Tyrant

"What? Hold the line and wait for reinforcements?"

The frontline commander, the commander of the Quebec Division, could hardly believe the message from the rear. "My soldiers—the finest lads in all of Canada—are walking into Hell. This is a complete trap!"

Marshal Julian's voice came through the communicator, leaving no room for doubt. "Just hold on until the airship force breaks the enemy's defenses and the follow-up troops arrive to take their stronghold. I guarantee that every loss will be replenished."

Every army's command system lagged behind events. Marshal Julian had not personally come to the front line, and relying solely on the reports of frontline officers, his decision was simple: order the troops at the front to secure a foothold atop the enemy walls, while the follow-up forces moved in immediately.

There had originally been nothing wrong with that. Throughout history, the hardest part of assaulting a city had always been scaling the enemy's walls.

From the frontline reports, Marshal Julian had come away with one clear impression—if they just pushed a little harder, New Basilicata, the heart of Texas, would fall into his grasp.

As for the wolf assassins who had infiltrated their lines, the artillery, and the attacks on their support troops, they were nothing more than suicidal strikes the Texans had been forced to launch in order to slow their terrifying advance.

As the artillery fell silent and the follow-up troops came under attack, the English army's offensive momentum at the front gradually slowed as well.

Since their orders were to hold the line and await reinforcements, the Quebec Division—the first troops to scale the walls—simply abandoned its attack altogether. Instead, they used the walls as defensive positions, trying to establish a firm foothold there, like a wedge hammered deep into New Basilicata.

In an alley,