“If it were up to me, I would spread rumors to the Grand Duchy’s forces that our army is eating well and living abundantly.”

    Baron Ducat nodded in agreement at my suggestion.

    “Hearing that their situation is dire while the enemy is feasting would undoubtedly infuriate their soldiers. The commanders, too, would start to think this war is already lost.”

    Erwin Rommel, the Desert Fox, was a renowned general. Even while his forces were subsisting on things like turnip bread, turnip butter, and potato steaks, he managed to win repeated victories against the Americans.

    Yet, when he discovered a piece of homemade chocolate cake in the backpack of a fallen American soldier, he reportedly sighed and declared the war as good as over.

    Whether or not the story is true is up for debate.

    “Still, the principle holds—logistics determine the outcome of wars in any era.”

    “When you face enemy forces whose morale has already plummeted, victory comes easily. War isn’t about who fights better, but who can endure longer.”

    In stories like Romance of the Three Kingdoms, battles often feature ambushes, traps, or fire attacks—sensational tactics that capture the imagination.

    To the uninformed, it might seem like war is always about coming up with clever tricks to win.

    But if you examine a hundred real wars from history, regardless of their scale, and pick one at random, you’d find that victories won through “unpredictable strategies” amount to maybe 5%—likely not even 2–3%.

    Wars are won by those who act according to sound principles.

    If you live like the Japanese army, believing your enemies are fools and that you can triumph with some “special” plan, even if you’re armed with Earth’s mightiest forces, you might end up losing to an African militia.

    “The reason the U.S. military is so strong is precisely because it’s the most pragmatic.”

    In the Tuscany Empire, and indeed in this era, the most sensible battle tactic was to line up and fire muskets at the enemy repeatedly.

    Victory was determined by an absurd standard: whoever suppressed their fear of death longer would inevitably win.

    “This could be implemented right away. Once we join the Supreme Commander in a few days, I’ll bring it up immediately.”

    “Thank you, but I’m not done yet. Please hear me out a little longer.”

    When proposing a plan in military matters, you can’t afford to do things halfway.

    Either keep your mouth shut entirely, or suggest something so compelling that others are impressed.

    There’s no middle ground—half-measures are worthless.

    Consider the age of imperialism: the only nations that survived by playing the neutrality game were Thailand and Switzerland.

    “And Thailand still lost half its territory.”

    “What’s your next point?”

    “Why should we fight the enemy honorably in the first place? Striking at their weaknesses and forcing a quick defeat is enough.”

    A hundred years ago, when firearms were crude contraptions that involved loading lead bullets into bronze barrels, war was supposedly conducted with a sense of honor.

    Scouts weren’t even necessary. Instead, commanders would send polite letters to the enemy’s headquarters asking, “Here’s where we are—where are you?”

    And the enemy would reply, sometimes even sending local delicacies as gifts.

    Some commanders, brimming with romantic ideals, would personally charge into enemy infantry with their lances.

    “That’s why they focus on looting during war. Stealing four enemy muskets can buy them a cow. A noble’s sword or a knight’s armor can change their fortunes entirely.”

    While modern wars are often seen as benefiting only the elite, with the common folk serving as cannon fodder, pre-modern wars were slightly more equitable.

    For the elite, wars were a means to gain honor, land, and political power. For the common soldier, they were a chance to loot and make a living.

    Of course, this only mattered if they survived. Until the war’s outcome was certain, most detested and avoided it.

    The elite rarely faced mortal danger, but soldiers were sent to die on the frontlines.

    “If we spread rumors of our abundance and display how well-fed we are while feigning defeat...”

    Baron Ducat interrupted, finishing my thought.

    “While the officers might recognize it as a trap, already demoralized soldiers will succumb to greed, breaking their lines. That would make it much easier for us to win.”

    Even without formal training in military science, I understood the basic principles of this era’s tactics.

    The fiercest fighting occurs before formations collapse. The real slaughter happens during the rout, after victory is decided.

    “Once their lines break, it’s a one-sided massacre.”

    “I’ll propose this strategy directly to the Supreme Commander. I’ll even credit it to you. With this plan, I’m sure it’ll work, and you’ll be the top contributor!”

    I shook my head at that.

    The idea of taking credit for this didn’t sit well with me. Baron Ducat’s enthusiasm for my suggestion was surprising, almost disconcerting.

    “Though, as his subordinate, some credit would naturally reflect on me...”

    Still, there was no point in making enemies in the military.

    “I don’t lack ambition, but I’d prefer if you claimed this plan as your own, General.”

    “You’re asking me to steal your credit?”

    Had our relationship been any less cordial, he might have grabbed me by the collar.

    This sort of integrity likely explains why the Emperor appointed him despite his lower station.

    “I already have too many enemies. Even Duke Sforza seems to view me with suspicion.”

    Baron Ducat, though loyal and honest, wasn’t ignorant of politics.

    If he were, he’d never have risen to command as a mere baron.

    “...”

    He patted me on the shoulder.

    “You must have it tough, rising so quickly at such a young age. If you ever need help—military or otherwise—just call on me. I’ll help, no strings attached.”

    A week later, the entire expeditionary force of the Tuscany Empire assembled.

    After the ceremonial introductions preceding the Supreme Commander’s meeting, Baron Ducat cautiously proposed his plan.

    “I have a stratagem to present.”