King

Time ticked by, and the old man in the grey robe was growing more anxious by the second. After spending more than half a day hungry and tense in ambush, they saw that the enemy had come within striking distance, yet wouldn't proceed any further.

Looking at his soldiers, their faces red with pent-up energy, the old man was at a loss. They had taken the courage potion when he had received the signal, and yet despite their waiting, the enemy wouldn't proceed.

What's done is done, the effects of the potion had begun to kick in. If the enemy didn't advance soon, the potion's effects would have run their course.

How could a potion designed to artificially increase the soldiers' combat desire not have any after-effects?

Even the strongest of men, having been subjected to such intense stimulation, would experience a period of lethargy.

If the enemy decided to attack while the soldiers were weak from the after-effects, it would certainly mean their doom.

To attack or not to attack, that was the question. Despite his typical derision of the aristocrats' incompetence, as an experienced man, he couldn't help but feel conflicted.

The Skeleton Society had always excelled at human sea tactics in their two hundred years of glorious history. The notion of the weak overcoming the strong or the few triumphing over the many only existed in legends.

Launching a bold assault with only two thousand "elites" against over four thousand soldiers in the nobles' allied army camp seemed a high-risk venture irrespective of how one regarded it.

"High Priest, the enemy is delaying their advance; did our soldiers get exposed?"

The middle-aged man's words caused the old man to tense up, only to shake his head promptly: "No! I can sense they are unharmed. If they were exposed, they wouldn't be in such good condition.

I suspect the enemy's commander has likely been living too decadently, they probably just ate their fill and didn't want to resume marching."

To think of it, the old man felt frustrated. He never imagined the extravagant lifestyle of the nobles could be the cause of his plan's failure.

"High Priest, half the time for the potion's effect has passed. Since the ambush failed, we should go for a blitz!

We've prepared Hellfire. Once we burst in and burn down their food supplies, we will have won this war."

The middle-aged man advised.

Even though they had successfully located the enemy's food convoy, to let the enemy go would be a significant loss. They might as well take a gamble.

As a ruthless man, if he had the will to sacrifice tens of thousands of soldiers at the Ersel fort previously, he would be able to forgo his only two thousand "elites".

"A blitz is not a wise move. Let's pretend to retreat and intentionally show a flaw to lure the enemy into attacking us."

Under the adoring gaze of everyone, the rebel army withdrew from the forest, appearing deliberately careless and in full view of the enemy's convoy.

...

In the camp, Hudson, upon receiving news of the rebels' appearance, immediately ascended the watchtower.

Watching the rebel army replete with flaws, Hudson was certain that if he had an elite unit at his disposal, he would seize the opportunity and claim the merit of victory delivered to his doorstep.

But for now, seeing the state his soldiers were in, he hesitated and discarded the enticing idea.

Opportunities are for those who are capable. With the makeshift mob he was leading, who knows what might happen if they attacked.

"Tie up the traitors, Gaddy and George, in front of the camp gate. The whole army prepares for battle. Archers and spear throwers, arrange yourselves in five rows and prepare to attack on my command."

He reluctantly let those two unfortunate souls live, but for the sake of camp security, he decided to keep a close watch on them.

Seeing the enemy's slow movement, Hudson didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The enemy actually thought they could lure him out. Such audacity!

Defending the camp was nerve-wracking enough. Boarding a direct attack, without having a few drinks, would not even cross his mind.

After considering for a moment, Hudson decided to spice things up for their adversary: "Close the camp gate, sound the charge horn!"

These two actions are not contradictory. In a regular army, this might undermine their morale. But the Fifth Army he was commanding in the camp didn't have such worries.

These soldiers could hardly distinguish the meaning of the horn signal – they mostly relied on shouting for communication. If not for appearances, he wouldn't even have signalers.

An awkward situation ensued, the charge horn sounded but not just his soldiers; even the enemy soldiers seemed baffled. All of them were mere serfs who had dropped their hoes recently; none of them had more knowledge than the others.

It wouldn't matter as much if only the soldiers were confused; the critical part was that the enemy officers also looked bewildered, failing to react at all.

Upon seeing this, Hudson was dumbfounded. How could they not understand the basic military practice of discerning horn signals?

Unfortunately, the rebels lacked such basic knowledge. He had planned to use the charge horn to intimidate the enemy, but it turned out to be akin to playing music to a bull.

He was quite sure that if his army charged right now, they would definitely catch the enemy off guard and gain significant spoils.

After a slight hesitation, Hudson decided to stick to his instincts. As a pacifist, he thought he'd better forget about all this fighting and killing after all.

He watched as the rebel forces retreated, and no one from his side pursued them. Hiding in the forest, the old man in the grey robe wore a frighteningly gloomy expression – this was another failed prediction.

Starting from the decision to ambush the food convoy, this marked his third consecutive prediction error. Such a record was not aligned with his esteemed stature as the wise man of the Skeleton Society.

But he was out of luck, facing an opponent who was obstinate like a rock. No matter how much he schemed, they remained unmoved.

"Pass on my command, the whole army will launch a blitz on the enemy camp. Rick, after the battle starts, lead your team to quietly infiltrate their ranks from the flanks. Use the Hellfire to burn as much of the enemy's food supply as possible."

The old man said coldly.

He could not drag this on any further. If they exceeded the medicine's potency duration, they would be doomed. He did not expect the enemy to pass up the chance to kick them while they were down.

Rather than losing eight hundred "elites" simply, he would rather take a gamble. Biting his lip, the old man in the grey robe picked up his mage staff, stepped out of the forest with a few of his loyal guards.

His decision to personally participate was forced. He had become the High Priest of the Skeleton Society because of his unparalleled wisdom.

The previous total defeat at the Ersel fort had caused controversy. However, he had managed to suppress it using his past prestige.

A mistake could be made once, but not twice. If he failed again, the short-sighted brute force men in the society would certainly use it as an opportunity to challenge him.

A cult organization was not an easy place to thrive. The cruelty of internal struggles far exceeded the imagination of ordinary people. In the Skeleton Society, there was no place for losers.

...

"Charge!"

Under the influence of the courage potion, the rebel soldiers displayed exceptional courage, shouting their war-cry as they charged towards the camp.