1554: Protector of the West – Part 3 1554: Protector of the West – Part 3 Oliver looked up at the old buildings.
At the Church of Claudia, in particular.
A building hundreds and hundreds of years old, with all the immaculate architecture that went along with it, bespeaking of a stonemason that did it not for coin, but for the glory of the Goddess that he served.
So many tiny details, in the smallest of places, in a single hand sized figure about the door, displaying Claudia, to the highest level of beauty that mortal mind could imagine, a task that no doubt took days, and one that the stonemason had chosen to do anyway, despite the sheer imnsity of the project he had to contend with.
The church was of trendous scale, capable of holding hundreds of people at once, and with a bell tower on top, that had once echoed, ringing out the tis of the day for the people to hear.
That bell now was as silent as the city.
The religious n and bell ringers that had seen it in operation had fled with the rest.
They had no place here, in tis of war, just like the civilians did.
There was a place that ti stopped.
Only the giant sundial kept up its operation, alone and forgotten, a worker that no longer received praise.
It ca with more terror than it did delight when Oliver continually reminded himself that such a city, and all its magnificently high walls, were under his protection.
For the duration of his defence, Ernest belonged to him, as did the seat of the ancient House of Blackwell.
He was given the keys to it all, as freely as if he truly was Blackwell’s son.
And then, when danger was to co, he was told to forsake it all, and let it fall into the hands of the enemy.
Despite his fear, that was a plan that Oliver found himself entirely against.
He was certain that, no matter what ca on the horizon, he would not so willingly abandon Lord Blackwell’s ho.
Nor would he so freely abandon Solgrim, after all the work that had been done to it.
Yet now, the abandoning of Solgrim seed like the only foundation of a counter attacking plan that they could co up with.
“It will give us leeway,” Volguard had told Oliver, having opted to stay behind along with him, a fact that Oliver was well grateful for, given his own lacking in strategy.
“We can defend it to what degree that we can, slowing the tide of the enemy, knowing that we still have Ernest to retreat to.
A good plan is full of things that you are prepared to sacrifice.” Oliver had nodded, though reluctantly.
He weighed the health his village that he had spent so much ti on – though it was now empty – against the lives of the n that he would save in sacrificing it, and he found that the n were of more importance, though the wound still stung to a rather solid degree.
“We don’t have the n for all these walls,” Oliver told Volguard, as they made their way through the city.
Ernest wasn’t the largest city in the Stormfront.
In truth, it was amongst the smallest, for its walls were hundreds of years old, erected around the magnificent church that had been built there.
Hundreds of years ago, the population of Ernest was not as vast as it was now.
That being said, the re 1500 n that they had would struggle to see it as properly defended as Oliver would have liked.
“Quite right,” Volguard agreed.
“Their siege tactics, as a result, will at least be obvious, provided that they properly scout our numbers.
They will simply attempt to swarm us.
Your n are going to be spread thin, General.” Oliver had to note the difference in deanour he felt from his professor.
That sense of respect that he had not earned, as if the man were truly talking to a superior.
There was a soldier’s disposition to him now, sothing that he’d never seen the professor put on.
A mory from his own ti as a soldier, despite Volguard’s own lagging fondness of it.
He had to take a second to adjust, hearing a professor that he so respected calling him by his new title, but with his hands behind his back, he managed to keep himself serious, not allowing his hesitation to show on his face.
He knew that, of all the things that were expected of him, solidness ranked foremost amongst them.
He had little to offer aside from it.
“Do you have any suggestions for how we might combat that, professor?” Oliver asked.
“…I would hear your suggestions first, General, if you would.
You seem to imagine an army in your head when you speak of the battles to co, but I still see the peasantry, not fighting n,” Volguard said.
“It is hard to make a suggestion when I do not know the strength of our pieces.
A weakness of my decades spent rely on the theoretical, I am afraid.” “They will not be mirror pieces, I am afraid,” Oliver said, playing with his fingers as he kept them threaded behind his back.
They’d begun their training earlier that day, and Oliver had spent a few hours observing them, and drilling them, to the best degree that he could, getting a sense for the directions that he could put them in, drawing on his past experiences, wondering how he might go even further than he already had, to create soldiers of strength even more quickly than he had in the past.
“If we are to prioritize speed in their gathering of strength, they will grow increasingly individualistic.
You have already noted the sa in your observation of my n, Professor – their want for individualism.” “Indeed,” Volguard said, nodding.
“A branch differing from mainstream strategy.
Sothing that is difficult to convert into the old theories.
You allow them each their character.
It requires a knowing General to make best use of them.
What thods do you intend of them?
What tactics?
I assu, if you are allowing them individualism, we cannot expect a spear wall, or a shield wall or the like?”
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