The assignments were handed out quickly, but no one dispersed. Instead, they all gathered together again.
Robson didn't dare to be a step behind and began looking for the other nobles also assigned to West City.
'We'll probably be comrades-in-arms, watching each other's backs from now on,' Robson thought. 'It's best to get to know them. It would be a disaster to rely on a teammate only to find out they're a complete liability.'
Fortunately, Robson was more or less a famous figure now. He didn't need to seek anyone out; people started approaching him soon enough.
The other noble officers from West City all began to gravitate toward him.
Most of those assigned to West City were rather incompetent, and their troops were a motley crew. Of the dozen or so nobles, the highest rank among them was merely a Baron.
Everyone present was a shrewd operator, and they could tell at a glance who had the strongest coattails to ride in West City.
For a moment, it seemed Robson was about to become the de facto leader of the West City nobles.
Robson reacted quickly, rebuffing all their attempts at flattery.
'Are you kidding me? Sure, the leader gets the most glory, but they also have the most to lose. Besides, without the Frank Kingdom's official backing, it means nothing legally...'
'Especially in this situation, with a great enemy at the gates. Didn't you see Count Offman? He looked like he was ready to die for the cause, and he even entrusted his son to me!'
'Why didn't Count Offman entrust him to the other Viscounts?'
'Could it be that the Viscounts' troops are even worse than mine? Well, that actually seems to be the case...'
'But the real reason is that a Viscount is too conspicuous. When the fortress falls, it'll be hard for them to flee. They might even end up in a military tribunal...'
'If I, Robson, actively take on the role of leader, won't I be the conspicuous one?'
Everyone else was just as cunning, so they were all trying their best to push this leadership role onto someone else.
In that position, if you succeed, it's all thanks to the efforts of your officers and soldiers. But if something goes wrong, it's all because of the general's incompetence...
Of course, the main issue was still the lack of the Kingdom's endorsement. Even if you became the nominal leader, it would be in name only...
Therefore, Lord Robson absolutely would not dare to take on the burden of being the "leader."
Seeing that Robson wanted no part of their flattery, they all exchanged brief pleasantries and tactfully moved away.
Robson thought the matter was over, but to his surprise, in the blink of an eye, everyone had surrounded another young baron with a slightly pockmarked face.
"Baron Oli is so young and promising! He's the perfect person to coordinate the various affairs in West City..."
"But, Uncle Aidan, even Sir Robson..."
"Sir Robson is just being modest. He wants to give you young people a chance! Don't worry, if anything happens, we'll be right behind you."
"That's right, Oli! I could tell you were young and promising even back when you were an apprentice under Knight Oli."
"But, Uncle..."
"Enough. This matter is settled. Everyone, come and meet him..."
The poor Baron Oli, under the flattery of a crowd of newly-acquainted "uncles," seemed to actually believe he had some ability. In a daze, he tacitly accepted his role as their leader.
"Then... I will do my best," Baron Oli said, nodding with a serious expression.
Robson offered a three-second moment of silence for the pitiful scapegoat baron, then promptly joined the chorus of praise.
When Oli saw that even Sir Robson, whose fame was currently on the rise, was praising him, he began to think that perhaps he really had been too self-deprecating.
'Could it be? Do I truly have qualities that even I haven't discovered?' For a moment, Baron Oli felt a surge of unprecedented confidence.
After briefly discussing the battlefield situation with his colleagues, Robson hurried back to his camp.
The entire Sunset Fortress was not small. Though called a fortress, it was actually larger than many so-called cities in the north. It was originally designed to house 100,000 soldiers and become the kingdom's second iron wall after Vanguard Fortress.
As for what happened later... funds for 100,000 were allocated, but after various "losses," a fortress for 50,000 was built in the end.
This was also why the nobles disliked bureaucrats. Compared to bureaucrats, the noble lords were at least responsible; after all, the country was genuinely their own.
Of course, even if it had been built to spec, it probably wouldn't have made much of a difference. After all, the first iron wall, Vanguard Fortress, hadn't even lasted a week.
Once back at the camp, Robson unhurriedly packed his belongings, gathered the soldiers in his barracks, and finally, after loading the supplies onto carts, sent someone to inform Viscount Fuman not to send things to the wrong place in the future.
Robson was not particularly enthusiastic about moving camp.
The nobles who arrived at the new site first would get to pick their spot first.
According to the martial customs of the Frank Kingdom, the first nobles to arrive were expected to choose a spot at the front to display their bravery. Choosing a spot too far back would likely earn them criticism.
'If I go too early, won't I just be treated as cannon fodder? Not a very sound strategy.'
The packing took all afternoon. By the time Robson and his army ambled their way to the new campsite, he realized something was wrong.
There were too many clever people here. He had still arrived too early.
The only one who had actually moved into the new campsite was the hot-blooded Baron Oli.
"I'd heard people say that Sir Robson's army is one of the rare elite forces of our time. Seeing how swiftly you march, you truly live up to the name 'Elite Army,'" a nearby baron chimed in, striking up a conversation.
"Those are just rumors. A man knows his own limits," Robson said with a noncommittal laugh.
'Swift indeed,' he thought. 'It took several hours just to pack.'
Since he couldn't compete with their experience, Robson had no choice but to admit defeat and obediently lead his troops into the camp.
He set up his camp in a spot toward the rear.
Robson admitted they were indeed more experienced than him. Since that was the case, he would just have to trouble himself to be a little more thick-skinned.
'Surely their skins can't be thicker than mine, can they? Experienced *and* shameless? A person like that has no business being at Sunset Fortress.'
The baron who had started the conversation was dumbfounded. This newly-promoted Knight was so blatantly breaking the rules. Wasn't he afraid of...
Eh?
The baron then realized that Robson really had nothing to be afraid of. Few of the nobles present knew him personally. At worst, he would just lose a bit of face.
By this time, Robson was already leading his troops into the campsite.
'Since I've already lost face, I might as well go all in.' Robson directly chose the largest available plot, which happened to be perfect for setting up a riding ground.
After Robson had finished setting up his camp, other nobles finally began to trickle in and pitch their tents.
Perhaps Robson had set a bad precedent, because everyone else also seemed to abandon the so-called martial knightly spirit and chose spots toward the rear.
The spots at the front were left for the truly wily old foxes who would arrive later.
Looking at the empty campsites at the front, Robson couldn't help but offer another moment of silence for the young Baron Oli.
When the Beastmen finally attacked the fortress, Baron Oli would probably be the first to charge.
Once all the camps were set, a large crowd of inexplicable "friends and relatives" suddenly appeared at Robson's gate.
Clearly, although they had pushed Baron Oli to be the leader, these shrewd noble lords knew very well who was actually reliable on the battlefield.