might regret, Klein. He is still your commanding officer."
Klein locks eyes with him, his fist clenched, his eyes roam the room before backing down. His glare never leaving Weissman, who through it all merely smiles, unfazed.
Beck then spoke up, "What the hell got you so angry?"
Klein then slams the papers in his hand, spreading through the table the reports and first-hand accounts of what went through on his end.
"Read this and we'll talk."
Beck looks at it before giving a cursory glance to the two other men as they read it through, their eyes widening by every passing second.
He shrugs before delving into its contents, ending it with a shout, pointing his finger at Weissman, "What the fuck! What kind of shit did you force that kid in, to get this much power!"
His eyes burn as they turn and glare to Weissman. Weissman himself looked a bit shaken, as he rereads everything once more.
"Sir? What is the meaning of this? No one shouldn't be capable of magic like this. It is physically impossible." Warner asks.
"Much less for a boy." He then glares.
The simmering anger beneath his eyes was more than apparent.
Weissman looks to the three men around him, each one bearing a varying degree of anger, their eyes murderous at the implication of what has been done to the boy.
After all, there are no known ways for a man to increase their capacity, anymore than they are given. The closest thing they could think off, was inhuman experimentation.
He sighs, knowing that such secret won't last for long and hiding it towards his subordinates would only fester anger and insubordination.
"GUARDS! Create a fifty meter perimeter. Not a single soul is allowed!"
The guards outside of the tent shouted their affirmation as hundreds are corralled away from their position, leaving his three subordinate fearful of his next words.
Weissman waited for minutes before he asked, "Do any of you remember Elaine Ziast?"
Warner looks to him in confusion, "You mean that last scion of House Ziast, the lady that recklessly used her magic on her fiefs?"
Klein interjects, "The one that evoked so much outrage from the nobility, his highness had to step in? What does that have to do with anything?"
Weissman looks down, "Everything."
He looks up with a grim expression, his cigar crushed between his fingers, "What I'm about to tell you is only known by four other people. It has been a closely guarded secret, one I expect you three to forget."
The three men looked at one another before nodding, their eyes filled with conviction.
Schneider was in deep pain, every part of his body ached, then ached some more at every movement. It was nauseating to say the least.
Though with such pain came relief, his first battle ending in him living through the hellscape he called war.
He chuckles a bit and winced as the wound in his chest aggravates. He looks around the tent, to see the wounded tended to, the smell of blood and sweat morbidly apparent.
Even Meyer, who looked as injured as him, was fast asleep, he could only wonder what happened the moment he lost consciousness.
Speaking of which, he looks as he wonders as to himself on how the battle ended. With such thoughts, a voice spoke,
"So you're awake?"
Schneider turns his head to see Forst, looking back with an amused expression.
"Never closed my eyes." Schneider replies with a grin.
"I see. Good to see my advice worked." He looked back to Meyer, "Though it would be best if you open it a little further."
"Ha! Ow... yeah, maybe I should."
Forst gives him an amused chuckle while Schneider smiles.
With the two men talking, Meyer awoke with a groan. "Ugh. Everything hurts." He mutters.
He opens his eyes to see the two men looking back. "Did I miss something?"
Schneider shakes his head, "Nothing, we were just talking."
"Really?" Meyer tried to stand before pain struck like a lightning bolt, leaving him back to bed, incapacitated.
Schneider shakes his head before looking to Forst. "So, what happened? Did we win?"
"We did, though your men suffered high casualties, leaving a fifth of them dead or incapacitated."
He widens his eyes before lowering his head in sadness, the feeling of failure burning in his chest. "Guess that's to be expected. Isn't it?"
Forst looks around the tent filled with groaning and bloodied men. "Yes, first lesson in battle. Casualties cannot be avoided, only mitigated."
Such words leave the two men in a somber mood, the deaths of their subordinates sinking in.
Meyer shakes his head away from the dreary thought. "So, what got you here so fast?"
"Yeah, I don't think you just came here for us?" Schneider remarks.
Forst nods, "Yeah. The recent battle took the lives of a few colonels and their lieutenants. I came here to notify you both of the reorganization and addition of men under your command."
"How big exactly are we talking about?"
"They assigned each of us one thousand five hundred soldiers."
"What!?" shouts Meyer, his wound aching from the sudden movement.
"Seriously? What the fuck happened?" asks Schneider.
"The battle was fierce and not everyone could tank the hit of hundreds of fireballs."
Schneider winced. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Not everyone has a colonel capable of blasting out winds potent enough to snuff out fireballs by the hundreds."
Meyer widens his eyes, "Speaking of which, how is the colonel?"
"He's doing alright. Though with the recent changes, the general has asked for him and I'm on my way to bring such a message." He says as he gives the two men a nod.
"Then I'll get going, get a rest, you two."