The army moves only after the provisions. This principle holds true even in the wars of Faerûn. A force of 100,000 soldiers brings immense combat power, but also an equally immense consumption of resources. Particularly in a border city like Konola, where transportation is difficult and natural resources are scarce, it was inevitable that Prince William's army would carry vast amounts of supplies.
If their grain stores could be destroyed, even if the army did not retreat immediately, they would be unable to maintain such an unrestrained siege. This straightforward strategy was the best course of action to address the crisis at hand.
Menezi's plan was to exploit the exhaustion of enemy troops and professionals after the day's battle by launching a night raid. He would use official-level spells to disrupt the enemy's divination and reconnaissance, leaving **Lunka—their only official-level professional—**dependent on a group of apprentice-level wizards to pierce that interference.
The rest of the plan was relatively simple and unoriginal: send apprentice-level professionals in small teams to infiltrate the enemy's granary, set it ablaze, and retreat. No matter how formidable Lunka was, he couldn't conjure food out of thin air for 100,000 troops.
If they could hold out against the enemy's inevitable counterattack for just one more day, they would gain at least a week of breathing room.
It was a stalling tactic, but there were no better options. If Menezi wanted to secure a chance for the princess, this had become the only path forward.
Now, only one question remained—could the rewards convince the professionals to take the risk?
Menezi, an official-level mage, naturally had a wealth of valuable knowledge at his disposal. Without hesitation, he laid out several peak-level apprentice spells for the mages to choose from. The princess, too, contributed "royal combat manuals" as incentives for the warriors.
Almost every participant found something irresistible—and Punk was no exception.
Thus, under the multicolored glow of the starlit sky, a group of black-clad figures silently descended from the city walls, dispersing into the night.
To minimize the risk of detection, the raiding party was divided into eight three-man teams, each infiltrating from different positions. Menezi would divine the locations of enemy supplies, so all they had to do was head toward their target.
As long as even one group succeeded in setting fire to the granary, the mission would be a success, and everyone would receive their reward. The team that accomplished the task would earn additional knowledge-based prizes.
However, if all groups failed to destroy the supplies… well, at most, they'd be given ten meager consolation prizes for their "hard work."
Punk's team consisted of two mages and a knight.
The second mage was a timid young boy named Pute, a newly promoted apprentice who could only cast basic secondary fireballs. While he had mastered the spell, it didn't change the fact that he was a complete rookie—so the task of setting the fire naturally fell to him.
As for the knight...
"Ahhh~ the air under this city wall is so… invigorating!" Kane stretched, his voice filled with exaggerated delight.
Punk gave him a cold glance.
"Shut up."
The moonlight outlined silver edges on their forms, their elongated shadows stretching over piles of unburied corpses. The lingering heat from the day's battle had caused temperature fluctuations, and now the wind beneath the city walls whistled incessantly, rustling their robes and casting eerie, shifting silhouettes on the ground.
"You know, Punk, why didn't you burn these bodies? The smell is making me hungry," Kane remarked, his tone disturbingly casual.
"I said… Senior Kane, Senior Punk, do we… have an actual plan?"
Pute finally spoke, his voice hesitant. He was just a young apprentice, barely fourteen, and had joined this "night raid" on impulse. Now, standing amidst a battlefield littered with corpses, he no longer felt the excitement that had burned within him inside the city walls.
Unlike an RPG game, there was no respawning here—if he died, he was dead for good. Fear clutched at him, leaving only a suffocating tightness in his chest.
"Relax, kid! A great adventure is about to begin! Why the long face? Don't worry, your suave and reliable Knight Kane has got your back~"
Kane slung an arm around Pute's shoulders, speaking in a reassuring tone, like an older brother comforting a nervous sibling.
"Really? Really?! I'm so grateful, Senior!"
Pute's eyes sparkled with admiration. Having grown up in the cold, detached world of mages, this was the first time he had experienced such camaraderie. To him, Kane's words felt like genuine brotherhood.
Punk, watching their interaction, sneered inwardly.
"Trusting Kane, the grinning wolf, to 'cover' you? Heh… I look forward to seeing this fool's face when he realizes Kane is using him as bait."
As they neared the enemy camp, Punk halted by the treeline, lowering his voice.
"Enough talking. We're close."
He crouched behind a waist-high bush, and Kane and Pute quickly followed suit.
Punk cast Darkness Technique on Kane's armor, scattering reflections to prevent its silver sheen from catching the enemy's eye. Meanwhile, Pute gripped a scroll tightly, his gaze filled with trepidation as he stared at the firelit enemy encampment.
The camp was a standard medieval military setup—wooden stakes and fences forming a defensive perimeter, with rows of neatly arranged tents inside. Torches illuminated the area brightly, and patrols moved with discipline.
However, instead of being manned by countless ordinary guards, the watch consisted of well-trained professionals. They patrolled in groups of five, each led by an apprentice-level officer.
Unlike the typical slack-jawed sentries one might find in lesser armies, these soldiers stood rigidly at their posts, gripping their spears tightly, their gazes sharp and alert.
Ten ordinary guards wouldn't pose much of a problem—Punk was confident he could eliminate them in under a minute without raising an alarm.
But those professional patrol teams?
That was another matter entirely.
Punk frowned.
Even Kane, for once, dropped his usual playful expression, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation.
Only Pute, oblivious to the tension in the air, continued to stare at them in admiration—
as if his two seniors were legendary heroes planning an epic assault.