Chapter 10: Practice makes Perfect
Inside the general's tent, the air was thick with tension as Elowen, Alaric, Cedric, and the general huddled around a worn wooden table scattered with maps and hastily scribbled notes.
Elowen's sharp voice cut through the room like a blade. "listen carefully, gentlemen. We only have one plan—plan A. given our absurdly limited resources, it has to be executed perfectly if we're going to stand any chance of surviving this." Her piercing gaze locked onto each man in turn, ensuring their full attention.
"here's how it goes: mages will buff the archers first. When the orcs enter range, I'll strike first to create an opening. Immediately after that, unleash the volley of fire arrows—they won't eliminate all of them, but they'll thin the numbers. Whatever's left, I'll hold them off again for a second wave while you switch to normal arrows. This is where we chip them down further. At this phase, redirect mage buffs to the vanguard—but don't march yet. Let the orcs come to us. The vanguard holds the line, supported by healing when needed, while your archers move to crosbows and start sniping from atop the fortress walls. I'll handle mid-range threats myself. Our goal here isn't perfection—it's survival. Hold them off long enough for Liora to arrive and hopefully finish what we can't." she paused, her tone softening slightly but still resolute.
"it's not much, but it's the best we've got. Now drill this steps into every soldier until they dream about it. Understood?" the men responded with firm nods, determination etched on their faces despite the grim reality of their situation.
Even the general managed a weak smile, muttering under his breath, "well, at least we're not planning to fight with turnips this time."
Outside the tent, Gawain and Lucien moved briskly among the bustling preparations, inspecting every detail with practiced efficiency. Weapons were sharpened, armor patched up, and ration crates double-checked to ensure no one would be stuck eating last season's questionable preserves.
"remind me again why we let them pack dried apples?" Lucien grumbled, poking suspiciously at a barrel labeled Emergency snacks. Gawain chuckled lightly, patting her shoulder. "because dried apples are morale boosters—or so they claim. Besides, better apples than boiled socks!"
Nearby, women citizens worked tirelessly alongside soldiers, preparing bandages, organizing medical tents, and even cooking meals infused with extra care (and perhaps a dash of desperation).
"these emergency wards need to be ready for anything," Gawain instructed firmly, glancing over the rows of makeshift cots. "mages can heal wounds, but sometimes stitches take priority—and soup always helps."