War strategy

The Mage Association was an enigmatic entity—powerful yet neutral, known for prioritizing research over war. For them to extend assistance unprompted was highly unusual.

"What do they offer?" Renher asked.

"Their forces will include:

25 low-level mages,10 intermediate mages,1 advanced mage."

The room fell into stunned silence. An advanced mage.

While common folk might not fully grasp the significance, every official in the chamber understood the implications. Advanced mages were walking calamities, capable of levelling entire battlefields with but a flick of their wrists. Even a baseline seventh-circle mage far outclassed an intermediate sixth-circle mage—a difference as vast as a river separating two lands.

The Skairus Empire itself only possessed seven such mages, including Kaileen and Thymur. The others were spread across the kingdom for diplomacy and defence. For this battle, Thymur alone was deemed sufficient, his power great enough to vanquish twenty orcs in mere minutes.

Renher leaned forward, fingers steepled. "And their price? The Mage Association never acts without motive."

Thymur sighed. "In return, they demand 40% of the war spoils and the first pick of all magical materials harvested from the orcs—with a slight price concession."

Renher's expression darkened for a moment before breaking into a smirk. It was a bargain.

This war was not waged for profit but for securing the empire's borders. If the mages' aid ensured a swift victory with minimal losses, then such a deal was more than acceptable.

"Agreed," he declared. "Send word immediately. Inform them that their assistance is welcome, and we shall bear the cost of any medical treatment their mages require."

Thymur wasted no time. He retrieved fresh parchment and a quill, swiftly drafting a response. As he wrote, Renher turned his attention to preparations for battle.

The Bailus Forest loomed beside the capital—a sprawling expanse of towering trees and treacherous terrain. The real challenge lay not in reaching the orcs but in traversing the swamplands that guarded their encampment like a natural fortress. With the mages now on their side, this obstacle could be overcome.

The meeting adjourned, and Renher made his way to the armoury. He had one final task before setting out—to retrieve Excalibur, his most trusted blade.

Meanwhile, within the grand halls of the Mage Association, far from the empire's stronghold, an aged man sat behind a desk, untying the letter brought by the pigeon.

His long, flowing beard, white as freshly fallen snow, cascaded down his chest—a silent testament to centuries of wisdom. His robes, lined with golden embroidery, shimmered under the flickering candlelight, exuding an aura of quiet grandeur.

As he read the letter, his sharp eyes gleamed with understanding. He wasted no time, calling forth an attendant. "Summon the Mage Corps immediately."

The mages had already been prepared for deployment, their staffs imbued with energy, their robes billowing as they marched towards their carriages. Each carriage bore the emblem of the Mage Association, pulled by steeds that seemed bred from the finest lineage—muscular, swift, and exuding an air of untamed power.

Back at the empire's outer gates, the army stood in formation, a thousand strong. The air crackled with tension, an unspoken promise of bloodshed.

Archers stood at the ready, their bows strung tight. Lancers adjusted their grips, the steel of their weapons gleaming under the midday sun. Swordsmen shifted in place, awaiting the signal to march.

Renher surveyed them, his gaze sharp and unyielding. This was his army—his people. And he would lead them to victory.

The arrival of the Mage Corps did not go unnoticed. Their carriages rolled to a stop before the assembled forces. The team leader of the mages, a man with piercing blue eyes and an aura of quiet intensity, stepped forward.

Thymur greeted him first, embracing him lightly. The familiarity in their exchange did not go unnoticed. It was clear—this was not their first meeting.

As introductions concluded, Renher stepped forward. The team leader instantly dropped to one knee, paying his respects.

Renher, however, swiftly grasped his shoulders, pulling him upright. "There is no need for such formality. On the battlefield, we stand as equals."

With all preparations complete, the final roll call was conducted. The army was set. The mages were ready.

As the gates groaned open, revealing the path ahead, Renher cast one final glance back toward the castle, his heart heavy with longing. But Kaileen did not appear.

With a deep breath, he turned away and led his army forward, marching toward destiny.

The army stood ready, poised to march without delay. At the forefront, Renher sat astride his steed, his gaze fixed ahead. Unlike him, the bulk of the force proceeded on foot, save for the mages, who were either mounted or carried in carriages due to their limited physical endurance compared to the hardened soldiers.

As they departed through the grand gates of the capital, their journey had scarcely begun when a sharp, screeching cry echoed from above.

The sudden sound threw the army into turmoil—an attack this close to the capital was unthinkable.

In an instant, soldiers scrambled into defensive positions. Archers locked their arrows, and mages readied their spells, their chants already forming on their lips. The tension crackled in the air until a single, commanding voice cut through the chaos.

"Hold your positions! Keep moving!" Renher's order rang loud and clear, brooking no argument. Though unease lingered, none dared disobey. The army resumed its march, though every soldier remained on high alert.

Yet, Renher himself had nearly fallen into the same battle-ready mindset. It was only when the cry drew closer that recognition dawned—this was no enemy.

From the sky, a familiar shadow descended swiftly. It was Horus, his ever-loyal companion. The mighty bird had fought alongside him in countless battles, and it was unusual for him to arrive late. Normally, he perched on Renher's shoulder before they even passed the castle walls.

As Horus swooped down and landed gracefully on Renher's left shoulder, the army visibly relaxed. Their leader's reaction was all the confirmation they needed to lower their guard.

Yet, unbeknownst to Renher, a small parchment was put inside of Horus' small pouch—a message he had momentarily overlooked.

The journey continued smoothly, disrupted only by minor skirmishes with roaming beasts, swiftly dispatched by Renher himself. Even Horus participated, effortlessly taking down smaller aerial creatures that dared approach.

By midday, they reached the outskirts of Bailus Forest. Before them lay the treacherous swamplands—a natural barrier protecting the orcs' hidden stronghold.

Alison dismounted, stepping forward to survey the terrain. Simultaneously, Thymur and his division leaders—archers, lancers, and swordsmen—assessed the area. To their collective surprise, they encountered no large creatures. Bailus Forest, home to formidable beasts, should have been teeming with life, yet not even the usual mid-sized predators lurked near the periphery. A silence that felt... unnatural.

Renher, though unfamiliar with the forest itself, trusted his instincts. The swamp ahead was an ideal location for an ambush.

He issued a command. "We take a short break. Scouts will move ahead and map out a secure path."

Archers' adept at reconnaissance set out alongside Alison. Overhead, Horus took flight, his keen eyes scanning from above. Meanwhile, the army erected disposable tents—temporary shelters that would double as a fallback position in case of a surprise attack.

Within one such tent, Renher, Thymur, and the division leaders convened.

"Something isn't right," Thymur voiced their shared concern. "We've crossed a significant distance without encountering any resistance—not from beasts, not from orcs. It's unprecedented."

Renher folded his arms, contemplating. The lack of mid-sized beasts was one anomaly. The absence of orc ambushes, however, was an even greater red flag.

"Either they've been driven away… or something else has already claimed these lands."

The theory was unsettling. Orcs were known to disrupt ecosystems wherever they settled, but to clear out an entire region of its predators? That took overwhelming force.

Thymur took over, outlining the attack strategy. "First, our mages will use earth magic to solidify the swamp, creating a stable passage for the troops."

The mage division leader gave a curt nod of acknowledgment.

"Once the path is clear, lancers will advance, supported by archers and mages from a distance. Swordsmen will flank both sides, preventing losses and providing immediate reinforcement."

No one objected. The plan was simple yet effective.

As they finalized preparations, the scouting party returned far sooner than expected. Alison stepped forward; his expression grim.

"We've scouted ahead. No ambushes. No orcs. Not a single one. We can reach the end of the swamp unchallenged."

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

"This isn't right," Renher muttered, his brow furrowing.

Thymur's eyes darkened as realization dawned. "They're planning something. Something different from before."

A collective tension settled over them. Until now, every battle against the orcs had been marked by relentless ambushes, their guerrilla tactics making them formidable adversaries. But now—nothing.

Renher made a decision. "We proceed, but with caution. Every step will be taken with care. Our objective is not just to attack but to uncover whatever scheme they have planned."

It was a shift in strategy—from swift aggression to defensive vigilance. A necessary adaptation.

Yet, unbeknownst to them, this very caution would become their blind spot.