Q: How should one respond when an allied base is attacked by the enemy?
A: Evacuate to a designated safe assembly point. Then, regroup the troops and assess the damage.
Q: What should be done if the enemy is already at the doorstep after an allied base has been breached?
A: Hold your ground as long as possible and wait for orders from higher command. If the situation becomes dire, act based on your own judgment.
The above are fundamental principles of warfare—common knowledge in military science across eras, regions, and even between fantasy and reality.
Civilians might be free to flee in any direction, but soldiers don’t have that luxury. Why? Because they are bound to fight for their country.
It’s a soldier’s duty to confront and respond to any threat, no matter the cost.
In this context, the Empire’s Western Front army was undoubtedly elite.
“At this rate, the entire camp will burn down! Everyone, retreat beyond the palisades to safety!”
“33rd Brigade, assemble! Form up by battalion and prepare for combat—the enemy will be upon us soon!”
“All artillery personnel, return to your posts immediately! Securing firepower is the top priority—without our cannons, we’re finished!”
The unprecedented catastrophe of fire engulfed the land and their fortress.
Raging flames devoured the grasslands, the hastily built defenses, and the structures cobbled together with wood and nails.
Yet amidst the chaos, the Imperial soldiers demonstrated remarkable composure.
Even as communication between units was severed, they did their best within their means.
Weapons and gunpowder were redistributed.
Troops reorganized and formed new defensive positions.
Despite the uncertainty of who had survived, they poured every effort into restoring combat readiness.
“Can’t we send a messenger to the corps command? Or to the Western Army’s headquarters?”
“It’s difficult. The fire has collapsed most of the bridges and underground tunnels. Besides, we can’t even be sure if they’re still intact over there.”
“Damn it. Can we even hope to win without giving or receiving orders?”
“We’ll just have to hold out. It’s not like we can abandon everything and flee.”
Despite their constraints, their response was commendable.
In a matter of minutes, they had gone from scattered chaos to preparing for battle.
However, in the brutal reality of warfare, terms like “commendable effort” or “doing one’s best” are nothing more than excuses.
“Look, the Kingdom’s army is advancing! It seems they’ve brought every unit from their main force!”
“I can’t see the end of their formation! From the western edge to the eastern horizon, it’s nothing but Kingdom banners!”
Under the command of Carolus von Royten, the Kingdom’s Western Army surged forward.
With reinforcements from the central army combined with their own forces, a colossal army of 140,000 soldiers bore down on the Imperial troops.
The battlefield was flooded with their myriad banners and deafening war cries, a tidal wave of force poised to crush the remnants of the Empire’s defenses underfoot.
They brought tens of thousands of muskets and over a thousand cannons to the fight.
Against such overwhelming firepower, what could a disjointed Imperial force—severed from their lines of communication—hope to achieve?
The answer was obvious: nothing.
Tat-tat-tat-tat!
Bang! Bang!
“Aaargh!”
“Take cover in the trenches! If we engage head-on, we’ll be wiped out! Hide and survive!”
The battle was a one-sided slaughter.
The Kingdom’s soldiers, entrenched and armed with muskets, created a deadly crossfire, systematically cutting down the Imperial troops.
The Empire’s forces fell like autumn leaves in a storm, swatted away like mosquitoes before a fly swatter.
They were helpless, like civilians fleeing a raiding horde.
Even their desperate counterfire barely scratched the enemy lines, taking down only a few at the front.
But it changed nothing. The tide was immovable.
One after another, the Imperial soldiers were cut down, their final resistance amounting to nothing more than the bleating of sheep in a slaughterhouse.
The balance of the front that had been maintained for ten years collapsed in an instant.
Once a formidable force pushing the Kingdom back to its old fortress lines, the Empire’s army was now being consumed by blood and ashes, heroically perishing in flames.
“Charge! The cavalry is storming the lines!”
“Those reckless fools. In a situation like this, such folly…”
The remaining cavalry, those with the highest mobility and reserves, rush toward the enemy.
Specifically, aiming for the central command led by Carolus. They believe that with only a few lines of riflemen, breaking through will be easy.
Though, the grim reality teaches them why infantry can’t simply be replaced with marksmen.
“Damn it! Not even able to draw a sword properly…”
The thin, orderly ranks of infantry—acting as both formation and strategy—fired relentlessly at the advancing cavalry.
The disciplined sharpshooters, standing firm, unleashed a storm of gunfire reminiscent of a machine gun.
This rapid, synchronized firing quickly nullifies the cavalry’s approach, rendering a charge futile without the need for heavy cavalry formations.
“It’s over. The tide has turned completely.”
The Empire, with no remaining cards to play, faces annihilation.
Twenty minutes later.
A massive white flag was raised at the Imperial headquarters.
“Holding a truce?”
Three hours into the battle, as I basked in the apparent victory, a messenger approached, saying something completely unexpected.
“Did I mishear? Were you trying to request surrender?”
“No, sir. General Leclerc discussed with General Carolus to momentarily halt the battle.”
A sigh escaped my lips, in disbelief.
The soldiers nearby shared similar sentiments, either glaring disdainfully or shaking their heads in disbelief.
These Empire soldiers still haven’t come to their senses. Do they truly believe we’re on equal footing now?
A truce requires mutual strength; it only works when both parties can negotiate as equals.
At this point, with victory and defeat already clear, such talks are futile.
“Is our commander delusional, or does he simply refuse to accept reality? Why would we entertain such an offer now?”
“There is reason. Our forces can still resist.”
The messenger, despite the scrutiny of our officers, maintained his composure and replied firmly.
“Imperial forces number slightly over 160,000. Though we suffered a surprise attack and sustained losses, we still retain significant strength.”
“So what? We’ll obliterate them again.”
“There’s no obligation to meet their advances head-on. Our rear is entirely under our control; retreating is a valid option.”
Hmm.
That’s true. Despite our successful fire assault, its effects are limited.
It’s unrealistic to expect total annihilation. Even with our efforts, about a third could survive and retreat.
That’s around 50,000 from 160,000.
A force not to be underestimated.
Likely, they’ve set up a secondary defensive line in the rear, not hastily constructed but fortified with proper bastions and trenches.
There’s no clear solution if they flee.
Unfortunately, the means to breach such a well-established defense are beyond the current capabilities of the Kingdom.
Only a direct assault remains—an approach that consumes vast amounts of time and resources.
After restoring the damage caused by General Liebert’s mismanagement, the Kingdom has already depleted much of its strength.
Long-term warfare has taken its toll on national resources.
The remnants of the Empire’s forces inevitably retreat to regroup, a result almost inevitable.
Whether they do so passively or after enduring more suffering, the choice ultimately remains mine.
“…Alright. Let’s proceed with the negotiations.”
“A wise decision. I will convey it to His Excellency immediately.”
Once I acquiesced, the messenger departed with a smug grin and returned to their camp.
An hour later, the enemy commander finally made his appearance—accompanied by a meagre escort.
“First time meeting you, General Royten. I am Sebastian De Leclerc, the Supreme Commander of the Western Front for the Imperial Army.”
“Kingdom Commander Carolus von Royten.”
We introduced ourselves briefly to avoid eavesdropping and immediately delved into the matter at hand.
“I’ll be blunt. Guarantee the safe retreat of our forces. And offer a ceasefire for the next three years.”
“The former might be negotiable, but the latter requires higher authority to decide. What do we get in return?”
“For those three years, the Empire will swear not to set foot on Kingdom soil. All supplies and secure forts we currently possess will be surrendered.”
“If I refuse, what do you propose? Wouldn’t it be easier to resolve this through force instead of negotiations? After all, you’re the invaders who trampled our Kingdom in this hateful conquest.”
“Then we’ll resort to guerrilla tactics. If you prefer a world where surviving Imperial soldiers turn into raiders, burning our farmland and villages, then so be it.”
Such a scoundrel! Fighting a war with guerrilla tactics is a blatant disregard for any rules. Are you really willing to accept the inevitable backlash of post-war revenge?
I clenched my fists briefly before his next words left me momentarily stunned.
“You do realize that this war was sparked not by us, but by your Kingdom, don’t you? Our royal family was insulted and humiliated, yet you act as if you were the sole victims.”
“…What?”
“Surely you didn’t know?”
His words echoed in my mind—confusion and disbelief filling the silence.
The notion that the Kingdom had started the war was impossible to comprehend.
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