"Are they really going to give each commander a Warlock guard because of your performance today?"

Lincoln wore scattered armor pendants and walked 'clanging' after Lanne.

"That's a noble spellcaster. That's how the Nilfgaard Empire summoned them? There are so many spellcasters at their disposal? ”

Behind him, all of the Ember members were similar, covered in drape.

Guerrilla warfare cannot count on stable logistics, so all supplies must be taken from the enemy.

Lane called this kind of behavior of the enemy without guns and cannons as a 'fine tradition'.

Everyone didn't quite understand how this could be considered a 'tradition', but Lan En said that it was a good tradition, so with their current fanatical reverence for Lan En, of course, they would spare no effort to do it.

"You still don't know your enemy, Lincoln. Read more books. ”

Lan En said without looking back, conveying his thoughts to the half-grown man behind him.

Before he knew it, he had greeted Lincoln as his aide-de-camp.

The witcher continued calmly.

"You can hate the Nilfgaards, they don't really do much. But you should not underestimate the power of a vast empire. They have a lot of warlocks, there's no doubt about that. ”

"The social structure of Nilfgaard is based on slavery, and the caster is a high-level skilled worker in their country, like a blacksmith. The aristocracy used their power and interests to 'domesticate' these people with supernatural powers into their system. If you are obedient, you will be good, and if you are disobedient, you will assassinate poison. ”

"Thus, for a long time, the sorcerers of the South learned to be subordinate to their lineage and authority. So there's no doubt about it."

"As long as the commander of this war determines that 'it takes a lot of warlocks to win the war,' then it is impossible for Nilfgaard to not be able to send people in the country."

Lan En was still talking, and Lincoln in the back had already taken out a small notebook and wrote it down.

This kind of consciousness that a good memory is not as good as a bad pen is also one of the great virtues that Lan En appreciates for him.

"Almost."

Rann stopped in the woods, far enough away from the battlefield just now.

With a 'bang', Lan En threw the man he had been carrying on his shoulders onto the thick humus among the trees, and the dry leaves were shaken by the man's body in dark and shiny armor.

Falling from a shoulder more than two meters high, this person seemed to be shocked by the impact and gasped, and took a big breath very suddenly and long from the coma like a dead person, and opened his eyes.

His eyes beneath his winged helmet were confused and flustered, clearly unaware of what was going on with him.

Lincoln, on the other hand, was already standing beside him with his small notebook, looking ready to take notes.

"Where is this? You guys.! ”

The man's confused eyes swept around, at first he was still confused by the environment, but when the face that was tall beyond common sense, and more handsome than an elf, appeared in front of him, he immediately remembered.

This is the 'demon' who slaughtered his own troops!

But haven't you already been killed by him?

The terrifying greatsword stabbed in the front of his breastplate, although the blade that did not pursue sharpness did not pierce the armor, but the impact alone was enough to rupture his internal organs.

Available now.

He touched the conspicuous depression in the armor on his chest.

But before he could come back to his senses, a large hand grabbed his entire head directly from the side!

And with a 'bang', he pressed the side of his face into the thick layer of humus on the ground.

In the palm of Lanne's hand, an ordinary person's head is about the size of a large apple.

"To be clear, I don't like torture."

The fierce struggle in his hands seemed to be non-existent to the palm of the witcher.

"If you can simply tell me the approximate time of the battle, I'm sure we'll all have a good time."

With excellent knowledge of human biology, he accurately hit the target in the fierce battlefield to a coma that bordered on suspended animation, just to get information about the battle on the premise of hiding from the warlock.

In the eyes of the high-level leaders of both sides, the large-scale battle is as conspicuous and unambiguous as an unstoppable torrent.

But in the chaos of the grassroots, they can only feel the increasingly tense atmosphere, but they have no idea the precise time.

Lenn needed this information.

After all, since the tactical misdirection has been made, it is best to use the misleading once in a large enough scene.

There is no better scene than the upcoming conference battle.

As expected, Officer Nilfgaard, who was pressed half of his face into the humus by Lane, was speechless, but his eyes revealed a sense of unyielding in his eyes.

At first, Lan En didn't understand how the person who had done such a bestial act could have the unyielding spirit to support him.

But then he realized that the emotions shaped by racial superiority and geographical superiority were enough for some people to live first.

So he threw the officer in his hand into the hands of his companion behind him.

"I'll leave it to you, let him speak. I'll confirm credibility with a seal at the end. ”

Lincoln calmly put away the small notebook that had been unfolded, nodded to Lanne, and walked over to the officer Nilfgaard who had been set up.

"I'll get it done in two hours."

The half-grown boy's tone was firm and relaxed, and the truth was exactly what he said.

Two hours later, Rann was given the exact start time of the battle.

If the fight is not started again, then the soldiers who have been gathered together for a long time and in large numbers will not only not increase their combat effectiveness, but may weaken their organization in the chaos.

And the logistical pressure on both sides is also reaching the limit.

So even if both sides try to delay, the battle will start at the latest. It can only be within five days.

——

"I never thought you'd get involved here."

In the Northern Coalition camp in Upper Soden, the elven archmage, Francesca Fendabe, known as the most beautiful face in the world, sat in a gorgeous and comfortable red cashmere chair, holding a silver goblet and asking questions to the person in front of him with great interest.

She had smooth, shiny blonde hair that hung down next to her fair, delicate face in the braiding of elven traditional hair accessories.

"Tishaya, the last time we fought together was three hundred years ago?"

"Ah, yes. I remember it too."

And in the chair diagonally opposite Francisca, Tishaya looked strange and stumbled in reply.

In a very different situation from the supernatural masters of the South, the Warlocks of the North, even in the midst of this tense and oppressive military camp, had a huge tent for social salons in addition to their separate tents.

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(End of chapter)