Elang Rolls into the Capital
They'd released the improved Elang in the capital. It might catch on like wildfire here, just as it had back home—or it might fizzle out as a mere teacup tempest. Either way, the players would sort it out themselves, hashing it out through endless games.
In truth, whether Elang became a fad or not wasn't all that important. It wasn't developed as some tabletop miniature game for fun; it was always meant for military purposes. The best outcome would be if it gained moderate popularity, accumulated data from playthroughs, and allowed them to refine it into Elang 2.0.
Strictly speaking, this is just letting things follow their natural course.
The first modern wargame wasn't devised by some general—it was a university professor. The Prussian army saw how engaging and popular it was, thought "Hey, this could work for us," and adapted it into Kriegsspiel for official use. Kriegsspiel faithfully incorporated the hard lessons of the Napoleonic Wars, making it an advanced military simulation by the standards of the time.
By contrast, the lessons Estiang could incorporate were limited to the defensive battles fought at the Great Wall—and those against mindless monsters, at that.
Thinking about it that way, a moderate level of popularity seems just about right.
He could get updates through merchant caravans traveling to and from the capital. If seasoned nobles who'd seen real combat played Elang, they'd generate their own data points, right? It wouldn't be optimized for northern conditions, but they'd still glean some useful insights.
From that angle, it was practically a free picnic.
Even now, the lively chatter from outside reached his sharp ears.
"Move your forces like the wind when advancing! Stay rooted like a mountain when holding position!"
"I've always thought the knights' breakthrough power is ridiculous. They just shred everything after the impact roll."
"That's only natural for the proud Iron Fang Knights of Berg. A lance charge wrapped in aura can pierce an ogre head-on—surviving that would be the real nonsense. Figure out a counter."
"You think so?"
It was heartening to see them enjoying Elang while racking their brains for solutions. If he had to put a label on it, this was a desirable shift.
All that's left is waiting for His Majesty to send reinforcements.
The emperor had taken this matter seriously enough to dispatch a special envoy all the way north. That implied more than the usual routine—it was a sign he'd use this as an excuse to provide solid support. And Elang would serve as one convenient pretext in the process.
In his youth, the old man had racked up a respectable service record, with tales of his exploits scattered here and there. History's greats tended to fall into two camps: those like Emperor Taizong of Tang, who brazenly claimed his father and brother's merits as his own, or those like King Taejong of Joseon, who commanded, "Let no historian record this." Fittingly, both were named Taizong—one from the Tang, the other from Joseon.
Still, it's not ancient history, and he must've had some real prowess back in the day.
From the stories he'd heard, the emperor had been quite the force in his prime—not quite to the extent of his own boasts, but enough to take seriously. He wasn't clueless about military affairs, so Estiang could only hope he'd select the right supplies.
Ideally, they'd send gold in ambiguous situations like this, but up north, money alone couldn't buy everything. Those items had to be sourced from the capital or other regions via merchants, jacking up costs with transport fees. Better if they shipped the essentials directly from the start.
He just hoped the old man lived long and prospered.
His sister had asked about it once during her serialization.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"I've got a question."
"Shoot."
"When the emperor dies, the crown prince is such a moron the empire's on the brink of collapse. We need to fix that."
"I know. The latest chapters have this ominous vibe. It's obvious the country goes to hell once he ascends."
"Is this historically weird? You're a history buff; you should know."
"Hmm... not really?"
After Emperor Giovanni's death, the crown prince ascends and promptly ruins everything. His sister wondered if that was unrealistic.
By any historical standard Estiang knew, it was par for the course. Qin Shi Huang dies, Second Emperor Hu Hai takes over, Zhao Gao runs rampant, and Qin crumbles. Alexander the Great kicks the bucket young, and the Diadochi Wars splinter the Hellenistic empire. Shahrukh dies, Ulugh Beg succeeds him—hardly incompetent, but lacking military acumen, he gets overthrown by his son and executed, dooming Timur's empire to implosion.
East or West, ancient or recent, it was commonplace: a capable ruler dies, an incompetent heir ascends, and the realm unravels.
Superhuman studs croaking and dooming their dynasties wasn't rare; he'd answered nonchalantly.
"Plenty of total collapses, even more that just veer toward ruin. Nothing odd about it."
"Right? Not weird at all. Guess we need to think about chopping the crown prince's—er, emperor's—head off."
"What? Spoiled naturally by the author."
"Hey, Mom and Dad are running late. Chicken for dinner?"
"Ah, order Golden Olive."
From what he'd read and the author's own confirmation, if the emperor didn't stick around long-term, the empire was in for trouble. Which meant Estiang had to tidy up loose ends and race against time to crush the monsters while the old man held the throne.
Outside, his subordinates were still debating mountain maneuvers mid-Elang game.
He needed to stay sharp and focused. Assuming steady supply support from the capital—mainly expendables and rations...
"That should give us enough for one major training exercise."
Monster raids led by orcs had been quiet lately. Leave minimal guards and mobilize nearly the entire duchy army for a large-scale drill? A practical showcase of Elang-honed tactics. His men were already obsessed with the game; commanding real troops like game pieces would thrill them.
As he pondered the timing, urgent footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The office door burst open.
"Lady Roena?"
"Your Grace, enemies approaching."
He asked on instinct.
"Orcs?"
"Yes. Watchtowers report orcs emerging beyond the snowfields."
"Quiet for a while, and now they start up again."
Speak of the devil.
* * *
If orcs were just appearing beyond the snowfields, experience told him they had some time. From the wall to the conifer forests stretched open plains, giving ample warning once spotted.
Bells clanged wildly from the watchtowers, and soldiers—itching for action after the lull—scrambled into battle prep. Only the fresh recruits from the capital showed tension; for Berg, this was routine.
"Not that many."
Armored up, helmet on, he stood atop the Great Wall. His breath fogged the air with each word, and soon his view filled with swarming olive-green blobs.
"Around two thousand, I'd say."
Operations staff officer Karl narrowed his eyes, murmuring.
"Probably."
"Shall we proceed with the standard plan?"
"Not yet."
He shook his head slowly at Karl's question.
Two thousand. Not insignificant, but modest compared to usual hordes.
"Longbowmen! Stand ready! Hold fire until ordered!"
"Load crossbows and artifacts!"
"To your positions! Follow training protocols exactly—nothing more, nothing less!"
Shouts rang out everywhere, accompanied by heavy clunks as artifact crossbows were cranked.
"Your Grace?"
"Not yet. Let them get closer."
Iron Fang Knights Captain Wolfgang approached, puzzled. Estiang shook his head again.
"These are intelligent monsters. Their movements will differ from the norm. I'll observe first, then issue orders."
"Understood, Your Grace."
Wolfgang nodded gravely.
These orcs were different, no doubt. After a quiet spell, scouts had confirmed a settlement—proof of intelligence.
Estiang couldn't help feeling tense. Even with overwhelming force for a rout, their unfamiliar tactics promised surprises.
His hand rested on his sword hilt. If things got hairy or the wall was threatened, he'd charge in first to minimize losses. Keeping himself busy to save lives was rational.
"Your Grace, nervous?"
"..."
Billaine asked curiously from the side, but he didn't reply. Mild tension gripped him as the orcs drew nearer—a massive, writhing olive-green mass.
The moment they were clearly visible to the naked eye.
"...What?"
A nagging sense of déjà vu prickled his senses.
Something was off. As the orcs closed in, details sharpened.
Kraaaargh!
Kraaaah!
Howling savagely right before combat, dull-eyed with no hint of cunning—the same old orcs. Eyes burning with kill-lust, empty-handed. Swarming like ants on a tree trunk, intent only on scaling the wall and slaughtering humans.
Wolfgang sounded baffled.
"...Your Grace, visually, I see no differences so far."
"You felt it too?"
"Yes. At least from what I can tell up to now..."
Wolfgang trailed off.
They were supposed to be intelligent. Maximilian's report couldn't be wrong.
"Your Grace, they're entering range."
Karl murmured the update.
"...Proceed with the standard plan for now."
"Yes."
Wolfgang and Karl replied in near unison.
This couldn't be right. Bewilderment showed on his face.
Billaine shot him a curious glance, ears twitching, then moved to his position.
If intelligent, shouldn't they have weapons? Ladders, at least—not siege engines, but something?
Had he overestimated orc intelligence?
Amid swirling thoughts, a piercing gaze prickled him. He snapped his head up instinctively, and blazing eyes filled his vision.
"That one's..."
Beyond the teeming orc horde, at the snowfield's edge.
Something was watching him. Not the wall—him, precisely.
A colossal orc, towering two heads above the rest, adorned in indecipherable trinkets. Troll-sized, it loomed with attendants, staring straight at him.
Their gazes locked across the void.
Then, the orc shrugged its shoulders.
Too distant to be more than a speck, yet he clearly saw the gesture.
"...Hah."
An incredulous laugh escaped him.
Well, look at you.