Perception

Count Connell's premonition soon became reality. From the second day of probing attacks, the army of the Holy Cross Kingdom began to bleed continuously. Piles of corpses lay under the walls of Birch Castle, and every day the undertakers were so nauseated that they wanted to vomit.

Count Connell repeatedly approached the castle, attempting to lure the garrison into a counterattack, but Derek remained as steady as an old hound. Whether in a position of advantage or disadvantage, Derek held firm and made no rash moves. He knew that time was on his side—why take unnecessary risks?

"The best warriors have no glorious achievements," Derek often reminded his men. Outsiders only saw the glory of victories won against the odds, but few understood the dangers lurking within. A single misstep could lead to disaster.

If given a choice, Derek would rather overwhelm his enemy with superior numbers than rely on strategy alone. And he wasn't idle while holding the line. Taking full advantage of the Holy Cross Kingdom's efforts, Derek turned Birch Castle into a classroom for his men, teaching them how to organize defenses and inspire morale. He posed them questions: "If you were attacking, what would you do?"

This wasn't just a lesson for his soldiers—it was also a learning process for himself.

"War is never isolated," Derek explained to his officers. "We need to understand the purpose of war. Strategic victory always outweighs tactical victory. Look at Count Connell over there. Why does he keep risking his life at the front? I guarantee that even if we managed to kill some of the Holy Cross officers, he'd still be laughing with joy."

Derek pointed to Connell's banner in the distance. "Why? Because even though we might inflict some damage tactically, if we lose Birch Castle, we'll lose the land behind it, and perhaps even Saint-Michel Province. Do you think that would be a victory?"

Standing atop the battlements, Derek used the enemy's actions as teaching material. "Simon," he called out, "what would you do if you were Count Connell? Would you risk your life to serve as bait?"

Simon, who had been slowly learning from Derek's teachings, thought about it. Thanks to the daily exposure to such situations, he was beginning to grasp their nuances.

Being an excellent commander was difficult, but being a competent one wasn't. And in this era of mediocrity, being competent already placed you ahead of ninety percent of the leaders.

"I think I'd use myself as bait to lure out the enemy," Simon declared proudly, believing he'd learned a new trick.

But Derek simply kicked him in the rear. "Connell's a fool. Do you want to be as dumb as he is? Why not find someone your size, dress them in your armor, and fly your banner on them? That way, you won't be putting yourself in danger at all!"

Simon and the other officers stared in disbelief. Such a tactic had never occurred to them.

"But… but that's not honorable," Simon stammered.

"Which is more important—honor or your life? If you're lying in a grave, no one will care about your honor. But if you're standing over your enemy's grave, no one will say you're dishonorable," Derek replied firmly.

His words left a profound impact on the feudal knights. In the days, months, and even years to come, they would continue to ponder this dilemma. The legacy Derek would leave might be one of praise or condemnation, but in the end, did it matter?

To Derek, it didn't. He glanced toward Count Connell in the distance, sure the man must be cursing him by now. But did Connell's anger have any effect on Derek? Not in the least. In fact, Connell was willing to pay any price to lure Derek out of Birch Castle.

And at that very moment, Count Connell had indeed reached his breaking point. Having risen from the ranks of a lowly noble, Connell prided himself on having encountered all manner of young commanders—those who were either famous early in life or overly arrogant. Yet this Derek fellow was maddeningly unyielding. No matter what traps Connell set, Derek remained as steady as a eunuch.

Connell half suspected that even if he lined a room with beautiful, naked women, Derek would remain indifferent.

"Damn it! Where did this freak come from?" Connell cursed.

He had tried everything. Now he had no choice but to escalate. Personally acting as bait, Connell had even sent envoys to negotiate with Derek, but his men were shot before they could get close. The assaults had never ceased, but instead of weakening, Birch Castle's defenses only seemed to strengthen.

"Keep attacking!" Connell ordered. "Pressure the rear for reinforcements. We have just one month left before the long winter sets in. If we don't take back Saint-Michel Province this year, our chances will be even smaller."

In just a short period, Connell's forces had already lost over ten thousand men. Even though fresh troops arrived regularly, the staggering losses made his skin crawl. He couldn't imagine how many more lives would be lost if the attacks continued for another month.

Connell had briefly considered attacking from a different direction, but Count Pereira in that sector was just as shrewd, leaving no openings for exploitation.

The war raged on, and the earth beneath Birch Castle was darkened with blood. Sections of the castle walls lay in ruins, hastily patched by Derek's soldiers. The serfs from the Holy Cross Kingdom attacked like madmen, and the intensity of the fighting only increased. In recent days, the death toll had risen to one or two thousand men per day.

Fatigue and disgust spread through Derek's forces. He worked tirelessly to maintain discipline, quelling several near-mutinies. Everyone's nerves were on edge, and it wouldn't take much for someone to snap.

As the cold winds began to blow, both sides knew that the fighting would soon come to a halt. The good news was that reinforcements from the Lokian Kingdom were starting to arrive in Saint-Michel Province. These nobles from the kingdom's interior had originally been preparing to fight the barbarians but had instead been redirected to this theater of war, looking for opportunities.

With the rear secure, Count Pereira began sending small raiding forces across the defensive line in Saint-Michel Province. While these skirmishes didn't yield significant victories, they kept up pressure on the enemy, as if to say, "Our forces are here. You have no chance now."

Connell remained unmoved, his resolve as firm as ever, forged through countless battles. He even increased the intensity of his attacks, sending not only serf soldiers but also private troops of the nobility onto the battlefield. This indeed inflicted greater casualties on Derek's forces, but breaking his spirit was still far from possible.

When the winter solstice arrived, the army of the Holy Cross Kingdom launched a final, frenzied three-day assault, leaving five or six thousand more bodies behind. But after a month and a half of futile efforts, the camp at last began to show signs of withdrawing.

"Those Holy Cross bastards are finally pulling out," Simon observed.

Even a battle-hardened soldier like Simon was exhausted. The retreating Holy Cross army was in complete disarray, with small riots breaking out in their ranks.

"After losing twenty to thirty thousand men, internal strife is inevitable," Derek remarked. "Count Connell is likely struggling to maintain control."

He suspected that Connell would be abandoned by his superiors after returning home. No one could endure such massive losses without suffering serious consequences.

"Should we take this opportunity to strike?" Simon suggested. "We could set out tonight and launch a pre-dawn assault. Maybe we could wipe them out entirely."

The knights had indeed grown stronger in the past year, transforming from inexperienced youths into seasoned warriors.

Facing this highly tempting proposition, Derek felt the chances of success were significant. If they could wipe out these 20,000 remnants, next year's pressure would be much lighter. Derek paced back and forth, his mind racing.

"First, let me break this down. If we launch a night raid, what could we gain? We could annihilate these 20,000 troops, perhaps even capture an earl. The ransom alone might be worth a barony, not to mention the king's commendation. Next year's pressure would be greatly reduced."

Derek listed the advantages one by one, and the knights' breathing grew heavier in response.

"But if it's a trap, everything is over. Birch Castle would certainly fall, and with it, the entire St. Mille Province. Best case, we escape alive, only to become exiles with nowhere to go. But if we do nothing, we each still hold a title, and some of us even have land. We control part of the St. Milian Province's resources. Given time, these will translate into strength. Come next year, the Holy Cross Kingdom might send even more troops, but our pressure would be less. Even if we do nothing for the rest of our lives, we can still pass on our family names."

As Derek spoke, he calmed himself. The rewards were great, but so were the risks. Was it time for him to gamble with his life? No, with his unique advantage, time was on his side. When you have nothing, risking everything makes sense. But now, with land and title—why gamble?

The knights also began to cool down. The rewards simply weren't worth the risk. Holding Birch Castle alone would earn them plenty of commendations from the king, and many had just received land that would likely expand further. There was no need to take such a risk. The tens of thousands of dead Holy Cross Kingdom soldiers lying beneath Birch Castle were the best proof of their merit—there was no need to chase the last bit of spoils.

"I understand, Viscount. We'll just watch them retreat. When we've gathered enough strength, we'll make them pay next year," Simon said resolutely, willing to let Count Connell keep his head on his shoulders for a few more years.

"Indeed, but that doesn't mean we do nothing," Derek said, before continuing. "Simon, take a banner of cavalry and 'escort' Count Connell out. The main force can't move, but a few light cavalry can monitor the Holy Cross soldiers and probe their situation."

Simon accepted the order and departed with a banner of cavalry. The retreat of the Holy Cross Kingdom's troops was disorderly, leaving behind a large amount of supplies. Simon even spotted some scattered serf soldiers, which confirmed his suspicion that the Holy Cross Kingdom was simply collapsing.

The winter solstice had passed, snow was imminent, and if the army delayed any further, half of the serf soldiers would likely freeze to death.

"The Viscount is being too cautious," Simon muttered. Seeing these walking achievements, the thought of seizing the opportunity crossed his mind once again. But Derek's careful planning over the long term made Simon hesitate; he knew Derek's caution had often proven correct.

However, in his rush to chase down the Holy Cross troops, Simon didn't take the time to carefully inspect the area. He didn't realize that among the scattered serf soldiers on the roadside, some had unusually flushed faces and looked nothing like impoverished serfs.

Once the cavalry banner passed by, the 'serfs' immediately sprang up. Their ragged clothes barely concealed their relatively strong physiques. One of them sprinted for miles before disappearing into a small forest.

Had Simon followed, he would have discovered a large group of Holy Cross Kingdom noble soldiers hiding there.

"My lord, a banner of Lokean cavalry just passed through, around a hundred men," a scout reported swiftly.

The commander hiding in the forest grinned with excitement. "Excellent, looks like Count Connell's plan worked. These must be Lokean scouts. Stay hidden, we can't let them notice us."

After being pinned down under Birch Castle for so long and suffering heavy casualties, the Holy Cross nobles were itching for revenge. They didn't believe they were inferior; they simply blamed Derek for being too cunning. Now that they had a chance to teach him a lesson, they couldn't contain their excitement.

As the news spread, one would find—if viewing from above—a thousand-man units scattered across the terrain, hiding in forests and valleys. Though the concealment wasn't flawless, they had essentially formed a net. As long as the Lokean forces pursued, they would be caught in this web.

Count Connell hadn't spent the past month idling beneath Birch Castle. After the initial setback, he quickly realized how difficult his enemy was. While feigning a continuous attack on Birch Castle, he had secretly scouted the surrounding terrain and used the ample time to construct an intricate web of traps.

Now, Simon was being drawn in by nothing more than bait—cannon fodder doomed to die either in the snow or under Lokean blades. Count Connell didn't mind sacrificing over ten thousand lives to secure his reputation, and the Holy Cross Kingdom's determination was far stronger than many had anticipated.

Simon, of course, was oblivious to this. This is how the fog of war operates: one side lays a meticulous trap, and though a careful eye might detect something amiss, most of the time, there isn't enough time to check thoroughly. Moments of opportunity are fleeting, and victory often hinges on keen perception and timing.

As Simon continued the pursuit, however, a sense of unease began to grow. Although military theory in this world was still quite rudimentary, most experienced generals relied on natural talent or scattered bits of family knowledge. But Derek had a more structured understanding of warfare. It might not cover everything, but it was fairly complete.

Simon and the others didn't realize just how valuable the military theories they had learned were. But now, something buried in Simon's memory was triggered by what he saw. The retreating Holy Cross soldiers wouldn't have been able to flee without leaving traces. They were retreating, not routing, and their military structure was still largely intact. Camps, fires for cooking—none of these things could be easily hidden.

Despite Count Connell's cunning, his thinking was constrained by his era. He hadn't considered the smaller details.

Simon circled the campsite once before discovering what had unsettled him. "The number of hearths—it doesn't match the number of soldiers."