Chapter 5: The White Flag
In fact, defeating that fat examiner Hall was just an empty boast. It's true that the fat man had accomplished the feat of defeating a thousand with ten thousand, but those thousand were the "Divine Iron Cavalry" trained by the fat man himself. Facing ten thousand infantry and relying on a surprise attack, the fat man's victory was never in doubt. Now, however, the fat man had nothing in his hands except ten thousand depleted troops. In terms of strength, his side was like a lamb on the chopping block, awaiting slaughter.
Five thousand infantry, three thousand archers, one thousand crossbowmen, five hundred guards, and dozens of guardians comprised the fat man's entire force.
Standing on a relatively open hilltop, the fat man tiptoed and scanned the area below. The five thousand infantry of the remnants of the three kingdoms were stationed at the outermost perimeter of the entire camp. The patrolling infantry wore light brown armor, holding gleaming long spears in their left hands and circular shields with a diameter of several feet wide in their right. The shields, adorned with a faint brown hue, appeared as solid as boulders.
Further inward were the three thousand archers and the former crossbowmen. From the archers standing outside the camp, it was evident that they wore only lightweight, uniform military attire. They held yellow longbows in their left hands, with quivers of arrows on their backs and gleaming daggers at their waists. The crossbowmen, on the other hand, were better equipped, wearing iron helmets, leather armor, and wielding crossbows capable of firing three arrows in succession. Though their equipment was as rudimentary as that of the archers, they were clearly of a higher caliber.
The guards and guardians were positioned deepest within, and though there were only a few hundred of them, the fat man could see that they possessed the strength of thousands.
Their exquisite armor, shields, and the rock-like composure they exuded made it clear that they were elite troops. Especially the guardians, who gave the fat man the impression that they could take on a hundred or more enemies single-handedly.
However, the fat man could not discern the exact difference in combat prowess between these elites and ordinary infantry.
These were all the cards the fat man had in his hand. In his previous life, before making decisions, he liked to compare the strength of both sides using chips as a metaphor.
Now, it seemed that the fat man didn't have many chips, and more importantly, he didn't understand them well. A commander who doesn't know his troops is a tragedy on the battlefield, and the fat man was now living that tragedy.
Sitting gloomily on the hillock, the fat man surveyed the camp below. The sound of rushing water from the Elure River echoed constantly in his ears, so close it seemed to be within arm's reach. To the fat man, it sounded like the call of death.
Holding his head in his hands, the fat man pondered deeply. The enemy's strength and his own should be similar, with the only difference perhaps being the occasional sound of horses neighing from the enemy camp, indicating the presence of cavalry.
In this world, those cavalry should be called knights.
"Even if I wanted to run, I couldn't," the fat man said with a distorted expression, gazing into the distance where a dark mass loomed, with a prominent lion-emblazoned banner waving in the wind.
In a plain battle, the side with cavalry undoubtedly had a significant advantage. Their mobility allowed them to appear in any corner of the battlefield with ease, and their powerful charges made them a killing machine for infantry.
So, even if the fat man could think of a way to flee the battlefield, it would be impossible to execute. Even if he managed to escape, he would easily be caught by the cavalry. A mere thousand of them would be enough to wipe out his entire force. Moreover, from the sound of the horses' neighing, the fat man could tell that there were definitely more than a thousand of them.
Therefore, the fat man had only two options: surrender or await his doom.
War Chess was indeed a great achievement of alchemy and magic arrays, but it was not perfect. While it was realistic, both the soldiers and junior officers were akin to puppets, mechanically obeying the fat man's commands.
So, in this battlefield, only two people were truly present: the fat man and the examiner Hall on the other side.
For both the fat man and Examiner Hall, everything was real. Whether stabbed by a spear or slashed by a sword, the pain, though not physically harmful, would be genuinely felt in their minds, even the sensation of death would be authentic.
"Hey, you there..." Sitting on the hillock, the fat man groaned for a while before his eyes suddenly lit up. He addressed the guardians who were ten meters away from him.
A heavily armored guardian, wielding a silvery white, heavy sword, walked up to the fat man like a fortress. "You, go..." the fat man whispered.
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Examiner Hall also stood on a hillock, but this one was several times higher than the one the fat man was on, affording him the advantage of being backed by the Hans Mountains.
"Duke, wouldn't it be better to let your grandson enter the Royal Academy? Why cling to your stubbornness, just for the honor of the Roselle family?" Examiner Hall gazed distantly at the remnants of the three kingdoms' armies and shook his head.
This was a hopeless situation. Anyone commanding those depleted troops would face the same fate.
Originally, the normal course of events should have been for the fat man to command the Lionheart Army. Regardless of what happened, even if he stood still like a pillar, he would eventually starve out the remnants of the three kingdoms' armies. Then, the fat man would smoothly enter the Military Academy, mess around for a few years, and upon graduation, rely on his family's influence to secure a respectable military position and a decent "salary."
But this normal course of events had been completely disrupted by Duke Roselle's words.
"Those nobles can stuff their trash into the Royal Academy, but I, Roselle, will never do such a thing. If Blackgold ever controls an army, or even a legion, it will be a disaster for the Empire of Al-As. As a grandfather, I will fulfill my duty and send him to the exam, but as a marshal, I cannot gamble with the fate of the empire."
Duke Roselle spoke decisively, with a hint of arrogance. What made him think that if the fat man entered the Military Academy, he would someday lead an army or a legion?
If anyone else had said this, they would have been ridiculed by everyone in the empire. But these words came from the upright Duke Roselle.
The grandson of a great marshal, the son of a commander who wields a legion, even if he were a fool or an idiot, he would still be a fool with immense power in the future.
Examiner Hall shook his head and stopped thinking too much. Prolonged contemplation was difficult for his simple mind.
"General, the commander of the allied forces of the three kingdoms has sent a box." A soldier suddenly appeared before Examiner Hall and reported.
"A box?" Examiner Hall's thick, black eyebrows furrowed. At this time, that young master, that fat man, would actually send him something? What could it be?
"Open it," Examiner Hall said calmly.
It was a black box, and when the soldier lifted the lid, Examiner Hall was stunned.
Inside the box lay a white flag, starkly visible.
"A white flag?" After a brief moment of confusion, Examiner Hall quickly regained his composure. He never expected the box to contain a white flag.
Then, Examiner Hall's face darkened, his eyes blazing with anger. In an instant, he was beside himself with rage.
"This is War Chess, not a real battlefield where one can die. That fatso actually surrendered without hesitation..."
To surrender without hesitation in a game of War Chess, what would he do in a real battle? He would probably surrender the entire army without a second thought.
Didn't he understand what military honor was, or what national dignity meant?
At this moment, Examiner Hall finally understood why Duke Roselle had made such a ruthless decision.
The anger in Examiner Hall's heart swelled up. If this fat man ever entered the military, even as an ordinary soldier, he would bring unimaginable harm to the army. For at times, a single soldier who deserts in battle can cause the entire army to collapse.
"Order, the whole army should be ready to attack in three hours." Hall's face looked terrible, and his forehead was full of black lines. He decided to abandon the previous idea of allowing Fatty Rong Guang to "retire" and wanted to completely defeat Fatty.
The warhorses' neighing and the trampling of iron hooves grew louder and louder in Fatty's ears, resounding like thunder during a drought and even threatening to drown out the sound of the river's waves.
"Dammit, can't I even surrender? I don't want to play anymore, okay?" Fatty scowled, watching the frequent maneuvers of the army in the distance, which looked like a swarm of ants.
Since victory seemed impossible, he might as well admit defeat and avoid getting hit by a stray arrow, which could pierce him like a stone from a catapult.
Fatty's goal was to withdraw from this battle unscathed, meaning without a single scratch or injury.
However, the examiner Hall on the other side didn't seem to be giving him that option.
"You start it, I'll finish it. Let's see who comes out worse for wear," Fatty cursed loudly and then sat down, his small eyes darting around rapidly.
The maneuvers of the distant army intensified, and amidst the sounds of the warhorses, one could hear a dense, undulating roar like a surging tide, wave after wave.
Yet, Fatty sat quietly on the hill, his eyes moving faster and faster.