Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

As seen on the map, the trail is located in the southwest of the volcanic island, the Val Anvil stands in the northeast, and the road connecting to the Dragon Ridge Mountains is in the northwest.

Therefore, Astarion made the decisive move to have his son lead the reinforcements from Val's Anvil to the northwest to meet them, and then retreat together, withdrawing the remaining troops as far away from the volcanic island as possible.

For him, this was not a choice, but the only possibility.

After Asnir and the Dragon Prince rode away on their warhorses, Astarion took a deep breath, made his final adjustments, and then began to make more detailed and thorough plans.

Moments later, the garrison in Asur moved.

The garrison, which had already taken their positions and was ready to be deployed as the second wave in the battle for the hilltop, stopped outside the range of the Reaper's ballistae. Instead of rushing forward, they took advantage of this brief respite to do a rough and hurried rest. The wounded were helped to the back of the column by their comrades and given simple first aid.

Meanwhile, the troops further back slowly made a tactical maneuver to the northwest. Their formation was relatively orderly, their armor and spears gleaming dimly beneath the black volcanic ash, and the sound of their marching footsteps echoed across the wasteland in a low rumble.

After the first wave of fighting for the hilltop, the original garrison in Asur was no longer as large as it once was.

The force of nearly two thousand men was forcibly reduced to just over fifteen hundred.

The three hundred-man spearmen were completely wiped out; those brave soldiers fought to the last moment. The two hundred-man archer squads were torn apart by the reaper's crossbow fire, with nearly 70% of their men lost.

What remains can hardly be called a complete unit.

Only a handful escaped unscathed, as if they had escaped the crossbow bolts entirely due to the favor of fate.

"This is?"

The centurion of Erwei held up his binoculars, his eyes fixed on the scene opposite. Thanks to the varied terrain and the aid of his binoculars, he could see Asur's movements clearly, yet he was also completely baffled by them.

He then slowly turned his head, adjusted his direction, and looked toward the road the Asur garrison had come from. But all he could see was the still-smoking volcanic cone, the desolate landscape like a black wasteland, and the receding figures of two cavalrymen; the emptiness was so vast it aroused suspicion.

For a moment, he even felt that his brain was not enough, his thoughts were churning in a turbulent current, and he could not sort them out.

"Call the centurions over."

Since he couldn't figure it out, he simply stopped thinking about it. He whispered an order to the bugler and messenger beside him, his tone tinged with annoyance.

"What do you think?"

When the centurions arrived one after another, he didn't waste any time with small talk. Instead, he went straight to the point and asked the most crucial question.

"I don't understand it, and... in my opinion, it's not important."

One of the centurions answered with a confident tone, but his words drew a burst of light laughter from the crowd, tinged with a hint of mockery and pride.

The centurion was slightly taken aback, then gave a speechless look and coldly glanced at the 100th officer.

This person was not under his direct command, but rather under the command of another centurion. Strictly speaking, the troops he could currently command were not a complete thousand-man squad, but rather a combat group that had been systematically assembled.

It is called a battle group because it involves the navy and army, as well as complex coordination within the navy.

According to regulations, the army should be here, as they are the main force responsible for frontal combat and defense; the navy's duties were originally limited to amphibious operations, ensuring passage was open, and protecting barges and supply lines.

However, the force now standing on the slopes of this volcanic island is a force cobbled together by the navy.

The reason is simple: this was the result the navy had fought hard for. But even so, all they ultimately received was a quota of one thousand men; any more was impossible.

Once inside the navy, his thousand-man squad was deployed on four special barges. These four barges formed a straight line in the landing formation, like a cold spear thrusting straight toward the enemy shore.

On the entire landing field, there was not just one '丨', but three '丨's, like three spearheads advancing side by side, each spearhead commanded by a centurion.

However, unlike him, the other two centurions with the '丨' symbol did not go ashore, but remained on the barge.

The reason...

It's simple, but also cruel.

Draw lots.

He was the one who drew the fateful lot, eliminating the two centurions and depriving them of their chance to go ashore.

Therefore, due to compromise, terrain limitations, and the need to maintain necessary supporting troops on the barge, the thousand-man unit he currently commands is not entirely his own. Strictly speaking, only one-third is under his command, while the other two-thirds belong to the two centurions who remained on the ship.

Thus, a combat group was formed.

However, while it's called a thousand-man team, the actual number is much larger; he can now directly command over 1,200 soldiers. The reason for this extra 200 men is that the navy exploited a loophole.

Twelve special barges, each averaging two teams of fifty people.

The recent close-quarters combat had already reduced this team by fifty men. A small number had died instantly, while the rest were wounded, some slightly injured and others seriously.

"Wait for us to go down?"

Someone spoke in a low voice.

"possible!"

"I agree."

Several centurions responded in turn.

The centurion nodded, sharing the same assessment. Perhaps they arrived too quickly, or perhaps there was a disconnect between the Asur vanguard and the second wave of troops, preventing proper coordination.

Or perhaps, the most fundamental reason is that their own combat power is too strong.

In a very short time, the enemy was completely defeated, which indirectly caused Asur to become isolated.

Therefore, the opposing side simply gave up the struggle for the slope and waited for them to come down, so as to offset the original terrain advantage of the slope by fighting head-on.

"Are they planning to run away?"

At that moment, a centurion suddenly muttered something under his breath, his tone filled with uncertainty.

As soon as he said that, he instantly became the focus of the entire room.

Almost simultaneously, the centurion and the other centurions turned their gazes to him. It was a gaze so heavy it made one's breath catch, causing the centurion's face to flush instantly, his throat tighten, and he didn't know how to utter the next word.

Nevertheless, the centurion and the other corps commanders did not immediately mock him, nor did they directly deny him. They remained silent, their eyes cold and stern, before one by one raising their binoculars and gazing intently into the distance.

"Bait?"

Someone else spoke up, and he put down his binoculars, quietly offering his conjecture. Without further ado, he opened the waterproof briefcase hanging at his waist, pulled out a notebook and a pen, and began to write and draw.

The centurion silently stared at the notebook, watching the sergeant first draw two circles on the white paper. He knew perfectly well that those two circles represented the two towering volcanic cones not far away.

The next moment, several rectangular frames were added behind the two circles, each with a dot in the center. According to Duruci's military symbolism, this represented weaponry and long-range fire positions.

Between those two circles, a rectangle appears, with an X connecting its four corners. Similarly, according to Trucchi's military symbolism, this represents infantry.

The few symbols on the paper, in the context of the battlefield, are like a cold, bloody scroll slowly unfolding.

Those arrows and symbols, which seem to be just a few strokes, were, in the eyes of the centurions and officers, equivalent to real lives tumbling, bleeding, and falling on them.

The places where the ink was still wet seemed to exude a pungent, bloody stench, but at the same time, this also meant...

The centurion had already understood the centurion's meaning.

The Asur unit, closest to the slope below, is destined to be used as 'bait'.

But they were not forgotten victims; rather, they were meant to draw the horde of the Evil Guardians with their own bodies. Once the Evil Guardians launched their attack and pounced on these Asur, they would find that their prey did not intend to fight head-on, but instead calmly retreated into their ranks, nestled between two black volcanic cones.

That narrow, low-lying area was a trap that had been prepared in advance!

The next moment, what awaited the Evil Guards was a barrage of crossbow bolts raining down from both sides of the hillside.

Arrows from the Eagle Claw crossbows rained down from above like a sudden downpour, and the unexpected attack was bound to inflict heavy casualties on the Evil Guards. The dense barrage of arrows not only caused casualties but also disrupted their ranks and broke their rhythm of charge.

Chaos is the key to tactics.

Then, Asur, acting as bait, will launch another counterattack amidst the chaos, his spears sweeping across the battlefield like a tidal wave. The back-and-forth, the advance and retreat, will gradually tighten like a noose, wearing down the Evil Guard's edge until they are completely annihilated.

Having figured it out, the centurion let out a disdainful laugh, a laugh tinged with cold mockery. He stopped looking at the notebook filled with symbols, and instead slowly reached for his cigarette case, snapping it open.

He calmly distributed the neatly arranged cigarettes to the centurions. After lighting the lighter and watching the smoke rise, he took a deep drag, exhaled a lazy smoke ring, and then spoke in a low, confident voice.

"In war, the most important thing is not how many enemy soldiers you kill or how much territory you occupy; these are not the key points." He paused, his eyes becoming exceptionally sharp behind the smoke, like a cold glint piercing the night. "The key point is whether the war's objectives have been achieved. If the objectives haven't been achieved, then no matter how well you perform, it's meaningless. It's just a futile sacrifice, just writing a hymn for others."

The centurions laughed too, but their laughter wasn't lighthearted; it carried a chilling acceptance. They all understood the harsh reality hidden behind those words.

This passage is from the preface to "Strategy," written by Darkus, the glorious Grand Master of War and the noble son of Matheran.

Regardless of the debates and trade-offs between the navy and the army, or the internal power struggles within the navy, the objective of this war remains unchanged: to take away the Vale priests located at the Vale Anvil, thus completely dismantling Asur's arms production and the foundation of its war effort. The tactical objective of this thousand-man force is not to launch a grand offensive, but rather a ruthless and simple one: occupy the slopes, guard the passageways, and ensure the trail remains under their control.

Their mission will end when the massive army arrives.

They are merely the first link in the chain, at most deployed as reserves when necessary.

"So... I'm late?"

The centurion who spoke first spread his hands, his face filled with undisguised disappointment. He was assigned to the third ship on the left, '丨', and by the time he and his troops finally arrived, the battle was over, and his sword was not stained with the enemy's blood.

The centurion laughed heartily, his laughter rough and tinged with mockery. He mimicked Dakota's gesture and pointed at the centurion.

"No!" His laughter abruptly stopped, his expression hardening, his brows furrowing into a cold, menacing look. He slammed the half-smoked cigarette onto the ground and crushed it with the sole of his boot.

"Order! Move the ballistae forward and force them to retreat!"

"Order: Guards, sit down and rest!"

The next moment, he looked around, a complex look flashing in his eyes, but his voice was cold and resolute.

"Some of you are not under my command, but we are all in the Navy, we are one. We cannot disgrace the Navy, can we? Our cousins' understanding of war is still stuck in the quagmire of the past. It's time to show them how we fight in this new era. In a moment, get the Evil Guards running! Run as fast as you can! Let our cousins ​​know who truly controls the war!"

That's the strategy, but at the tactical level...

This was an opportunity he had fought hard for; once he missed it, there might not be another chance.

How could he, the centurion, the Soulbreakers, and the Evil Guards just obediently stay on the hillside?
To serve as a reserve force, following the army into battle when necessary?

Although doing so is entirely in accordance with orders and regulations, and no one will hold you accountable.

But if he really did that, he could just apply for retirement after the operation was over. Because he had no other choice; he wouldn't have the face to stay in the Navy any longer.

Such inaction is more unbearable than death.

The centurions, understanding the centurion's meaning, finished their cigarettes, straightened their backs in silence, gave the centurion a crisp military salute, and then silently turned and returned to their respective ranks.

The smoke swirled in the air for a moment before being quickly dispersed by the wind, as if nothing had happened.

A moment later, the Evil Guards sat down on the ground, the armor plates and plating clicking against the stone. They were not idle; instead, they kept their eyes fixed on the front, their gazes following the artillery crew's performance.

On the other side of the path, a new round of work began.

The raiding ship, having climbed back up, slowly descended to the open ground, where the waiting army was already fully prepared.

In this round of operations and subsequent tactical use, the raiding ship is no different from the Mi-24 Hind attack helicopter, except in terms of firepower projection.

The soldiers boarded the ship quickly and skillfully. Once aboard, they were forced to huddle tightly together on the deck, like rows of sardines stuffed into a tin can. With a short command, a safety rope was pulled up from both sides of the ship's side with a clatter, then secured. Without hesitation, the soldiers fastened the buckles on their belts to the safety rope, a series of crisp, reassuring clicks ringing out.

In addition to the original operators and guards, these raiding ships had twelve more passengers. The captain and vice-captain stood on either side of them, followed closely by ten soldiers, their faces filled with coldness and anticipation for battle.

Any more and it really won't fit.

Once all passengers were in position, the raiding ships took off again. Soon, they joined the raiding ships that were already waiting in the air, forming a disciplined formation. Beneath this sky, there was not only the raiding ship formation, but also a vast and chilled seafood feast, like a hunting net slowly being drawn in.

Meanwhile, the army has also begun to enter the trail in single file.

Each team was accompanied by a large alpaca, carrying heavy supplies and arrows. They breathed heavily, their eyes glazed, yet they still followed their masters step by step. Along the path, the sound of boots scraping against the stone ground mingled with low shouts, creating a heavy rhythm.

After completing his deployment, the centurion sat down on the ground with his guards. He would occasionally look up at the sky and then glance ahead, watching the Asur who were being driven back by the ballistae.

The enemy halted between the two volcanic cones, their ranks spread out, and their formation locked in a stalemate.

The centurion exhaled, his voice so low it was almost swallowed by the wind.

"Times have changed. I'm waiting for air support. What are you waiting for? Dragons?"

The moment he finished speaking, his expression froze, his brows furrowed sharply, and his eyes fixed intently on what was in front of him. Confirming he wasn't mistaken, he quickly grabbed the binoculars and brought them close to his eyes.

A flash of cold light revealed the enemy's silhouette in the lens.

The Asur formation, which had been stationary, suddenly began to retreat and slowly move backward.

"He was actually right?" he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief, then his tone suddenly rose, tinged with a hint of irritation, "How is this possible?"

This scene is very strange.

According to his stereotypes, the Asur, especially the arrogant Asur of the Kingdom of Caledo, might set up formations, confront each other head-on, and employ various tactics, but never like this.

As he pondered, he suddenly stood up, the armor plates scraping together with a crisp sound. He was breathing rapidly, and the binoculars were gripped so tightly in his hands they creaked.

At the same time, the guards stood up one by one, and hushed whispers rose and fell in the ranks like undercurrents.

"Lure the enemy deep into our territory?"

He muttered something under his breath, his voice tinged with suspicion and coldness. Before he finished speaking, he held the cold metal frame in front of his eyes, trying to discern Asur's movements.

However, he could see nothing.

Behind the gap between the two volcanic cones, another pitch-black volcanic cone stood starkly, its blade-like form coldly blocking his view and cutting off his last chance to spy on Asur's deployment.

In an instant, cold sweat silently seeped out and trickled down his forehead.

That pressure was no longer just a psychological illusion, but seemed to have solidified into a physical form, turning into a pair of large, dark hands that pressed tightly on his shoulders, making his chest tighten and his breathing heavy.

His task was to protect this hillside.

Before the main force arrives, especially before air support arrives, this is an ironclad order; this is a deadly situation that must be defended even at the cost of death.

No matter what tactical traps the opposing Asur set up, no matter what enticing moves they made, he could remain unmoved, simply holding his ground to carry out his orders.

But what if Asur on the other side... really wants to run away?
His heart sank suddenly.

Asur's deployment was illogical, so absurd that it almost defied the instincts of the battlefield.

He knew perfectly well that the direction Asur was facing was the only way out of the volcanic island. If Asur wanted to retreat back to the Val's Anvil, he could have simply turned around when the Evils were regrouping.

At that time, no matter how much Ewei urged his feet or how much he roared, he could not catch up with those Asur.

But now, the situation has changed.

If he continues to stay here and Asur actually leaves, he will become a fool who watched the enemy escape unscathed, and he will truly become famous.

If he launches an attack rashly before air support arrives, he will most likely be met with an ambush already prepared to strike. In that case...

He gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white.

Although he was only a centurion, at this moment, there were no higher-ranking officers present; all the responsibility, all the choices, rested on his shoulders alone. He knew that this responsibility was heavy enough to crush everything, determining his and his men's honor, disgrace, life, and death.

Just as he was hesitating and caught in a dilemma, a loud and abrupt bugle call suddenly came from afar, piercing through the smoke and striking his eardrums.

"Who?"

He suddenly flew into a rage and roared out almost instinctively.

That bugle call signaled an attack. But he clearly hadn't given the order! Who would dare act on their own?

Just as he was about to begin the search, his anger still simmering, the trumpeter beside him suddenly pointed sharply to the sky, his voice urgent.

"Heaven!"

He looked up abruptly and saw a giant eagle soaring through the smoke-filled sky, flying from the direction of the narrow path, its wings flapping and swirling with thunderous power, heading towards Asur's location.

He had seen this giant eagle before.

Even so, he raised the binoculars on his chest again for one last check, not allowing himself to make the slightest mistake.

The confirmation process took only a few breaths, but in those few breaths, the horn sounded again, long and urgent. It pierced the eardrums again and again, three times in a row, making people tremble, filled with urging and pressure.

"Blow the horn! Attack! Run! Attack!"

He roared.

At this moment, he no longer needed to make a choice; a will of a higher level than his had already appeared.

The next moment, the Evil Guards moved, rushing down the hillside like a tide, while the raiding ships, having completed their formation, approached from the direction of the path. (End of Chapter)