Inside Perturabo's command tent.
"So, our Great King Wadisvav of Lehlia has finally lost his patience? Excellent. Everything is proceeding exactly as I anticipated." Perturabo stood before a table, his gaze fixed on the military map spread across it as he spoke with a leisurely, composed air.
Beside him stood Mikhail and Savinkov, along with several vassal princes who had sworn fealty to him—including Nevsky of Novgorod, who had arrived at the assembly point by Lake Chudskoye with his troops days ahead of schedule.
"Yes, My Lord. According to the reliable reports from my network of spies, King Wadisvav is desperate for a decisive battle. The cost of maintaining his newly formed professional army has drained his vast wealth. He can no longer afford the consequences of a prolonged war; he simply lacks the capacity to pay for mounting military expenditures."
Savinkov, standing to the side, nodded as he added his confirmation to Perturabo's assessment.
"Very good. The Streltsi are not so easily replicated. The cost of maintaining a fully trained, modern army is a burden few can shoulder. I, however, have accumulated immense wealth through the arms trade, allowing me to apply those resources to the military and forge this invincible Streltsi corps."
Upon hearing his Spymaster's report, Perturabo allowed a look of pride to cross his features, his voice cold. It was clear he held the Lehlians in no high regard.
"However, Abo, regardless of the circumstances, Wadisvav has trained a new army known as the 'Black Army.' Even if their numbers are inferior to your Streltsi due to financial constraints, they are not a force you can entirely afford to ignore."
"I have told you before: be cautious in all things. We do not fully understand the will of the omniscient and almighty God. We do not know when He might change His mind and let matters drift toward the worst possible conclusion."
Seeing his foster son and pupil so dismissive of his upcoming opponent, Mikhail offered a solemn, earnest warning, hoping to sharpen Perturabo's vigilance so he would not fail at the most critical moment.
"Mr. Mikhail, spare me the sermons about your omniscient and almighty God. I, Perturabo, believe only in science and logic. I do not believe in the existence of 'gods' superior to humanity." Perturabo's brow furrowed slightly as he responded to his foster father's counsel with a chilly tone.
Mikhail immediately composed his expression. His years of serving the Lord gave him considerable experience in dealing with a non-human entity like Perturabo; he knew when to speak and when to remain silent. When Perturabo displayed his displeasure, the old priest closed his mouth.
"Nonetheless, your point is valid. I am fighting a war, a matter of life and death. I cannot afford to be careless."
Noticing Mikhail had fallen silent because of his irritation, Perturabo's expression softened, and he moderated his tone.
"It is enough that you understand. I am an old man who knows nothing of military affairs; there is no need for me to meddle further."
Even though Perturabo had reined in his displeasure, Mikhail's expression did not return to normal. He understood that his foster son was no ordinary man; one could not treat him as a normal human, but could only follow his lead.
The other vassal princes in the tent had collectively held their breath when Perturabo's irritation flared. Even though the Lord of Iron's displeasure wasn't directed at them, these battle-hardened men felt an inexplicable wave of fear wash over them.
Previously, these princes had only heard of Perturabo's fame and achievements. Today, they realized the legends were not exaggerations, but the truth. The storytellers simply couldn't convey the visceral feeling of "serving a king is like serving a tiger."
Now, they truly felt the pressure radiating from Perturabo himself—a profound sense of awe that struck them to the core.
"Very well. Does anyone else have questions?"
After hearing Mikhail's words, Perturabo nodded with satisfaction and scanned the tent, asking slowly.
Naturally, faced with such an inquiry, no one dared to speak. The room remained silent as they waited for the Lord of Iron to continue.
"Excellent. Now, I shall begin my strategic deployment. Listen closely!" Seeing no one voice an objection, Perturabo nodded and began his briefing.
"First, the Kossar horsemen will initiate harassment of the Lehlians, forcing them into combat. However, the Kossar tribes are only to maintain constant pressure. If the Lehlians counterattack, they are to employ hit-and-run tactics to lure the Lehlians onto the frozen surface of Lake Chudskoye."
Perturabo gestured across the map as he spoke loudly. The assembled men leaned in silently, listening to the words of their leader.
"I will personally lead the Streltsi and wait at Lake Chudskoye. If everything goes according to plan, we will face an exhausted Lehlian host—tired from their struggle with the nimble Kossar cavalry. This will give us a massive advantage as we meet their weariness with our readiness."
"At that point, they will see our forces arrayed and waiting. If there are still clear-headed men among them, they will know it is time to retreat. However, King Wadisvav will not withdraw so easily. Even if he wanted to, the nobles beneath him would refuse. They hope to defeat us here and become the hegemons of all Kislev."
"But they are wrong. The victor of this war will be me, Perturabo—Perturabo of Kislev! And they shall find their graves here!" Perturabo spoke with a hint of excitement, his voice revealing the joy and calm of one who already holds victory in his grasp.
"I have a question, My Lord. If they begin to retreat, how should we handle it?" Someone noticed a potential gap in the plan and asked hesitantly.
"Heh. Indeed. The Lehlian cavalry is world-famous. If they begin a retreat, it seems we would lack the strength to catch them."
"And that is when the secret weapons I have forged will make their debut. They will provide our guests with quite a surprise."