Chapter 1105: Chapter 1043: A Simple War, A Simple End_2

This was information passed on by the kingdom’s secret agents; there was no way it was fake.

The quality of such an army could well be imagined—if they still couldn’t win, Montel might as well change his surname to Gallar!

"Good, you ungrateful little bastard, you..." Count Kazi, who’d come up from the ranks, flew into a rage and, not caring about anything else, yanked out his cane to start swinging.

The chiliarchs hurried forward. Four of them held Count Kazi back, three grabbed Montel.

One chiliarch was squeezed in the middle, his helmet knocked askew. "My lords! Calm down! If you keep shouting, the soldiers outside are going to hear."

Montel panted heavily, wrenched free of the chiliarch’s hand, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was clenching his fists.

He glanced at the outside of the tent. It was getting late—only noon, perhaps, but it always took time to get a whole army on the move.

The tent gradually quieted down, leaving only the slightly steadier breathing of Montel and Count Kazi.

The silence was like a needle, pricking everyone in the tent until they couldn’t sit still.

Yet just as everyone hardly dared to breathe, Montel suddenly shook off the chiliarch’s hand and stepped up to Count Kazi.

Just when the chiliarchs were ready to rush up and block him at any moment, unexpectedly, Montel’s voice dropped sharply: "The old Count is right. I lost my head in my haste."

Count Kazi’s eyebrows lifted. Clearly, he hadn’t expected him to yield.

"If a young man isn’t hot-blooded, how can he be called young?" Given a step down, Count Kazi naturally took it. "On the battlefield, grievances and quarrels still have to give way to victory."

"You’re right, Count. Then how about this—before supper, we summon all the chiliarchs and centurions and discuss together whether we should hold our ground or send out troops, how about it?"

Although this wasn’t the result Count Kazi wanted, he was confident he could persuade those officers.

Compared with the fledgling Montel, Count Kazi’s reputation and prestige in the army were far higher.

"Since Lord Montel has thought it through," Count Kazi sat down slowly, "I’ve no objection."

The manservant watching from the side suddenly started blinking anxiously, only to see Montel shoot him a vicious look.

The manservant immediately stopped fidgeting; he knew his lord’s temper.

Leaving the central command tent, Count Kazi went to a courtyard that had been specially assigned to him.

The soldiers had driven off the courtyard’s original owner and settled Count Kazi into it.

Compared with a tent, this wooden room was actually cooler and cleaner.

By habit, Count Kazi would take a nap after lunch, but lying on the bed now, he simply couldn’t fall asleep no matter how he turned.

The windowsill had been baked hot by the afternoon sun. Fine dust motes floated in the air, rolling in the shafts of light leaking through the bed curtains.

He lay there on the Gothic four-poster bed, the wrinkles on the backs of his hands starkly clear in the light.

As drowsiness rose over him like a tide, his mind was still turning over Montel’s line: "The Falan Army are no damned turtles cowering in their shells."

He still remembered the first battle at Windmill Field—he’d been even more impatient than Montel, able to charge at the very front with a battle-axe in hand.

And now? Now all he did was clutch maps and ledgers, calculating this and that.

Montel might be impatient, but that "even in death we must charge" did have a shadow of his own younger self in it.

"Truly getting more and more useless with age." He clicked his tongue and turned over; the wooden bed let out a creaking groan.

Maybe he really should lower his stance and apologize to Montel.

He’d taken his own status for granted, not really putting Montel in his eyes. Now it seemed he’d still been too arrogant.

Montel was the true Legion Commander. The two of them really ought to be united in opinion; they absolutely must not be giving orders from two sides...

"Hrrr-kkhh... hrrr-kkhh..." A steady snore gradually sounded.

It was not a deep sleep. When Count Kazi woke, the sun outside the tent was already slanting westward, stretching the tent’s shadow long.

He sat up, rubbed his stiff knees, and called for his attendant: "Go invite Lord Montel here. Tell him I have something to say to him."

The attendant answered and went off, only to return in moments, his face a little pale. "My lord, the guards of Legion Commander Montel say the troops are drilling right now. They fear stray arrows might injure you, and ask that you wait a while."

"Drilling?" Count Kazi frowned.

The Falan Army’s drills were always held at dawn; who practiced archery and swordplay in the afternoon?

Besides, they were already at the battlefield—what were they drilling for now?

He threw on his coat and headed for the door, only to be blocked by two guards as soon as he reached the threshold.

They were Montel’s personal guards, the iris crest on their breastplates polished bright.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

"My lord Count, Lord Montel says you’re getting on in years, and the drill field is chaotic. You’d best rest in your room." The guard’s tone was very respectful, but his hand was resting on his sword hilt.

A bad premonition rose in his chest. Count Kazi ignored everything else; he could only feel his temples throbbing.

He suddenly crouched down and pressed his ear to the scorching sand.

At first there was only the flapping rustle of wind tugging at the piles of tent cloth; then a faint tremor came up through the ground, like distant muffled thunder rolling.

The sound grew clearer and more rapid.

It was hoofbeats—hundreds, thousands of warhorses running, the crisp clatter of iron hooves on gravel making even the sand in the ground quiver slightly.

"Son of a bitch!" He shot to his feet, his cane at his waist shaking with the movement. "You’ve moved out, haven’t you? That brat Montel has taken troops to rescue the left-flank army!"

The guards lowered their eyes; none of them answered. They only took a half-step forward, blocking his way.

"Out of the way!" Count Kazi swung his cane down at a guard’s shoulder. "That’s going to their deaths! You mustn’t split the forces, you mustn’t split the forces!"

The cane struck the guard’s iron armor with a hollow clang.

And the guards stood there as if rooted, letting Count Kazi pound on them, yet remaining unmoved and expressionless.