Battle of Cir (3)

Fifth Osterian Army Headquarters February 1731 City of Cir, Province of Ciresia, Osterian Empire.

Lt. Gen. Wendell Otto once more stood before a map. His eyes trapped in its contours as plans whished by across his mind.

The hill before him turning into a point of contention. The vantage point was simply too good to pass up, certainly now when a mage of that caliber has appeared on their ranks.

Though the question remains, how many is he willing to commit to it? How many troops would be enough for it to fall?

Worst of all was the time. It was already a godsend to know the Drissians sent their weakest army.

Now, with the time bought from the Battle of Cir, the mobilization would only allow more troops to flood in the Osterian territory and hard for overextended Osterian army.

Otto scratches his beard in thought. The vast amount of troops at his disposal has given him enough leeway to have this battle won, and yet the threat of that mage hangs above his head.

If he wins this battle and lets that mage live, he'll lose the war and those wars after it. Because if his reports were correct, then that mage was a boy.

A boy that will grow more than he already has, a boy that'll grow in strength so vast, the improbability of total conquest becomes a possibility.

His irritated expression then contorts into rage, his vein pulsing before he slams his fist onto the table, muttering, "How is anyone supposed to plan against this?"

The surrounding men look at him in shock before hurriedly coming back to work the moment his glare passes over them, their head lowered to avoid his wrath.

He then takes a deep breath, the light in his eyes dimming as he spoke, "Has there been any reports yet? Has General Keller made contact with the hill?"

"No reports have arrived."

He taps his finger in irritation. The last few days have been buzzing him with thought, the anomalous mage, the king's failing health, and the war against the Altemans.

The combination of all left him distracted. He slams his fist at the thought, releasing his anger and clearing his head as a messenger barges in with the news.

"Sir! General Klein has confirmed the mage's position! He says the Drissian Army has designated him as the hill's defender."

His mouth quirks upward in amusement. "That is to be expected, but what has he done to make General Klein so sure of his position?"

The messenger swallows dryly, "The mage single handedly gouged out the earth and created trenches for his men's defenses."

His amused expression shatters, his mouth twitch as he scratches his beard. He shakes his head away from the incoming irritation bubbling inside of him.

"How many men?" He asks.

"Five thousand, sir."

His eyes widen. "That's barely enough."

He looks down at the map, muttering to himself, "That hill is clearly a trap, one that the Drissians intend for me to take."

He tries to plan for anything else, the thought of walking into a clear trap leaving him disgruntled. Though before any other could give their input, he laughs, holding his stomach in laughter.

With a raise of a hand, an officer gives him a paper. His eyes gleaming in malice as his smile turns murderous. "Let us see. You dare play these kinds of games with me, Drissians?"

He finishes it with a flourish before he hands it to the messenger, his eyes gleaming in malice. "Tell General Klein to follow everything in here to the letter."

The messenger nods as he shifts back, his fist clenched. "Let us see if his military strategy is as good as his magic."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

General Klein pulls the reins of his horse to look at the view before the vast plains, was awe-inspiring. He then looks up, only to see the hill filled with nothing but trenches.

A vast array of trenches, one filled to the brim with muskets, aimed and loaded, each one seemingly supported by mages above, ready to rain fire and death against him and his men.

This leave him thoughtful of the battle ahead. The sounds of men marching ringing in his ears as he mutters to himself, "I will be forced to send men through that hill?"

"You will be." A voice replies behind him.

Klein sighs, "I thought I told you to sit this one out?"

"Yes, I heard your request and chose to ignore it."

"You broke bones, Falk."

"A minor inconvenience." He waves in dismissal.

Falk rides beside him, his eyes locked onto the hill. "So, how has the General responded to your letter? With something like that standing before us. I'm gonna assume not too good."

Klein passes the letter to him. "He sent me a detailed plan on how to deal with them. The general even assigned me an additional fifteen thousand men for the hill's capture."

"This is... He's willing to do this much just to get to him!?" Falk mutters as he grips the rein of his horse, his nails digging in.

"Is it really that surprising?"

Falk chuckles in barely restrained anger, "Not really. This is something you'll expect from an Osterian noble."

He rereads it again. "But why is he willing to go this far?"

"I dont know."

"Can't you at least try to dissuade him from this kind of action? Your uncle can't possibly believe that something like this is ok!" He looks to his friend, his eyes pleading.

Klein glances at him, and Falk widens his eyes in shock at the expression his friend held.

"You think this is right? Don't you? You think this is the only way to do it?"

Klein shakes his head. "I KNOW it is the only way to do it."

"IS IT REALLY!?" He shouts as he pulls on the reins of his horse, his expression contorting into a mixture of frustration and anger.

"Colonel Falk. I am ordering you to stand down and return to your post." He orders, his tone not allowing for any rebuttal. His eyes hard as he looks to his friend, expressionless.

Falk slumps, "Fine. " He turns his horse back to his men.

"I hope you make this worth it."