"Will they really assign warlock guards to every commander because of your performance today?"
Lincoln walked behind Lann, jingling with scattered pieces of armor hanging on him.
"Those are noble casters... Does the Niflgaard Empire use them like that? Do they have so many casters at their disposal?"
Behind him, all the 'embers' members looked similar, covered with gear hanging from them.
Guerrilla warfare cannot rely on stable logistical support, so all materials must be taken from the enemy.
Lann called this act of 'taking guns and cannons from the enemy' a 'fine tradition.'
The people didn't quite understand how this qualified as 'tradition,' but Lann said it was, and with their feverish admiration for him, they naturally did it without reservation.
"You still don't understand your enemy, Lincoln. Read more books."
Lann said without looking back, conveying his thoughts to the young man behind him.
Unconsciously, he had started treating Lincoln as his deputy.
