paranoianovel #420 - You should be called Bishop Mitzham
#420 - You should be called Bishop Mitzham
The sound of his cane tapping against the saddle was soft, but Mitzam gave Alman a slight nod, unable to hide the joy and approval in his expression.
"I must offer you my congratulations. After this battle, I believe His Highness the Prince will trust you even more for your outstanding contribution."
Countess Marika had successfully intercepted the Salvation Army's rapid march, while his side had successfully crushed the right flank of the Salvation Army.
Although the enemy only had two squadrons left desperately holding out with their carriages, defeat was only a matter of time.
Mitzam had thought it would be a fierce battle, but now it seemed the situation had reversed.
As expected, the enemy couldn't take it and decided to abandon their positions for a quick battle, ultimately exposing such a large weakness on their right flank.
The Salvation Army originally numbered around ten thousand, and a third of them had been wiped out in one go, with their camp also lost.
At the very least, Mitzam could confirm that if they hadn't appeared by now, it meant his side had gained a complete upper hand.
"It is my duty, Preceptor Mitzam," Alman said, revealing a flash of white teeth, reeking of bloodlust. "It was my soldiers who earned this victory with their courage and blood. May the Holy One bless them. I merely pointed the way."
"Lord Alman, Prince Condé often says that with great power comes great responsibility. I wonder, would a duke or border marquis position be more in line with your capabilities?"
"Hahahaha, Preceptor Mitzam, you jest," Alman said, licking his lips knowingly. "With your abilities, even a county bishopric is too small. How could it be my turn before that?"
"Ah, that is something only the Holy One can decide. How could I possibly comment?" Even Mitzam, who rarely showed his emotions, couldn't help but curl the corners of his lips. He took out a piece of paper and handed it to Alman.
"What's this?"
"I've already written my victory dispatch. Take a look. Once you confirm it, I'll send it out."
Alman took the letter and quickly scanned it. He could only say that Mitzam was too thorough. Even this kind of ornate writing was done exceptionally well.
"Impeccable," Alman said, handing the letter back.
In a short half-minute, the two tacitly divided the spoils of war and refocused their attention on the battlefield.
After all, a great victory, a small victory, and a pyrrhic victory would all look the same in Mitzam's letter, but they would make a big difference in the post-battle cleanup.
"How is the battle progressing now?" Considering he was new to this, Mitzam reluctantly handed the command back to Alman, despite his reservations.
"The Salvation Army's right flank has collapsed, leaving only some laborers and two squadrons. Those two squadrons are quite good; they can still retreat in an orderly fashion even after being beaten like this. If we could persuade them to surrender..."
"No," Mitzam said flatly. "They are the Salvation Army. The Prince will not allow it."
"Alright," Alman clicked his tongue. After all, Mitzam represented Prince Condé and the Church, and he couldn't afford to offend them.
"What's next?" Mitzam asked, waving his hand. "The Salvation Army is probably blocked by Marika's troops. They won't be here anytime soon. Is there time for us to change formation now?"
"No, there isn't. I've tried. It would take them at least half an hour to change formation. Are you kidding me?
After our oblique attack, the formation has changed from a straight line to an arc. Don't get entangled with these routed soldiers. Send two large infantry squares to hold them down, and the main force separately..."
Halfway through his sentence, Alman suddenly stopped. He abruptly turned his head, listened intently, and his expression gradually became serious. "You said Marika has the Salvation Army tied up?"
"Yes."
"When was the last time you and Marika exchanged position reports?"
Mitzam didn't speak, and Alman's gaze immediately turned to Count Koma.
Count Koma's upper and lower teeth clattered together. "We didn't agree on a time. According to protocol, she should be reporting to Preceptor Mitzam or you."
"I haven't received any notification," Alman shook his head.
Mitzam realized something was wrong. "We heard continuous gunfire..."
Ignoring etiquette, Alman grabbed Mitzam's hand and pressed, "The frequency of the gunfire is wrong. They usually fire in volleys at intervals. Why is it so chaotic, and why is it sometimes far and sometimes near? When did the gunfire change? Do you remember?"
"It's been going on since we left, but we saw them fighting when we passed by."
Count Koma seemed to remember something. "But after a few loud explosions, the frequency of the gunfire decreased. It must have been around that time."
"Wait, are you saying that after a few loud explosions, the frequency of the gunfire decreased?"
"Yes."
"And after it decreased, you didn't send cavalry to investigate, but just walked straight over?"
Mitzam asked blankly, "No, I sent knights to check. They all said they were still fighting, a fierce battle."
"Which knights?"
"Some mercenary knights. Who was it?"
Everyone had never seen the usually elegant and gentle Alman make such an expression.
His mouth was tightly pursed, and it looked like he had invisible snot under his nose. Alman kept wiping it with his fingers, almost rubbing it raw.
His other hand was on the back of his head, scratching so hard he wanted to draw blood.
A dizzying ringing filled his ears. Alman hadn't even fought the Lightning Witch yet, but he already felt a little numb.
Those mercenary knights would never go deep into the battlefield. They valued their lives very much, and fabricating false information when pushed was commonplace.
They were just wandering knights. If they couldn't win, they'd run. There was no need to risk their lives.
He should have sent the local knights from Lower River County to investigate. The knights could run, but the manor couldn't, so they were the most willing to do dangerous tasks.
But Mitzam had insisted on having the local knights from Lower River County guard the camp and sending the mercenary knights to the most dangerous place to investigate intelligence.
Why would he make such a basic mistake?
Alman was annoyed and tugged at his hair.
Mitzam's usually reliable image had misled Alman. He had forgotten that this was a preceptor who had never independently commanded a battle!
He should have realized that Mitzam was just a strategist. He was best at offering advice, but he simply couldn't lead an army independently.
He might be extremely clear about what font and wording to use in documents, and he could talk eloquently about high-level strategies, creating a battlefield that was absolutely suitable for exploitation strategically.
But he knew nothing about the most basic battlefield details!
Alman gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "You few, go in that direction immediately. If you encounter the Salvation Army, blow the horn..."
Before Alman could finish speaking, a sharp-eyed knight pointed into the black smoke and shouted, "Look, look over there."
The slope that had been shrouded in black smoke was now gradually emerging from the smoke as the source of the fire went out.
A dozen or so black figures stood upright on the hillside, and the red-bottomed horse-headed banner representing the Alcor family fluttered in the wind.
Seeing that they had been discovered, the dozen or so Kush knights immediately turned back and disappeared into the black smoke.
"Stop them!" Mitzam, vaguely aware that he had made a big mistake, had a distorted expression. He sat up on his warhorse and shouted, pointing in that direction.
A team of knights immediately broke out from the main formation and charged towards the slope.
They hadn't charged a few steps before they felt the surrounding air begin to fluctuate violently. The rustling sound of the grass and the black smoke on the entire battlefield swirled up.
This sudden and unnatural wind swept over them, and many people couldn't help but raise their hands to shield their faces, preventing the black smoke from being blown into their mouths and noses.
"Cough cough cough..." Coughing violently, Mitzam lowered his hand that was blocking the wind.
Although the black smoke on the battlefield had not completely dissipated, the black smoke within a hundred meters between the Salvation Army's front and the Church Army's back had dissipated a lot.
"Ah--"
Dozens of balls of fire rose from behind, and the wind blown open brushed against Mitzam's robe. He stood there blankly, his entire soul about to be sucked out of his body.
Ten Salvation Army infantry regiments stood in incredibly neat formations, standing behind the Church Army's twelve infantry great squares.
The spears were as dense as a forest of steel, and the dark muzzles of the guns rested on the hard breastplates and shoulder armor.
Between the black smoke and the distant mountains, the ranks of war monks filled all the vision.
The hussars and Norse knights were not in the regiment. It was estimated that they were entangled in battle with the Lower River knights in the smoke.
Jeanne and Horne stood at the very front of the army, riding Carrot and Grape respectively. Countess Marika's head, shattered by a gear leather cannon, was tied next to Jeanne's saddle.
Horne's lips were cracked and pale. He occasionally looked up, occasionally puzzled, and looked down to play with the electro-gold pendant in his hand.
Alman's throat had never been so dry.