The strategist’s tone was pretty stiff. He was the youngest man here. This war had gathered the youngest strategists together—for the goal of fundamentally changing how they think.
Valerian urged him to continue.
“Naturally, we expected all of this. But the death toll has reached the absolute limit. Under these circumstances, even if we attack the enemy stronghold, actually seizing it will be extremely difficult. Since we haven’t killed all the elves from that night raid, we can expect fierce resistance from them. I cannot accept incurring further losses. Can you please ask the higher-ups to change strategies?”
He knew this was impossible. But seeing men die before his very eyes had weakened his spirit.
Valerian suppressed the urge to sigh. He got what this man was going through. Every officer had to work through it at some point.
Life—here defined as that of your countryman—was precious.
That was, perhaps, a flaw in the Theocracy.
By itself, that could hardly be considered a bad thing. It was, in fact, unquestionably good. Faced with the choice between a country that valued its citizens’ lives and one that did not, anyone would pick the former.
Arguably, the Theocracy armed forces had grown soft under the protection of their heroes, but the desire to minimize losses was not morally wrong. But that was the logic of those without weapons. It was a soldier’s job to kill or be killed. Could the members of the military afford to think like that?
Inevitably, there would come a time when victory could not be obtained without sacrifices.
A time when they would have to fight without the six scriptures backing them.
If overvaluing life made them timid and unable to act decisively, that was a fatal flaw.
Valerian did not want them to treat soldiers as disposable commodities. He wanted them to know the pain of command—pain Valerian and his superiors grappled with—and learn to deal with it.
All of them were wrestling with this pain, making it their own. And the results were showing on every gathered face.
Presumably, none of them had enjoyed a good night’s sleep. It would be hard to while the suffering of the soldiers filled their ears.
Valerian did feel a modicum of pity.
If they had not been forced into this tactical situation abruptly, it would have been possible to ease them into it. That would have taken far less toll on their spirits.
But circumstances didn’t allow for such leisurely approaches. They not only had to whip each soldier into shape, they needed their commanding officers at the top of their game. The troops needed to be strong, and their officers needed to be stern enough to order them to their deaths.
We’ll be challenging the Nation of Darkness in due time, and countless soldiers will die in those battles to come. We expect there to be casualties among the civilian population, too. That’s why the brass want them to familiarize themselves with death here. As cruel as that may be.
“I feel your pain,” he said. Every officer here did. “But we cannot stop now. Look not at the present but at the future.”
“………………………”
The youngest strategist hung his head, then looked up at Valerian once more, desperation in his eyes.
“…At least, at the very least, when we do attack the elves’ capital, let it be a full-scale assault. Our strongest spells, destroying the enemy’s outer perimeters. If we’re forbidden the use of not only catapults and siege engines but even fire arrows—far more soldiers will die.”
“That, too, I cannot permit. And you can imagine why.”
These were the finest minds their country had to offer. They knew where the Theocracy stood and could surmise the reasons for their orders. Valerian felt spelling it out for them would be redundant, but perhaps it was worth stating in so many words.
“We cannot avoid a conflict with the vile Nation of Darkness. If this city is in our hands, intact—then we might have the option of evacuating our people here. That is why we stopped felling the trees in our path. That is why we are not allowed to do significant damage to the city itself. Understood?”
“I thought so. Every choice the higher-ups are making is to lay the groundwork for the next war. But the elves made this city with their spells. Even if we raze portions of it to the ground, I believe our prisoners could restore it. Is that not an option?”
This came from a different strategist, and Valerian nodded.
“They could,” he said. “Several people have proposed as much. Others suggested those elves could rebuild elsewhere. But given the time frame we’re working with, those plans are untenable.”
They did have plans for any elves they captured. It was not difficult to force them to cooperate using Charm or similar spells. But using mind-control magic repeatedly in a short time frame made it easy for them to build up resistance to it.
They had already performed some experiments and found that while the elves’ magic worked on trees, it took ages to grow one from scratch. No one knew when war with the Nation of Darkness would begin, but the math suggested they’d never complete a city capable of housing a whole country’s worth of evacuees in time.
They would have to use what already existed and could not afford to waste a thing.
“Our sole course of action is to force our way through their last lines of defense, despite the casualties that will occur. Obviously, nobody wants this loss of life. We’ll need every fighting body we can get in the war against the Nation of Darkness. We can’t waste them here.”
What command wanted was truly a paradox.
Valerian was conscious of the contradiction. But he also knew it plagued his superiors.
“…Sir, more than that, those who survive certain death come back stronger.”
“Yes…true words. They will do that.”
This came from the strategist ranked second only to Valerian himself in the commander class. Valerian agreed entirely.
The Theocracy had long held that a single hero was worth a thousand soldiers. But that would no longer be enough. They had to make each soldier stronger—thus, the cruelty of this campaign.
Everything was to prepare for the coming war with the Nation.
A conflict that most certainly would come to pass.
“I know it’s hard for all of you, but wring out your brains and do whatever you must to ensure your troops live to walk on Theocracy soil once more.”
Valerian bowed his head, and all responded favorably.
This was not all.
There was another reason to dawdle here.
An individual no one but Valerian knew about—had been allowed to know about. They were waiting for her arrival.
The elf king was a powerful foe. Strong enough to slaughter veritable heroes in a single blow. Yet, the Theocracy had a card capable of beating him.
Using it was strategically sound. Champion against champion, hero against hero, and for those who surpassed that—
But the Theocracy leadership was hell-bent on pitting her against the elf king, for reasons beyond the mere militaristic advantage.
He did not know why.
But Valerian waited.
Waited for the final card to arrive.
As he did, a messenger interrupted the meeting. An urgent look on their face, they came up to Valerian, whispering, “Sir, reinforcements from home.”
“Ah, at last,” Valerian said and rose to his feet. The strategists looked up, and he said, “Men, we no longer need defensive measures. Throw all troops assigned there to the front lines. Prepare for the main assault.”
The long campaign was approaching its end. The battle was entering its final stage.