Once more, it seed that soone of the older generation was trying to show Oliver sothing in regards to strategy. As of yet, he still didn't have a plan after all – and he did not plan to make any sort of concrete plan until he saw the enemy in front of him, and was able to judge him properly for what he was.
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After Volguard had given his advice, Skullic had arranged a eting with him, at lunchti, on the last day before the weekend, trying to hamr the sa point ho.
The state of the Battle board now was far from being in Oliver's favour. He wasn't that much more accomplished at the ga than he had been in the past, despite the principles that Volguard had hamred ho to him a thousand tis over.
The Professor himself did not think that such an odd thing, and assured him that in ti, when those principles refined themselves, they would be able to be manifest in the heavily restricted board ga as well.
Oliver shifted his line of infantry forward. Skullic's cavalry had been pestering Oliver's spearn for a ti, lining themselves up opposite his flank, and then scuttling away before Oliver could do anything about it.
Every ti Oliver turned to deal with the threat, Skullic had managed to achieve sothing in return, such as the now vastly improved position of his archers, which were now just one square away from sending hell down upon Oliver's front line.
Thus, Oliver had chosen to ignore the presence of the cavalry this ti, and it was finally then that Skullic had delivered his rather intense "wrong". It was imdiately made evident just why Oliver had been wrong, for those sa cavalry bit straight through Oliver's flank.
In a floundering attempt, Oliver sent the spearn rushing forward, intending to at least get so archers killed in compensation, whilst he recovered from the chaos of the cavalry charge.
"Close, but still wrong," Skullic said again, calmly keeping his archers well out of range, as the cavalryn continued to wreak havoc on Oliver's backline, taking care of anything and everything that they could.
This was the first ti that Oliver had played battle against the General – normal battle, without Command involved – and he was imdiately made aware of the gap between them. He hadn't secured a single one of Skullic's pieces, despite his careful play, and now it seed like he'd be crushed entirely before he could even manage anything in response.
'As expected of a General…' Oliver thought, seeing him fight, more awed by Skullic than he was annoyed by the fact that he was losing. Of course, he'd played against Volguard on occasion, but never in true Battle. The Professor had never needed to use everything that he had against Oliver.
He'd instead set up positions where Oliver had the advantage, and then urge him to see the route to victory – even in those cases, Oliver couldn't co close to beating the man though.
"Wipe that look off your face," Skullic said, noticing it. "You're being hypnotised by rank. It's only victory that matters here. A peasant can kill even the mightiest or warriors, or slay the most monstrous of beasts. Rank is nothing but a prediction of how soone might perform."
It was lines like that which made Oliver so fond of Skullic so quickly. The man's views on class differed so starkly from the rest of nobility as to be downright foreign. The fact that he held respect for the threat of the peasantry, when so many dismissed them, was just one of many reasons that made him as great as he was.
So too was the fact that he cared so explicitly for the lives of his n, despite their lowly positions.
"Apologies," Oliver said.
The General sighed, taking each and every one of Oliver's pieces as though it pained him to do so.
"This is… Not helpful," Skullic decided eventually. "You have no clue what I'm saying, do you?"
"I think I might…"
"Then why did you not perform any better? Repeat to , what you suppose I said."
"You were saying that to dislodge a rock, one needed to beco like the waves of the seat, building up a mighty position from small advantages. You said that, in battle especially, both sides start with equal positions, and that it takes a great effort to finally overco that balanced nature to see victory," Oliver said.
"That's nearly word for word what I said," Skullic replied, clearly not happy. "But did you understand it?"
"In principle, I do," Oliver said. "Of course, it makes sense… But the options for securing advantage in Battle are so limited."
"Is that to suggest that you wouldn't have a problem on the actual battlefield?" Skullic said, twisting his lips. "Perhaps that's true, in so cases. You perford exceptionally well on the last mission, but this is vastly different. If our assumptions are correct, there will be a General of so sort of skill sitting opposite you, pulling the strings. Can you even hope to best them?"
"I… don't know," Oliver said honestly.
The General looked ready to tear out his hair. "Listen, boy. These are my n whose lives I'm entrusting you with. This shitty position I've forced them into – you're the only one who can get them out of it. Take this more seriously!"
"I am," Oliver protested. "I don't want those n to die either."
"Then why can't you do as I ask?" Skullic said, his voice tinged by reproach, slamming his fist down on the table.
"I don't know!" Oliver said back. "In Command, did I not do as you wished? The Battle Board has forever been a weakness for . When I get there, on the field, I'll figure sothing out."
"Foolish boy! A battle isn't won on the field – it is won in the strategy tents before the battle begins!" Skullic says.
"Gorm certainly didn't seem to have drawn up a battle before he assaulted us in Solgrim," Oliver protested. "Yet when he got to the field, he was able to appear in the most inconvenient places when we least wanted him."
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