Chapter 148: The Leftover Report

The following day, the post-war aftermath procedures commenced. In the early morning hours, excluding the sentries on guard, the entire Thunder Knight Order mobilized without swords, carrying only fresh flowers to line up at the cemetery located in the western outer suburbs. A light drizzle hung in the sky while mournful music echoed across the ground. From the General down to the lowest-ranking private, everyone removed their hats and stood in solemn reverence. In the rear, the parrot squadron flew in formation, landing neatly along the perimeter with each bird holding a small flower in its beak. Although expressionless, they radiated an extraordinary sense of heavy sorrow.

The only person truly buried here was Gray, as the others had all perished in the distant hills deep within Cardia. Yet even without bodies, tombstones were erected for every single one of them. More than 180 tombstones stood neatly arranged in a square formation. At this moment, whether it was the general's son or a tiny parrot, all the tombstones were of equal size, and the epitaphs uniformly posthumously recognized them as heroes.

At the front of the formation, a professional priest recited a eulogy that brought tears to the eyes. Human life ultimately returns to dust; sometimes, standing before a tombstone, one cannot help but be filled with deep emotion. The priest was a believer, and his eulogy ultimately leaned more toward blessings, wishing them happiness in heaven, and so on.

Once the eulogy concluded, everyone laid flowers for their fallen comrades. Kevin, Start, and Sein approached the tombstones of Gray and the big-sister parrot. In their minds, the hardships of the battle surfaced automatically, along with memories of the days they spent training and living together.

Kevin and Start still vividly remembered how Gray had intentionally smashed his own foot to evade military service, only to fail in the end. When he first joined the recruit squad, he used his foot injury to talk back to his superior, resulting in a brutal drilling. With his overall performance hitting rock bottom, he was bullied by Sein and the others, forced to wash their clothes and socks. Unable to write a letter home, he had to rely on Start to ghostwrite it for him. Kevin would drag him out in the middle of the night for extra training; Kevin gained a lot from it, while Gray practically wasted his sleeping time. Yet at the final moment, he held his ground against the bandit leader's sword and drove the bandits back with a shout.

Kevin still clearly remembered what the big-sister parrot had said: "I am not afraid of death." Mere bird though she was, her will was stronger than that of many people.

All those past events remained vivid, but looking back now, only cold tombstones remained. Honestly speaking, if Kevin had been the one to take that sword, he doubted he would have had the ability to block it. The bandit leader had lurked in the shadows for days waiting for an opening, and such a threat was certainly not easily resolved. Of course, precisely because he had waited for those days, he must have noticed that Gray was the weakest in strength, making Gray his inevitable target.

Sometimes Kevin felt unworthy of being their commander; they were the true heroes. As the commander, the lives of the entire squad rested in his hands, yet the brutality of war demanded sacrifices. It was as if, among a group of brothers, one was forced to choose two to die. If they won, there was a shred of comfort, but what if they lost? Sometimes, even with peerless strategic wisdom and unmatched martial prowess, the outcome of a war still could not be completely controlled. Only after real combat did one realize that every battle was a life-or-death high-stakes gamble, and only then did one understand the true value of peace.

Quietly laying flowers at Gray's tomb, Kevin heard the priest's blessing echo in his ears: "May these children find happiness in heaven."

Kevin did not believe in heaven, but at this moment, he sincerely hoped it existed, even if only as a form of spiritual comfort.

Looking back, the staff officer was kneeling before the tomb of the general's son, weeping silently. He had put his military uniform back on, but after seeing him in such a wretched state, Kevin and the others felt a strange sensation whenever they looked at him.

Having suffered defeat after defeat, how could he have the face to continue living in the world in the presence of so many fallen soldiers? Yet perhaps once someone reached a position of high authority, their skin grew thicker, or perhaps he lacked the courage to commit suicide, allowing him to linger on. To be honest, the staff officer's life and death were now entirely in the general's hands, and Kevin had no desire to say much more. The battle was over; these were matters among the upper echelons, and Kevin chose not to meddle.

The memorial service drew to a close. By noon, the drizzle stopped, the sun emerged, and the general re-formed the ranks to march back. The first order of business upon returning was, naturally, a meeting, where various matters were arranged in an orderly fashion.

First was personnel redeployment. Lieutenant Colonel House was appointed as the commander of the First Battalion, while the Third Battalion's designation was canceled, and its remaining few members were absorbed into the First Battalion.

Second, compensation for the families of the fallen had to be arranged one by one. This was once again a massive sum, and the finances of the Thunder Knight Order would likely suffer a severe blow.

Third, regarding the commander responsible for the operational failure—Pandu Bi, also known as the staff officer. He was undoubtedly guilty, but the exact punishment he should receive was still under discussion. The staff officer himself uttered not a single word. Before the second deployment, he had proclaimed that if he failed, he would bring his head back to be inspected. Given his current state, how should that be reckoned with?

The Thunder Knight Order was already running low on elite fighters, so letting him off the hook at this juncture was not entirely out of the question. During the meeting, no one pleaded on the staff officer's behalf, and Kevin remained completely silent, adopting the role of a spectator. The general even asked Kevin with some amusement, "Do you have any suggestions?" Kevin replied, "The General decides."

Helpless, the general temporarily stripped the staff officer of his military rank and had him locked up.

Finally, following this ordeal, the morale of the legion had plummeted. The First Battalion was originally the most elite unit in the entire order, yet its commander had fallen and the entire formation had been outflanked. Even if kept under wraps, the inner wounds were difficult to heal. How to handle this ideological work was another major problem. Of course, this primarily fell under Lieutenant Colonel House's purview, seeing as he was now the commander of the First Battalion.

The meeting lasted the entire afternoon. True to his word, the general fulfilled his promise, telling Kevin that he could leave tomorrow to begin his official leave, provided he arranged his work before departing. Naturally, this posed no problem. Upon returning, Kevin designated Start to take full charge of the catapults, while routine training and cleaning required no special instructions—Start could make his own decisions on whatever arose, as long as he didn't sell off the catapults.

The next morning, Kevin finally shed his military uniform and changed into his long-overdue bard attire. Start and Sein came out to see him off. The three of them patted each other on the shoulders, and the two companions wished him, "Enjoy your vacation."

Kevin nodded in response. "Thanks. I'll bring you gifts when I get back." Due to the strict management of the military camp, people like Kevin who roamed around daily were actually a rare exception; ordinary frontline soldiers rarely got the chance to leave. Therefore, whenever soldiers went out, he had to bring gifts back for all his squadmates—a way to bring some warmth to those who couldn't leave. This was also a rule within the camp.

"Right, here is a letter addressed to the General," Kevin finally pulled out the manuscript he had written in the middle of the night and handed it to Sein. "Help me pass this on to him."

Start's expression immediately shifted. "You didn't pack it full of biting sarcasm and biting irony just to run off on your own, did you? Don't forget you still have to come back!"

"Rest assured, I know my limits." Kevin patted the two of them, turned around to register his departure time at the guard post, and stepped out of the military camp. Finally on leave, he could finally relax.

Meanwhile, Sein delivered the letter to his father. The general happened to be buried under a mountain of work, signing a stack of post-war documents until late evening when he suddenly remembered the letter. He picked it up and squeezed it, feeling its thickness—it didn't feel like a dying last will and testament. Figuring it was filled with extreme sarcasm and mockery, the general prepared himself mentally.

However, after skimming through it hastily, he felt the contents were quite objective and fair. First, Kevin provided a detailed narrative of the battle from his own perspective. During the engagement, Kevin had put forward several suggestions that the staff officer had ultimately ignored; in the letter, Kevin refrained from blaming the staff officer for being foolish, acknowledging instead that his own communication style might have been flawed and inappropriate.

Following that came a reflection on the battle itself. The fundamental cause of this defeat lay in a failure of command. The soldiers had been exceptionally brave and thoroughly executed their orders. Kevin had taken it upon himself to find an excuse to hole up in another cave, but in retrospect, that was undoubtedly the correct choice. Laying all the blame solely on the staff officer seemed slightly improper, but at the very least, he had to bear ninety percent of the responsibility, while Lieutenant Colonel House, who was then the commander of the Third Battalion, should also shoulder about ten percent.

The staff officer's personal prowess was formidable, but his tactical proficiency was severely lopsided. Perhaps he was only capable of fighting upright battles according to a rigid script; the moment unexpected issues arose, his adaptability plummeted, he grew emotionally impulsive during combat, and he underestimated the enemy.

The problems exhibited by the staff officer, Kevin believed, were likely systemic issues prevalent throughout their entire army. A prolonged period of peacetime had led to a severe scarcity of field command experience. Not just new officers, but even veteran officers grew rusty after being away from command for too long. Such tactical experience was sometimes useless when acquired solely through lectures and examinations—exams were merely meant to be passed, yet actual combat in times of peacetime was impossible. Pondering over it, the only solution seemed to be intensifying military drills to simulate combat scenarios under various conditions.

Of course, increasing military drills would inevitably drive up military expenditures. Kevin was not in the upper echelons, so he didn't offer extensive suggestions on this front. However, he repeatedly emphasized two points: first, the military's mindless worship of individual strength, and second, factionalism.

Kevin had traveled through quite a few military camps, including the 213th Legion centered around catapults. In almost all legions, people habitually placed personal battle qi and magic above everything else; if your rank was too low, nobody would listen to what you said, and your authority among the lower-ranking soldiers would be insufficient. Kevin felt it was time for a change.

Individual strength was intuitive, but wisdom was difficult to discern. Some people might even look like they were suffering from senile dementia, yet possess profound wisdom hidden beneath a foolish exterior. A saying frequently circulated in military camps: in the absolute face of power, all strategy is meaningless. Every soldier firmly believed this and threw themselves into bitter training with the ultimate goal of becoming a Sword Saint.

Compared to operating catapults or similar machinery, the battle qi gained through grueling training belonged entirely to oneself. Even after retirement, battle qi stayed with a person for life; discarding sword and shield and shedding the military uniform still left one as an expert. A catapult, however, could never be taken home. This reality made most soldiers much more willing to bitterly train their bodies rather than bother with catapults.

Yet military development could not simply pander to the whims of the soldiers, nor could an army be trained entirely into cavalry just because a batch of recruits showed great athletic talent. Rational arrangement and rational allocation were the only paths to elevating the overall strength of an army. This was also the overarching guiding principle proclaimed by the King to build a fully magicalized military.

The long-standing policy of the Thunder Knight Order was for all recruits to train in the cavalry detachment for a time, after which the lazy, weak, and unsightly individuals were weeded out and sent to the logistics corps. But in reality, the logistics corps also required exceptionally talented personnel. Why else had Old Special been kept past forty without being allowed to retire? Simply because no one else could step up to take his place.

Of course, everything had a middle ground. There should be a specific ratio governing which elite recruits entered the cavalry and which entered logistics, and the exact proportion could be tested and adjusted through trial and error. Yet the Thunder Knight Order's ratio was ten to zero—logistics should not become a dumping ground for garbage recruits, and certainly not for catapults. Admittedly, learning to operate a catapult would inevitably detract from battle qi training, given the limited energy of human beings. Even so, one should not lament it as a waste of talent; catapults possessed immense utility as well.

It had once been thought that catapults and cavalry were branches incapable of cooperating with each other, but after repeated research, it was not entirely impossible. A catapult mounted on a five-axle suspension system possessed the capability to strike down enemy commanders, but its slow speed prevented it from keeping pace with advancing cavalry. However, this was not an insurmountable problem: as long as ten or twenty cavalrymen were assigned to pull the catapult with ropes, its speed would naturally not lag behind.

During combat, such a unit could function completely as a specialized detachment, weaving along the flanks and utilizing the speed of the cavalry to rapidly seize favorable terrain, then employing the precision of the catapult to directly smash the enemy command structure. Even if direct elimination of the commander proved difficult, launching incendiary oil jars and other specialized munitions could still effectively inflict heavy casualties on enemy forces. If the enemy pursued, the cavalry could swiftly tow the catapult away.

Of course, these tactics were currently in the realm of pure fantasy; putting them into actual combat would require prolonged training. Moreover, the maximum speed at which a five-axle catapult could be towed remained an open question. At high speeds, the counterweight atop the catapult would likely generate violent oscillations, requiring further design modifications. And modification required money.

Speaking of money, one inevitably had to touch upon factionalism. Kevin directly laid out the issue of factionalism in his letter. Although this was a matter for the upper echelons, because it directly concerned Kevin's tangible interests, he dared to speak on it, asking the general not to take offense if his observations were mistaken.

In Kevin's view, factionalism ultimately boiled down to a question of money. Wanting to enhance battle qi required consuming high-grade nourishment, and elevating an entire order required massive expenditures. Meanwhile, the research and development of heavy equipment like catapults similarly consumed vast fortunes. Both sides were bottomless pits, and with limited military funds, factions were bound to exist.

On this matter, Kevin could not elaborate further; he couldn't suggest the optimal ratio, and he wasn't even entirely clear on who belonged to which faction, leaving him to express his regret. However, regarding another root cause behind the emergence of factions, Kevin had plenty to say.

That was the sense of crisis harbored by the powerful. This was easy to comprehend, especially after the general had inspected the giant saber and returned with a noticeably grim expression. Currently, even with giant stags, if wielded by an Archmage, they still packed more devastating power than when used by an ordinary mage; to that extent, powerhouses still retained a degree of superiority—or rather, psychological comfort. But with a device like a catapult, differences in personal strength truly mattered not at all—it was merely a matter of pulling a lever.

From the perspective of an individual powerhouse, no mighty warrior wished to see a weakling operate a machine and defeat them, as that was practically a denial of all their grueling training. Yet from the perspective of the state, powerhouses were one in ten thousand, while weaklings were everywhere; machines could be mass-produced, whereas powerhouses could not—a simple and straightforward truth. Furthermore, the Kingdom of Loubaer had been founded by the weak; he hoped the general would not forget that.

Spanning just a few pages, the discussion was not particularly profound, seeing as Kevin was not an upper-echelon official and had to rely on guesswork for many things. Yet he had essentially touched upon the core issues that needed addressing.

Kevin did not cynically curse this person or that, nor did he demand anyone be held accountable, nor did he use the situation for petty retaliation, nor did he incessantly brag about his own contributions. None of those actions had any meaning. Having witnessed comrades die in battle, the survivors could only do their utmost to prevent such tragedies from recurring. Because of that, Kevin had written this report.

In truth, everything Kevin stated was already clear to the general himself; immersed within the factional struggles, how could he not understand their origins? It was simply that knowing the cause did not equate to having a solution.

"Someone come!" The general lowered the report. "Is Kevin around?"

"General, Kevin already left the camp on leave this morning," a guard promptly answered.

"Can we catch up to him?" the general asked casually.

The guard hurriedly stepped outside and summoned a patrol parrot to make inquiries. Moments later, the guard returned with his reply: "General, Kevin has already crossed the national border."

The General: "..."