Chapter 35: Bishop Stephen’s Plan

After concluding his hedonistic holiday and having his attendants drag away the boy, now limp and drooling, Bishop Stephen noticed that his servant hadn’t executed his orders but was still waiting quietly outside the door.

Frowning, the bishop was about to scold the servant when he was preempted by an unexpected insight.

“I believe that smearing the former Regent’s reputation is pointless. Bishop Stephen, let’s not forget that the elves sent us a semi-public letter of condemnation two months after we exiled the Regent.”

Upon hearing this, the crude invectives that were about to spill from Stephen’s lips transformed into a thoughtful contemplation.

Caught up in his indulgence with the boy earlier, he hadn’t fully focused his mind. But now, it dawned on him. The elves had always seemed to hold the Regent in high regard. They had already expressed their disapproval over the Regent’s quiet banishment. Naturally, they wouldn’t be swayed by his current campaign of defamation.

Returning to a peak of wisdom, Bishop Stephen decided to abandon the impulsive plan he had concocted without much thought.

With the likelihood that the former Regent would head towards the Elven Forest, it was evident that his strategic plan needed corresponding adjustments.

Hmm…

Pondering over this, Bishop Stephen first instructed his servant to drop the plan, then raised his head and asked, “How much do we know about the Elven Forest’s military strength? I’m not just talking about their soldiers, but also their weaponry, armor, and other resources.”

“Not too much, but certainly not too little either. We have actual samples of their arms. Please, come with me.”

“And summon all the military chaplains. We need a comprehensive study of everything elvish. It’s not just about preparing for battle but also about understanding their very essence.”

Bishop Stephen and his attendant hastened to the specimen room on the 57th floor of the Saint Peter Cathedral.

This room stored an array of trophies gathered over a long period by the Church of Light through various means, including elven weaponry.

To call these elven artifacts mere weapons would scarcely do them justice. They indeed served the functional purpose of conventional weapons. Yet, their appearance was more akin to that of art pieces. No, they were art in their very essence.

Bishop Stephen contemplated the elven weapons displayed behind the glass, deep in thought.

From a human viewpoint, this longbow was over-ornamented.

Crafted from the finest wood and strung with a blend of the highest quality plant and animal materials, its most crucial feature was the enchanting process—a testament to its practical application.

But it was in the decorative aspect where the depth of elven craftsmanship was most apparent.

Human artisans could hardly achieve such intricate micro-carvings along the wood’s grain while maintaining the bow’s structural stability, nor could they use such luxurious and rare golden magical materials to create a spiraling mural.

The elves, however, made it possible. Each bow’s mural was uniquely tailored, reflecting the owner’s preferences and the wood’s character.

Should such creations really be relegated to the battlefield, or do they belong in display cabinets, as they were now?

Even the arrowheads and shafts were intricately carved with detailed murals and words of adulation.

Lost in thought, Bishop Stephen listened as his attendant explained that crafting such an elven longbow reportedly required an entire century.

“Just this single longbow, if displayed to foreign merchants, especially in Dreke Port, could be sold for an astronomical price. It would not only be a financial triumph but also a testament to the grandeur of our Church and the Light God.”

Bishop Stephen initially nodded absently but suddenly grasped the full implication. 

“And you’re saying this elven standard longbow requires a hundred years to craft?”

“Yes. Considering the lifespan of elves, this seems to be an acceptable timeframe. And we must admit, this longbow is exceptionally perfect, whether in terms of artistic, combat, or magical value. But in terms of warfare evolution, this is undoubtedly foolish. Elves are using millennia of perfection to face modern warfare, as absurd as a perfectly evolved ant attempting to combat a raging torch with its indestructible claws.”

“Indeed. Given the Elves’ consistent pursuit of perfection, they couldn’t possibly stockpile a large number of Elven longbows, nor can they match our followers in quantity. We could pave a path to the Elven Forest with blood and flesh, their arrows depleting even slower than the replenishment rate of our reserve troops,” said Bishop Stephan.

“Moreover, if we sufficiently equip our vanguard with shields, the damage from the elves will be significantly reduced. Those master elven archers capable of piercing through an entire line of troops are exceedingly rare. Most elves are simply skilled sharpshooters. Their arrows lack the penetrative power to breach strong defenses. A quadruple-layer wooden shield should easily stop them.”

The attendant continued his detailed exposition while Bishop Stephen nodded in contemplation.

“That means our primary task is to categorize our formidable 300,000-strong army of devout followers.”

As a bishop experienced in leading large troops against barbarian forces, Stephen knew the vital importance of categorization in military strategy.

Inexperienced recruits and conscripted followers couldn’t be indiscriminately mixed with the professional soldiers who were the backbone of the force. The new recruits, prone to fear and lacking the commitment to follow orders as resolutely as seasoned soldiers, tend to break ranks at the sight of glory or flee in terror when confronted with a powerful foe. They must be quickly and clearly differentiated.

The same rationale applied to professional soldiers. While they exhibited more professionalism compared to new recruits and conscripted followers and understood the importance of obeying orders and maintaining discipline, they were still ordinary individuals employed for combat. Their adherence to orders and discipline hinged on the likelihood of victory. Should the tide of battle turn towards defeat, even these professional soldiers were prone to desertion. Thus, they were best utilized as the central force of the legion, not as the ultimate trump card.

The ace up Bishop Stephen’s sleeve was none other than the Church of Light’s elite Crusader Knights and the Priest Corps.

The Crusader Army was exclusively devoted to the Church of Light. They enjoyed a privileged status akin to that of a royal national army. They relished the finest meals, donned the best armor, and had their pick of the most desirable women or men, all while being armed with superior weaponry.

Unlike the national army, their fervent devotion to the God of Light meant unwavering loyalty. They wouldn’t dream of betraying their cause for mere gold coins, unlike the less scrupulous national army.

The Priest Corps was equally imbued with zealous faith. They were even more impressive.

Masters of powerful offensive divine magic, the priests not only served as the army’s morale backbone but also as commanders and officers of smaller units in Bishop Stephen’s strategic maneuvers.

They could become an effective mage unit even amidst a disorganized retreat. In cooperation with the Crusader Army and surrounded by a multitude of believers, they were nearly invincible within the borders of the Roman Empire.

However, the numbers of both the Crusader Army and the Priest Corps were limited in this northern campaign.

Therefore, they served dual roles. As the ultimate force in head-on combat and as the military police under Bishop Stephen, tasked with upholding military discipline throughout the campaign.

Bishop Stephen’s intention was to ensure the spoils of war, rightfully belonging to the Church of Light, were not misappropriated by the faithful. After all, these were the treasures of the Church and the Bishops, not the lowly followers.

In essence, Bishop Stephen envisioned his army structured into these three distinct groups. Unsurprisingly, the most numerous were the expendable new recruits and conscripted followers.

These individuals could simply be equipped with shields and their own agricultural tools as makeshift weapons. They were nothing more than cannon fodder, expected to attract enemy fire.

The number of professional soldiers was modest and needed to be deployed cautiously. As for the Crusader Army and Priest Corps, the army’s aces, they were tasked not only with policing duties during routine times but also with pivotal roles in critical battles.

Perfect!

Bishop Stephen nodded contentedly, feeling a surge of pride in his strategic acumen. However, his satisfaction was short-lived, as his attendant’s next words brought a dose of reality.

“Reorganizing the troops is one thing, but what about our supply lines? How do we manage that?”

Warfare, after all, relies heavily on advanced logistics planning.

Despite his lavish lifestyle, Bishop Stephen, as a battle-hardened commander, was well aware of the importance of keeping his soldiers well-nourished. Without sufficient food, even the most zealous warriors can’t withstand long marches or fierce combat, regardless of their faith.

While the Church of Light’s divine magic could offer temporary illusions of satiation and sweetness, these were mere fantasies, incapable of providing the necessary sustenance for the soldiers.

Any seasoned commander knew the critical importance of supply and logistics. But there was a catch. 

Wasn’t the Roman Empire currently suffering from a severe drought?

Hoping for the royal family or military leaders to supply food was futile, so would the Church have to fend for itself?

Bishop Stephen calculated the amount of food at his disposal. Discounting the portion he had privately set aside to sell at a premium, the food available to the northern expeditionary force would last about half a month if the invasion commenced prematurely in October.

Half a month?

He furrowed his brow. A moment later, a realization seemed to dawn on him, smoothing his expression.

“In times of famine, cannibalism isn’t unheard of. We can use the corpses of the dead as sustenance. And there’s no shortage of moving provisions in the Monster Forest.”

Inevitably, many would fall to the elves’ lethal volleys.

Dealing with these corpses would drain both time and resources. Rather than letting them go to waste, repurposing them seemed a more practical solution.

However—

“Ensure that the Saintess faction nuns and the Saintess herself don’t catch wind of this. They are tender-hearted and would find such things abhorrent. It would create unnecessary complications for us.”

Bishop Stephen gave his orders to his attendant with a convivial demeanor.

The attendant, understanding the gravity of the situation, nodded in acknowledgment. He accepted the pouch of gold passed by the bishop, planning to indulge himself with this sum while skimming off a portion of the remaining food supply for himself.

When it came to resorting to cannibalism, they could always compensate for any shortages.

The master and servant exchanged knowing smiles, a silent agreement between them.