Game of Thrones: From a deserter to a high-ranking official

Chapter 96 Bankrupt Mercenaries, Cannon Fodder Chieftains, and Substitute Logistics Officers

"Giving up before even starting?!"

Jules' voice sounded somewhat distorted with extreme disbelief as he stared intently at the "flank corridor" on the map, a symbol of lifeline, as if he were seeing the faces of those decision-makers for the first time.

"Do they even know what they're talking about? The flank corridors are still perfectly intact in our hands! Not a single brick has fallen from the walls of Shuangqiao Town! Our warships can still freely enter and exit Peninsula Harbor!"

He slammed his fist on the table, making the map jump.

"Even now, Stoneraven Town is still in our hands! The Valantis are still lurking at the Three Taxes Gate, dozens of miles away, not even having touched our borders, and our own people are already discussing how to hand over their house keys to the enemy?!"

"This isn't strategy, it's a contagious disease! It's like seeing others fail and getting so scared they wet themselves and can't even stand up! Just because that idiot Mithridates lost everything in the front lines doesn't mean we have to follow him to the grave! The enemy hasn't even arrived yet, and we're already opening the door to thieves?!"

Jules, panting with excitement, pointed out the window toward Shuangqiao Town.

"The soldiers are still fortifying the fortifications, the craftsmen are still forging crossbows, and the farmers are still transporting food here! Everyone is still fighting desperately to hold this place! And those lords of Rhys and Mill, sitting in their safe palaces, just draw a line on a map and they're going to define all this effort, all this hope, as a price that can be 'abandoned'?!"

Lisangluo's expression turned even uglier.

He wasn't some rich kid or a fool; he was quite intelligent. After these few tough battles, he had begun to understand what military affairs, war, and strategy were.

As the son of the Governor of Ries, he knew the nature of those governors very well, and thus he could tell at a glance that the Governors of Ries who proposed this decision were simply panicked beyond measure, grasping at straws in desperation, hoping to exchange their flesh for a chance to survive.

"I'll talk to my father about this and urge him not to abandon the side corridor!" Lisangluo said through gritted teeth. "This area is too important! Too important! Anyone who abandons it should be thrown into the fires of hell!"

"I've had enough of that idiot Mitrista's incompetent leadership! What right does a defeated general, dragged back by a donkey cart, have to continue commanding us?"

-----------------

"So, Dmitri, what are you planning to do next?" Habro asked rather sullenly in the military camp that evening.

"Damn it, why am I so unlucky?" Before Dmitri could answer, he shoved the wooden stick in his hand into the burning campfire, stirring up a large clump of ashes and red-hot charcoal.

"I, Habro, was first ambushed by the Valantis in the Controversial River Delta, almost losing my leg there. My brothers were either dead or fled. Now I only have about a hundred men left! That's a quarter less!"

"And then what? My brain-dead sugar daddy is still in that damned siege cage at the Three Tax Office! Who knows if he's dead or waiting for his family to pay the ransom... Anyway, I reckon he's not going to get that money!" Habroy said angrily.

Yes, your sponsor has run into trouble, and you're very likely not to receive any further payment, even though this matter may have nothing to do with you.

Habro's own mercenary group also needed compensation for the dead mercenaries, and the others who were still alive also needed to receive military pay.

If the financier doesn't pay the final payment, then what awaits Habroy is his soldiers scattering like birds and beasts, and his mercenary group will have to declare bankruptcy and disappear.

This was, after all, the foundation that Habro had built up over most of his life, and besides, some of his brothers were counting on him to support them. What kind of nonsense was this?

"Brother Habror, calm down and think positively... At least you're out of danger, aren't you? You're not in that big prison at the Three Taxes Bureau anymore..." Lezapo advised from the side.

That's true. If Habroy hadn't gone through Stoneraven with Tiberius, he would most likely have been taken away by his patron after returning to the side corridor, and would now be watching the Valanteans slowly crush their hopes with fortifications at the Three Tax Gates.

"Well, that's true..." Habrol coughed lightly.

"That idiot saw how badly we'd suffered and allowed us to rest first. We're so grateful for his kindness, otherwise I'd be eating mud at the Three Taxes Bureau right now!"

"But Dmitri, what are you planning to do next? Go back to Mil? Continue being your centurion?" Lezapo asked.

"With your record at the Battle of Stoneraven, you should be qualified to be a centurion in Mil, right? Especially now that many of your original officers have been killed in action..."

Yes, it's a really hellish joke: the more superiors die, the faster you get promoted.

From this perspective, Mitrisda is actually Dmitri's benefactor!

After all, without his "cleansing" of a large number of mid- to high-ranking officers in Milmir, Dmitry's birth would have meant that centurion would have been the pinnacle of his career, and he might have become a standard-bearer next to a chiliarch at most.

"I will not return to Mil as an officer, at least not until the war is over!" Dmitry shook his head, looking at the crackling campfire, a cold smile playing on his lips.

"Go back? Go back for what? To continue working for that damned, ass-selling idiot General Mitrista?"

"Hmph! What's the difference between that and sticking your neck into the noose of Valanthi!" He said angrily, pointing to the distant camp where his own Myrian followers were inside.

"We Mil people cannot shed our blood for the blind orders of a fool! Besides..." he said in a low voice to the other three.

"Go back to being a centurion? I'd be lucky to have three or five hundred-commanders under me! As for personnel, we're severely understaffed!"

"Besides, I don't have many superiors. When the time comes, all the dirty work, hard work, and tasks involving covering the retreat—wouldn't that be me doing all the dirty work? This isn't a promotion; it's like being given a ticket straight to the underworld! A pre-war promotion to centurion? Sounds good, but it's basically just a death sentence!"

"Hey! I know this all too well!" Habro took a big gulp of water and said with a slightly bitter taste.

"If you get promoted before the war and there's no one to replace you, then who will take the fall if you don't? Who will be the salvage unit if you don't become one? Anyway, you have no one backing you up, so nobody will care if you die!"

"Nalesapo, what about you? Are you going back to Terossi?" Habro suddenly asked.

"Telosi..." Lezapo pursed his lips with a bitter expression.

"What can I do after we go back? Continue being my logistics officer?" He whispered to the other two, trying to hide his voice so no one would hear.

"You don't understand, someone has to take the blame for the defeats at Stridal and Broken Sword Fortress! Although we all know perfectly well who was responsible for the defeats!"

"However, as long as Mitrista still holds military power, it's impossible to point the finger at him! The only accusations will be 'inadequate logistical support,' 'shoddy workmanship,' 'dereliction of duty and corruption'..."

Then, he pointed to his chest. "Aren't we minor nobles and officials, responsible for transporting grain and logistics, the perfect scapegoats?!"

"I haven't been purged for two reasons: firstly, because I won the Battle of Stoneraven Town, and secondly, because I'm currently not under the control of the Tyrosian army. The governor is far away, and nobody can interfere!"

"Think about it, the three customs posts are completely surrounded. If they fall and that Mitristar continues to hold military power, then someone else will have to take the blame... Humph! I'm not going!"

Finally, the scene fell into a deathly silence.

Damn it, we were hoping to exchange ideas and find a way out for each other; but after analyzing it, we found that every path leads to a cliff—bankruptcy, cannon fodder, or taking the fall, one of the three.

"Listen, brothers, I have an idea..." Habror made sure only his men around the campfire could hear. "We'll follow Tiberius! We'll join his 'Lightning Legion'!"

He stretched out his thick fingers and began to list them off one by one, his eyes gleaming with a long-lost shrewdness.

"First of all, Vito is my old buddy. He's now the crossbowman captain in Jules' 'White Legion,' a true veteran!"

"Now Tiberius's 'Lightning Squad' is with Jules. Putting everything else aside, both Jules and Tiberius are smart men. At least they won't be ordered to their deaths by those mushroom-headed idiots anymore!"

"Besides, that brat Tiberius... damn it, he's as cunning as a fox! If it weren't for his ingenious plan to feign surrender and launch a surprise attack from the town of Stonerak, we'd be rotting in the stinking ditch of Stonerak by now, pecked clean by the crows!"

He paused, looked around at everyone, and made sure they were all listening.

"Secondly, you don't really believe in 'Lightning Boy,' but you must know the name of 'The Keeper of the Faith,' Jules, right? Go and ask him! He has an outstanding record, and he's cautious! Unlike some madmen and fools who use the lives of their brothers to fill their merit books and treasuries."

"Under a boss like this, the chances of surviving and getting the reward are much greater than elsewhere! And Tiberius, as we've all known after spending so many days together, is reliable, trustworthy, and ruthless, just like his uncle!"

Finally, he gestured toward the tents of Lisanro and Tiberius, his voice lower but carrying an undeniable admiration.

"Third, look at that one! The young master of the Rogal family—that's the gateway to the upper echelons of Ries and gold!"

He slapped his thigh and concluded, his face a mixture of relief at surviving a disaster and a fierce determination for the future.

"Brothers, do we even need to choose our path? Do we go back to being a bankrupt mercenary leader, or a cannon fodder centurion who could die at any moment, or go back and be used as a scapegoat logistics officer?"

"Why not follow Tiberius and Jules, these capable, well-connected, and damn smart leaders, and carve out a bloody path through this chaotic world, while also filling our pockets?!"

Lezapo asked somewhat timidly:

"Then why don't we join the White Legion, but instead join the Lightning Legion?"

-----------------

Inside the tent, the light from the oil lamp flowed across the blade of the sword in Yu Le's hand. He was wiping it intently, the sharp steel reflecting his serene face.

"Vito," he began, his voice steady, but his gaze never leaving the sword. "You said that Habro and the others planned to be ordinary captains under me, earning a steady daily wage..."

He paused, stopped wiping, and raised the tip of his sword slightly, pointing meaningfully to a flag fluttering in the night wind outside the tent—embroidered with a striking blue lightning bolt.

"...Or will they choose to join Team Lightning, led by a twelve-year-old brat?"

Vito stood to the side, grinned upon hearing this, revealing teeth slightly yellowed from the strong liquor and chewing licorice, his eyes revealing the shrewdness unique to veterans.

"Boss, is there even a need to choose? Anyone with a brain knows which way to go." He took a step closer, his voice rough but his analysis clear and logical.

"That old bastard Habror, you and I both know him well. He used to lead his own team, and he actually managed more than four hundred people. He was a real boss."

"He's fallen on hard times and has come to us for help. He respects you and understands the rules of our mercenary trade: it's just his luck, he can't blame anyone else. But should we really let him serve as a battalion commander under your command?"

"Ha! His arrogance is too much for him now, given the difference in his status. Can he really accept that?"

Jules nodded, signaling him to continue.

Seeing that his boss was listening, Vito spoke even more enthusiastically: "And then there's Dmitri, a centurion from the Mil regular army, leading troops and setting up battle formations are his forte."

"But in our White Legion, there are many generals and strict rules. Even if you appreciate him, how many people can he command at the beginning?"

"But when Tiberius joined the Blitzkrieg, he desperately needed an officer with regular army experience to help him build a framework. Dmitri could immediately take charge on his own! Coming to the White Legion is really not as good as being in the Blitzkrieg, where he wasn't just an officer following orders, but a top-level elder who could participate in strategic discussions and share the spoils!"

"As for Lezapo..." Vito chuckled.

"This minor nobleman from Tyros, the one who plays with quills and parchment, there's no way he'd come here!"

"Our legion's logistics system doesn't need any new recruits for the time being. Even if you accept him, boss, given our current environment, can a new outsider like him really squeeze in?"

"However, in the newly formed Lightning Regiment, more than three hundred people need to eat and ask for equipment. They urgently need a knowledgeable and reliable logistics manager. Although the regiment is small and has few people now, the position is crucial and the future is bright."

"That makes sense. I'll wait until tomorrow and see what they choose!"

Jules' Diary:

Vito is right.

What they need is not a position within an established system, but a position where they can start over, realize their own value, and earn a future for themselves.

The Blitzkrieg provided such an opportunity. Tiberius needed a team truly of his own, Lisanro's investments needed reliable subordinates, and Vito also needed someone to help him extricate himself from Blitzkrieg affairs, after all, he was the White Legion's crossbowman captain, not a Blitzkrieg instructor.

This is a reasonable optimization.

For me, this is also a good thing. The elite remain in the White Legion, while fresh blood is injected into the Lightning Regiment. Tiberius needs to learn to manage these officers, each with their own characteristics, backgrounds, and abilities; this is the growth he must undergo if he wants to become an excellent commander.

One force has become two; the younger one is still developing, and both share the same goal. This is good.