Translator: CinderTL
In a city in the Yellow Earth region, senior commanders from the Northwest Legion, the Crystal Glare Legion, and other elite units established the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
The commanders had already finalized the overall plan for a full-scale offensive against the Orcs, leaving the tactical details to be fleshed out by the staff officers.
In the brightly lit hall, the sand table had been removed, replaced by wine glasses and tableware that gleamed under the candlelight.
Paul Grayman raised his glass, surveying the senior commanders of the Northwest Legion and the Crystal Glare Legion gathered before him.
"Gentlemen!" his voice was steady and powerful. "After meticulous planning by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, our comprehensive offensive will soon commence."
He turned and walked toward the massive map still hanging on the wall, his finger tracing the dense array of flag markers. His fingertip tapped three red arrows on the sand table, each pointing directly at the Orcs' final defensive line.
The battle plan divided the Imperial forces into three main legions and three auxiliary legions. The main legions, commanded by General Claude, General Walton, and General Abbott, would spearhead the assault. The auxiliary legions would seal off all potential breakthrough points, preventing the Orc cavalry from exploiting their mobility to outflank and break through the Imperial lines.
Paul, brimming with confidence, surveyed the hall, his gaze sweeping across the faces of each general. "Our army numbers a total of 120,000 soldiers. Never before in history has such a formidable force been assembled on this land. We will advance shoulder to shoulder, leaving no gap for the enemy to exploit."
Catherine Grayman stood beside him, clad in a crisp military uniform, her golden hair pulled back, radiating an air of fierce determination.
She took up her husband's words, her voice clear and resolute. "The Orcs believe their cavalry can roam freely, but today, we will show them that no army on this land can escape the Alden army's crushing grip."
The princess slammed her hand heavily onto the map, causing several black arrow labels representing the Orc cavalry to tremble slightly.
"Over the past three weeks, Abal has launched seventeen major raids," her voice as cold as a polar wind. "The Black Canyon in the north, the Gray Horse Plains in the south, the Broken Blade Hills in the center—his cavalry has torn through our defenses like rabid wolves, even sacrificing entire thousand-man companies just to probe for weaknesses in our lines."
Catherine took a riding crop from an aide and tapped several spots repeatedly circled in red ink on the map. "During their most insane assault, they charged head-on through grapeshot fire, piling up corpses waist-high, all in a desperate attempt to exhaust the Seventh Infantry Regiment's 'limited' ammunition. Unfortunately for them, it was just a fantasy."
The Crystal Glare generals exchanged glances. Harrison Abbott shook his head, studying the black arrows representing the enemy's attacks on the human lines. "This tactic... it's pure suicide."
Paul nodded, a sharp smile playing on his lips. "The fully mobilized Northwest Legion now dwarfs the forces we deployed at the Battle of Stonebridge Town. And we've received crucial reinforcements from the Royal Capital's army."
He wasn't exaggerating. Aldor's forces now formed an impenetrable spiderweb across the entire warzone. Every strategic pass was heavily guarded, every trail bristled with barbed wire and sentry posts, and even the most remote shepherd's paths were patrolled day and night by militia units.
"Even if we suffer losses, our wartime railway can still transport three thousand new recruits daily. Our armories are producing enough equipment to arm five legions. As for artillery..."
He turned to Bryce, the Artillery General. "Even militia units are now receiving two six-pound cannons each."
Bryce stood tall, a proud expression on his face.
Paul raised his wineglass with a smile, signaling the attendants to refill everyone's glasses with the rich red wine. "And tonight, I have another piece of good news to share with you all! Especially for my colleagues from Crystal Glare, since you may not be fully aware of our previous battle plans."
He tapped his glass lightly, the crisp sound silencing the hall.
"While we were discussing a frontal assault, another army has already bypassed the Rocky Mountains by sea, crossed the primeval forests, and advanced into the heart of the Grassland."
A glint flashed in his eyes. "General Andrew's Grasslands Expeditionary Force has already secured Blackwater Lake and a vast surrounding area."
Whispers of astonishment rippled through the Crystal Glare officers. Chambers set down his glass, raising an eyebrow. "Lord Marquis, are you saying..."
"Abal and his Orc army will be caught in a pincer attack!" Paul's voice was as hard as steel. "Whether he chooses to make his final stand against us at Aldor or retreat to reinforce the Grassland, he cannot escape defeat."
He raised his glass, the golden wine reflecting the candlelight. "To victory!"
"To victory!" the officers roared in unison, the clinking of glasses echoing through the hall.
As the banquet officially began, Paul traced the rim of his crystal goblet with his fingertip, listening to the conversations around him. His mind remained exceptionally clear.
In truth, this war against the Orcs shouldn't have required such a massive mobilization for Northwest Bay.
Though fierce, the Orcs were ultimately a collection of nomadic tribes. Against a true industrial war machine, they were like praying mantises trying to stop a chariot.
After the Battle of Stonebridge Town, Abal's defeat was already sealed. While the Orc cavalry possessed superior mobility, the Northwest Legion had already established a technological advantage. As long as they avoided any major blunders, they could ensure the Orcs gained no advantage in any decisive battle, gradually pushing them out of Aldor territory.
Yet Paul had chosen a more radical approach—a full-scale mobilization.
This wasn't an overreaction; it was a pressure test.
The military and political system of Northwest Bay was an industrial war machine he had meticulously crafted over many years. But even the most perfect design needed real-world testing.
Just as in the early days of World War I on Earth, industrial powers like Germany, France, and Russia stumbled badly in the unfamiliar landscape of total war. Germany's railway scheduling collapsed, France suffered from insufficient artillery shell supplies, and Russia even saw soldiers going into battle unarmed, waiting to pick up weapons from the fallen.
Paul would never allow Northwest Bay to repeat the mistakes of the past in any future, larger-scale war.
Could steam trains truly meet the demands of the front lines?
Were there flaws in the reserve conscription system?
Could supply lines hold under extreme conditions?
Was the coordination among commanders at all levels up to par?
These questions could only be answered in a true, all-out war.
He turned to the tent, where generals were engaged in a heated discussion, his gaze deep and thoughtful.
This war against the Orcs was essentially a military exercise, a thorough test of Northwest Bay's war-fighting potential. Every mistake, every weakness would be recorded, analyzed, and swiftly corrected after the conflict.
When this system faced a more formidable enemy one day, it must operate as smoothly as a precision clock.
Paul gently swirled his wineglass, the red liquid gleaming like blood in the moonlight.
"Identify the problem, solve the problem," he murmured to himself.
"What?" Catherine heard her husband's whisper.
Paul smiled faintly. "Nothing, just a sudden insight."
(End of the Chapter)
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