Chapter 48
Chapter 48
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Hammer and Anvil (1)
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“Why do you think that?”
“Because, when you analyze the environment surrounding the Checovia Principality, there's no chance the Luxenia Grand Duchy would sign a ceasefire treaty with them.”
“Continue.”
I pointed around the Checovia Principality with one hand and pressed on.
“First off, if you just compare the number of soldiers the Checovia Principality and Luxenia Grand Duchy can mobilize, Luxenia has fewer troops on hand. So in a straight-up 1-on-1 matchup, Checovia—the side with the bigger force—would snap up a peace treaty from the weaker Luxenia without demanding anything extra.”
No matter how dumb or violent a thug or street punk might be, they're not total idiots—they don't pick on someone weaker than themselves.
They steer clear of those muscle-bound guys who might turn the tables and beat the crap out of them if provoked.
This isn't about intellect; it's hardwired instinct. Even a drunk stumbling around picking fights has the booze-fueled haze clear right up if he spots someone bigger and stronger—he'll apologize and bolt on his own.
Nations act the same way in conflicts or wars: they back off from anyone stronger and squeeze every last drop out of the weak.
And right now, Luxenia's in a spot where they can't help but take a beating from Checovia. If they suddenly say they're done and head home...
'Don't stop now—loot my wallet and ransack my house some more!'
No one's going to say that and pick a fresh fight.
“But with the Reich Empire currently at war with Checovia, a big chunk of their forces are tied up on this front. That gives Luxenia a real shot at winning now, so there's no way they'd agree to a ceasefire under these conditions.”
“Diplomatically speaking, that makes sense. But it won't be enough to convince the division commander.”
“Even if Luxenia signs that peace treaty and sends over more than 20,000 reinforcements, Checovia's not exactly losing to our Imperial forces, are they?”
Sure, our battalion pulled off some impressive feats thanks to solid formations and training—like smashing a 50-man knight detachment and an infantry battalion.
But in the grand scheme of battles involving tens of thousands, it wasn't a game-changer.
“So if I were Checovia's commander, I'd push harder for a decisive victory before those 20,000 reinforcements arrive. That way, I get full credit for the win. But instead of going on the offensive, they're using their numerical edge to slowly strangle us, like tightening a noose made of cotton.”
Junior officers from company commanders down and the rank-and-file soldiers fighting on the front lines would probably spit fire if they heard that.
In today's battle, the Checovian army hadn't fought with anywhere near that level of aggression.
If they had, they wouldn't have thrown just 50 knights at our flanks.
They'd have mobilized at least a thousand to hammer not just our battalion, but the whole division.
Our casualties would've been several times what they were today.
“You're right. So if they're deliberately spreading this rumor, can you guess why?”
I stated it flatly.
“To tank our morale. To boost theirs. And to lure us into splitting our forces by falling for their ploy. A straight 40,000 against 50,000 is a toss-up, but if we bite and detach a division, we're down to 32,000 facing 50,000.”
Officers like Colonel Nana had spent four grueling years at the academy, studying like high school seniors cramming for exams, drilled in rational thinking and military theory.
Even with 20,000 enemy reinforcements incoming, we'd rack our brains for a way to counter it—we were practically engineered that way.
So unless things were in total collapse, we didn't lose our heads or despair.
But the average grunt? No real training, no burning zeal to fight—just wants to get home in one piece?
Hearing we're only 40,000 strong against 70,000? Some would panic, convinced we're all dead meat.
That despair spreads, morale plummets to rock bottom. You get deserters desperate to survive, or scum plotting to sell out to the enemy for a cut.
Meanwhile, enemy morale soars, their combat effectiveness spikes.
And if we lose 8,000 troops right off the bat? How much easier does that make it for them?
“I see. But His Highness the Crown Prince ordered us to watch them closely, so we need a counterplan. Got any ideas?”
Staring at the map, a solid option came to mind.
“There's a worst-case, mid-tier, and best-case plan. Worst-case: we fall for their trap hook, line, and sinker—detach a division to brace for 20,000 ghosts that aren't even coming.”
“Intriguing. And the mid- and best-case?”
“Mid-tier: spread a rumor that we're mobilizing 8,000 to counter those 20,000, pulling a full division. Checovia's commander thinks we've bitten, ramps up the attack—then we exploit the gap they expose.”
I made it sound clever, but mid-tier was just a throwaway to hype the best one.
Because striking an enemy's exposed flank is Warfighting 101.
What I'd said was basically, 'Want to top the class? Pay attention in lectures and stick to the textbook.'
“Best-case: like worst-case, detach a division and march to the Kaines Mountains—a day's trek from our battlefield. Set up camp, act like we're prepping for 20,000 hostiles. Spend seven days there: scout, fortify, make it look real. Then after a week, use our 32,000 as the anvil and our detached division—with my regiment in it—as the hammer to smash their flank in a massive counterattack.”
“That leaves our main force exposed to enemy assaults for a week. You sure that's wise?”
“Unless His Highness or Count Venner makes a huge blunder, losing 8,000 temporarily won't hurt much. If battles like today's drag on, though, our smaller force takes gradual hits that snowball into disaster.”
Fighting head-on isn't bad, but war's real beauty is coordination: anvil units pinning the enemy while hammer units envelop, crushing them between in a double squeeze for total annihilation.
“It aligns perfectly with His Highness's orders, too. When we win, we can spin it as his masterstroke—picture-perfect.”
I'd love to claim top merit this time, but in an empire ruled by the emperor...
...and as a Crown Prince faction member, I can't outshine him in a good light, no matter what.
Otherwise, it's endless scrutiny and sabotage.
Plus, His Highness is the generous type—if he knows I yielded the glory, he'll reward me handsomely. Gotta give him the shine now.
The colonel let out a dry chuckle.
“Recommending you got me pulled into His Highness's faction naturally. Boosted my eval, landed me this promotion to colonel. If I want stars under him someday, I should listen.”
“You'll be a general soon. Look out for me then.”
“I'll pitch your best-case to the division commander, dressed up a bit. By war's end, here's hoping we're both promoted and toasting it.”
That wrapped our heavy talk.
“By the way, my aide—Count Venner's only daughter—is serving under me. Led her platoon in today's fight, killed the company commander herself. Any chance of a good word for her eval?”
“Soon as she hits minimum service time, the division commander will sign off on her promotion in days. And she's the deputy commander's daughter, no less.”
A week later, the Reich Empire's 9th Division—part of the Checovia Expeditionary Force, including my unit—marched to the Kaines Mountains.
My aide, Lieutenant Laura, got bumped to first lieutenant ahead of schedule on the division commander's authority.