First Battle
Thin. Shallow. The defensive line was pathetically flimsy!
Reaching the entrance to the Levon Plateau and sending out active scouts, the 1st Battalion commander could only let out a hollow laugh.
"Did the kingdom bastards set this up as a defensive line?"
It was just as expected—no, even worse than he'd imagined. Troops scattered in clumps. Open approach routes. Not a single basic principle of tactics in sight. It was so embarrassing he almost felt ashamed for them.
Having to face trash like this!
His subordinates seemed to share the sentiment, smirks playing on their faces. The situation was turning weird. Really, he hadn't planned for this at all. But now, not launching an assault would make him a traitor to the cause, wouldn't it?
"Heh heh heh."
The deliberation didn't last long. He slowly raised his hand.
"Battalion, form up!"
And he bellowed, ordering them to tear into the prey before their eyes.
"Advance! Forward!"
Step by step. One foot, two. As they drew closer, the enemies' sorry states came into sharp focus. And when they got near enough to make out facial expressions—what the hell? The bastards started running away.
Startled, fleeing in panic. Each one might as well have been a gold nugget; no way they could let them slip. Turning these scarecrows into merit badges felt like straight-up alchemy.
"Charge! Charge!!"
"""Raaah!!!"""
With orders to push even harder, the soldiers surged forward amid roars. Watching the proud future pillars of the Empire charge without hesitation stirred his heart, quickening his own steps.
The 1st Battalion commander suddenly recalled his childhood dreams, pure and untainted. A heroic epic moment, slaying monsters without a hint of fear. Fragments of that dream were unfolding right here, right now.
He would make his name here. This battle would be the turning point, earning him fame greater than any other.
"For the Empire's glory!"
And for his own brilliant future!
Victory lay just beyond. Emboldened, they crested the hill.
"Commence firing!"
A young voice echoed across the battlefield. It wasn't familiar. Hell, it wasn't even in the Empire's tongue. But there was no time to question it.
Boom!
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
A thunderous roar from beyond the ridge, countless muskets belching fire.
"Gahk!"
"Keurgh... heuk!"
Eardrum-shattering noise, followed by scattered death rattles. The formation melted in an instant. Bodies mangled by brutal buckshot into unrecognizable lumps. Compared to them, those felled by musket balls were the lucky ones.
Of course, the luckiest were those who dodged the shot entirely—but even they couldn't relax.
"Fix bayonets! Chaaarge—urk!!"
A wave of blades was already crashing toward them.
Shluck!
"Kaaagh!"
"Keuk... grrrk."
The broken formation had no strength left to hold. Pierced, slashed, shoved aside. A one-sided massacre unfolded.
"Battalion commander! We need to retreat our forces! We've been had!"
"No... no way."
It wasn't denial born of ignorance. He knew it too. The battle was over. An artistic counterattack straight out of the manuals. Even a fresh academy grad would reach the same conclusion.
But retreat was impossible. They'd already crossed the line of no return. Ordering a pullback now would end him for real.
He'd have to hold, even if it melted away their lives.
"Battalion commander! Order the retreat now! Casualties are spiraling out of control!!"
"—not yet..."
"Pardon?"
"Not yet! Hold!"
He bellowed, veins bulging in his neck. Sure, they'd moved a bit early, but by now, the flanking and rear battalions should be in motion. Once other assaults hit, the enemy couldn't keep pouring troops here forever.
Just hold until then. One breakthrough—that's all it would take.
"What are you saying! We can't hold any longer!"
Despite his resolve, defeatist crap kept coming. He couldn't let it stand.
"You worm! How dare a beneficiary of His Majesty's grace spout such cowardice!!"
"...!"
These were always the problem. Too gutless to charge boldly, yet dragging down the far-sighted pioneers like parasites.
Shing—
These types were better off gone. Time to judge.
Thinking that, the battalion commander drew his sword.
Grip—
But it never saw use.
"Fire—!!"
BOOM!!
Whoomph!
The second barrage turned his body into a donut. A pathetic end compared to his obsession with survival.
"B-battalion... commander?"
The adjutant, spared by luck, saw it clear as day. He gritted his teeth and stood.
No time for grief over the boss's death—it was actually good for the battalion.
"Retreat! Everyone, fall back!!"
Only then did the 1st Battalion escape scarecrow status.
"Kaaagh!"
"No, too late!!"
Sadly, having missed the retreat window, their fate wasn't much different from their commander's.
The end of the Griffin Empire's 36th Infantry Regiment, 1st Battalion.
Looking around, the hill was stained with blood. Not quite a mountain of corpses, but plenty littered the ground.
All Empire soldiers, though. Our casualties barely hit double digits.
We'd won. Perfectly.
Forces equal, branches similar. Yet the outcome was worlds apart.
What made the difference? Obviously, the officers and men fighting desperately. But one more factor.
The War Commanders Gallery.
"Hoo..."
Yeah, the gallery. That bizarre status window I'd clung to like a lifeline had saved my ass.
Seeing the results firsthand made the advice hit different. Hiding troops along the ridgeline for ambush wasn't just deception—it was key to inflicting irrecoverable damage on enemies blind to distance.
Crossing the field cannons on the flanks instead of frontally? Insanely effective. Not just firepower boost, but no angle blockage even after our charge.
Guiding and annihilating. Perfect execution of both roles.
Hard to believe even watching it.
And this from just deployment and terrain advice. If I fed it more intel—what could it do?
"Lieutenant."
I flinched—Rene had snuck up while I pondered. No showing weakness, so I kept cool.
"What is it?"
"Enemy unit approaching from the flank."
Shit. No time for after-action reviews.
I snapped out of it, nodded, and issued orders.
"Move the cannons first. Jean, Claude—check combat-incapables and reorganize. Flank setup as planned."
"""Yes sir!"""
Jean and Claude bolted like it was a race. Wouldn't take long. Light casualties, short fight, ammo plentiful.
Only worry: those damn heavy cannons. But after seeing their punch, no leaving 'em. Troops'd agree—they'd moved 'em before.
No need to sweat it.
I shook my head, shelved the thought. With time till next clash, I pulled up the translucent screen and logged into the gallery.
[Rethinking it, was that a bit reckless?][3]
[Fuck, newbie!! You alive!?][5]
[Calculated win rate based on exchange ratio][11]
[Honestly, my biggest worry is][8]
[Why first battlefields are brutally hard][14]
Dozens of post titles popped up. The gallery vibe felt a tad chaotic.
All about me?
Curiosity piqued, I clicked the top one.
Click—
'Whoa...'
A post dripping with worry. Rare sight. I'd gallery'd enough to know: communities hate sappy shit. Cynical banter, memes, roasting noobs for content—that's the norm.
But these guys were different. No jokes or drips, just uneasy vibes.
Makes sense—lives on the line. They'd faced war's weight and life's value head-on.
Scratch—
I rubbed my neck, typed a reply.
Straight thank-you note. Sappiness is contagious, my theory. Otherwise, why post this cringe?
...Or dying once rewires you? Whatever.
Hypothesis overload. I shook off the embarrassment, eyes back to the floating screen.
About to lurk—then it exploded.
"Huh?"
The comments went nuclear.