Lucien felt the ground beneath him tremble as a line of troops peered through the treeline.
It was an ambush.
Of course it was, why wouldn't it be an ambush?
He sighed—he loathed war, he loathed it with every fiber of his being. It was a waste of resources, an inefficient use of manpower and quite frankly, a childish answer to a complicated question. He made himself into the man he was, hoping to destroy it.
Built institutions against it, created doctrine that would have made it infeasible, built economies that cannot live with it. And yet it found him all the same.
He sighed at the thought.
Alas, the fact that he was reborn into a chaotic world such as this must be some sort of retribution from God. He missed his modern world, his modern plumbing, his modern travels, his internet! He missed his life, living as a consultant just enjoying his days on hotels and beaches.
What he didn't enjoy was spending days dodging swords, avoiding schemes and leading the stupid people of this world who refused to see the value in things they don't understand.
Speaking of which, as if summoned by his thoughts, a shade forms beside him.
Magic, the only thing in this damned world that made him happy.
The nobles see this magic, and see nothing but weakness.
Shades whose presence can be noticed by any noble?
Shades that can be banished by a single swipe of their sword?
Shades that teleport their master at a cost?
They looked down at him for having it.
But Instant communication, teleportation and the loyal informants.
The first time he heard of them, he had fallen in love all over again.
He looked at his hand, a letter of communication between a man and his wife.
Along with missives of conscriptions, letters of goodbyes, information gathered simply for this moment.
He dismissed the shade with a wave, disappearing to its next mission.
It was the reason why he knew of the ambush.
Why he knew the fact that the only reason he was here was that his father hoped he'd die.
Alas, If only it were so easy.
Lucian's eyes flickered briefly to the horizon—if he wasn't for the territory and the promise of a peaceful life away from court, he wouldn't even be here. Everything else was a nuisance.
He stared at the soldiers marching, the sight of spears all aimed at his throat.
They would want nothing more but end him, wouldn't they?
And with thirty thousand, compared to his ten, they thought they had the advantage.
A pathetic advantage, quantity was for bitches.
"My Prince, shouldn't we retreat?" A voice asked, hesitant.
"Retreat? Why?" He raised an eyebrow.
"The men are… afraid."
"Afraid?" He gestured across the dug trenches, wooden stakes hidden beneath the trenches and his mages ready to put up a barrier as his mines pulsed awaiting his command.
"We've already set up all this and they're still afraid?"
"It is still a three to one, my prince. Not exactly a vote of confidence for most men."
"Then what do you suggest we do? General?"
The man sighed, "A speech."
"A speech?" Lucien's face morphed into something unreadable.
He hated speeches, even when presenting his ideas with politicians, kings and dictators.
It was an annoying but understandable part of the job, he just wished it wasn't such a pain.
But you can't convince anyone they're ruining their economy, or committing their forces in such a stupid plan without making it look like it was their idea the entire time. And like he always said, it was never about the truth, it was how you say it.
w
"Ok, is that all?"
"What do you plan to talk about, my prince?"
"Don't worry, Siegfried. I got this." Lucien cricked his neck.
Unlike this world, who had no time to compile speeches.
He knew of the GOATs of speeches. And he had enough speech classes to use them.
He raised his hand in a steady gesture as shades dashed across every corner of the battlefield.
Their mouths opened, as his voice echoed, in a steady tone.
"Soldiers of the Holy Virilian Empire! "My name is Lucien von Altenkron."
He walked towards the trenches, walking beside his men. "I understand that you fear for your life. I understand that you find this war beyond you! You are afraid! You fear for your life!"
He gestured to them, "Look beside you! So do they! These are your comrades, your friends, your brother in arms. They depend on you to hold your line as you always had."
The ground trembled as the enemy cavalry thundered towards them. "So, now we face a choice! Either we stand together! Or die forever in pieces!"
He climbed the trench, slamming his fist against his chest, the first to meet the charge for all to see. "So, who will hold the line! Who will write their names in history! As the men who fought! The men who bled! Those that answered the Empire's call? Who!"
A roar erupted, swelling along the trenches like a rising tide.
"Today we stand! Today we fight! And today etch our name in victory!"
Siegfried walks to his side, wide eyed, "Where did you learn that?"
"Learn what?" Lucien tilted his head. "You mean my speech? Pssh, I can't even use the big ones. The ones that'll really get your blood pumping."
"What?"
"Oh yeah, no pride, no myth, no nationalism. No printing press, no Great Depression, no iconic mustache. Just honor, magic and vague allusion to a divine throne. Not even a flag worth dying for."
"I don't even know what some of those means."
"Heh, we'll see." Lucien smirked.
Siegfried shivered. "....Nevermind, my Prince. But do you really intend to stand at the front?"
"Why not? I am still, after all, a good enough mage to survive."
"They could still kill you, you know."
Lucien shrugged. "A lot of people have tried, I'm sure a bunch of horsemen isn't gonna be the last."
"Shall I send you a guard?"
"Nah," Lucien said, smirking, "I'd win."
"If you say so." Siegfried nods, "I'll update you on any changes in the battlefield."
Lucien chuckled, "Oh, c'mon my plan is fool-proof, this is an easy win."
And then—
Fireballs split the sky, ripping through the clouds like spears of hellfire.
Siegfried stared and turned to leave, "I do hope you know what you're doing."
"You wound me, Siegfried. Of course I do." Lucien smiled as a barrier burst across the air. Surging to life above the trenches—crystalline, shifting. They met in a thunderous impact, lighting up the field in smoke.
"I always knew all that time training them would finally be good for something."
Then came the charge piercing through the smoke.
Lucien turned towards it, the ground trembling beneath his boots as he unsheathed the daggers by his side. "It has been so long since, I've let go."
He dashed to meet them and jumped
One. A head fell.
He spun midair—two. A clean slice.
Then a spear shot through his chest and passed straight through.
His smirk shifted like a shadow as he dodged.
And raced across the line, leaping from horse to horse, three, four, five, six.
Another spear came for his face as it dissolved.
He tilted his head, blade already struck. Seven.
Then he found himself out, their charge slamming against the trenches.
Then came the screams.
The hidden stakes along the trenches finally put into work.
Hundreds of horses impaled themselves, knights, these once fully capable mages collapsing with concussion.
Easy enough target—for a peasant to kill.
Imagine spending your years training, draining your money—just to die to a peasant.
Hilarious.
Lucien looked towards the enemy army.
He didn't need to see Earl Audrick, to feel the heat and anger rolling off the man in waves.
He closed his eyes. The link between his shades clicking into place.
Earl Audrick—a young man with more passion than wit.
Lucien had been tasked with ending this ridiculous rebellion—sparked by nothing more than a bruised ego over a lost inheritance.
Weak
Shades dashed off from his shadow as he vanished from sight, a basic magic.
Lucien saw the scared face of his enemies, the weariness of their officers.
And Earl Audrick, with a face so red in anger. Fire sizzled beneath his tongue.
His shades open their mouths, for all to hear. "Imagine losing to an army, three times your size. I may be a bastard. But you better ask your mother if you are." Audrick dispersed the shades with a flare of his magic, along with the tens scattered across his army.
His answer came in flame—another barrage of fireballs screaming for the trenches.
Lucien laughed, his shades ordering his mages to stand down as he watched the beauty of his destruction.
The sounds of knights burning inside their armor, staked with their horses.
They scream a cacophonous melody as his men slashed at their throats.
It was a terrifying sight, for an army about to attack.
And it planted seeds of doubt, how far is he willing to sacrifice?
To have your own mages attack your own vanguard, his men would recoil.
And that is when the real fun starts.
The ground trembled as twenty five thousand men marched forward.
And if his predictions were correct.
A thousand fireballs once more spawned off the air, a courtesy for Earl Audrick.
Those before now paled in comparison to this.
Instead of red, it was white. Instead of heat it brought with it a sun.
Sometimes, despite the usefulness of his magic, he remained envious of those capable of unleashing such immense destruction.
His shades echoed the order to stand down, and let the trenches do their work.
He knew that stopping this would be like throwing water at an inferno.
Lucien watched as the fireballs tore through the hill, like a gaping wound, smoke and flames rising from the gash.
Hopefully, Audrick has run out of magic crystals.
Lucien was tired of waiting—for him to take his bait.
So he could finally play his trap card.