The principle of "hold big meetings for small matters, and small meetings for big matters" applied equally on the Aslant Continent.
If several hundred nobles discussed a strategy together, they might not reach a conclusion even by next month.
This had long been evident in the kingdom's Noble Council. Even trivial matters could be dragged out for three to five months.
After calming everyone down, the nobles, Hudson included, were kept in the hall for dinner. Only a small number of noble representatives left with Count Pierce.
Aside from Chers, who attended on behalf of the alliance, the rest were influential figures from the province. The law of the jungle was on full display here.
Hudson no longer held out any hope for the outcome of their discussion. Chers's earlier performance had made it clear that he lacked the confidence to argue his case.
Still, having representatives was better than having none. At the very least, they could speak for everyone and put forward their basic demands.
They were nobles, after all. They could not make their conduct look too ugly in public. The influence of the alliance's hundred-odd minor nobles also had to be taken into account.
No matter how much it was discounted, they would definitely receive a share of the military merits. As for how those merits would be assessed, that depended on the vision of the people inside.
If they wanted everyone to keep risking their lives, they had to be fair and objective. That should not be a major problem. The key was the upcoming battle arrangements.
To avoid becoming cannon fodder, Hudson could not even bother eating. He immediately turned into a busy little bee, constantly weaving through the hall.
This was when a family's soft power was put to the test. Carrying a letter written by Baron Redman, Hudson continuously visited relatives, friends, and old acquaintances.
Though this was not a suitable occasion for catching up, it was still necessary to make himself familiar to them. Perhaps on the battlefield, these connections might save his life.
He had to admit that having a flourishing family was an advantage. Setting everything else aside, at least there were plenty of relatives.
Among those bearing the Coslo Family name alone, Hudson met three clansmen. One of them even served under Count Pierce.
There were even more relatives from closer and more distant branches. If he insisted on claiming connections, perhaps a third of those present could be considered his own people.
Of course, such resources went both ways. So long as there was no conflict of interest, everyone was happy to use this opportunity to build more connections.
After all, judging from the current situation, they might march out tomorrow. Having witnessed the Rebel Army's strength, no one dared let their guard down now.
It was never wrong to build more connections. Even clutching at the Lord of Dawn's robe at the last minute was better than not doing so at all.
After making a full round, Hudson had met nearly every noble present. How useful that would prove to be depended on how the situation developed.
Overall, Hudson was satisfied. No matter how ruthless the noble factions might be behind the scenes, they still acted like gentlemen in public.
Offering a hand where possible and earning a favor was common in noble circles. There were people who repaid kindness with enmity, but they were only a small minority.
Once someone did such a thing, they effectively cut themselves off from the circle. Their decline would only be a matter of time. This was especially true of favors owed openly—they had to be repaid.
Before the discussion results were announced, Hudson stuffed a few pieces of roast meat into his mouth, drank a cup of fruit juice, and followed the crowd out.
It was not that everyone was being disrespectful. They had suffered heavy losses during the day, and morale was unstable. It was not suitable for the commander-in-chief to be away for too long.
The moment he stepped out of the fortress, a thick, pungent stench struck him head-on and nearly made him sick. Looking at the blazing fires flickering in the distance, Hudson almost vomited.
"Burning corpses" was also an unavoidable part of the battlefield. No one knew exactly how many had died in the day's battle, but it certainly was not a small number.
They had chosen not to bury the dead but to burn them on the spot, not because they understood scientific hygiene. The main reason was that in a supernatural world, corpses could also become weapons of murder.
Especially when the enemy was a cult organization like the Skull Society. If they had necromancers, these corpses would be the greatest hidden danger.
Hudson did not know whether it was an illusion, but he vaguely heard waves of screams. There even seemed to be shadows moving amid the flames.
His instincts told Hudson that he had not seen wrongly. They really were burning living people. The anger that had just risen in his heart was immediately extinguished by reason.
If he had guessed correctly, the soldiers responsible for burning the corpses had been careless. They had mistaken unconscious Rebel Army soldiers for corpses and sent them to be burned without first finishing them off.
What could Hudson possibly say about that?
"Should I go over and tell them to stab every body once before burning it?"
Saving them was impossible anyway.
People contaminated by cursed artifacts would gradually lose themselves even if they survived, slowly turning into killing machines. To save them, a high-ranking priest would have to purify them.
There was indeed a high-ranking priest in the fortress, but he was already too busy treating wounded nobles. Even the wounded Crimson Knights could only be attended by ordinary priests.
If allied soldiers suffered serious injuries, they could only rely on their comrades to finish them off. Who had the spare attention for Rebel Army soldiers?
Other than sighing at the world's cruelty, Hudson could do nothing. Even though a voice deep within him kept telling him to change this world, reason remained firmly in control.
His own life was already uncertain. If he also developed a bleeding heart, he probably was not planning to survive past three episodes.
As someone afraid of dying, Hudson decisively chose out of sight, out of mind and returned to camp as quickly as possible.
As the victors, even if they had won only miserably, they still had to enjoy the fruits of victory. After tallying the spoils, Hudson was deeply disappointed.
There was not a single Magic Core or Magic Crystal Stone from his fantasies. Clearly, no one would bring such lofty things, which ordinary people had no use for, onto the battlefield.
The monetary gains were not much either: a little over a hundred gold coins, more than eight hundred Silver Coins, and a pile of copper coins that unfortunately were not worth much.
Fortunately, Hudson did not need to pay compensation or military wages. Otherwise, this little money would probably only have covered burial expenses.
There were two dead horses. Hudson did not know which allies they had belonged to, but the soldiers had already taken them away to add to their meal.
They had gained some weapons and equipment, but the competition had been too fierce, so they had not managed to retrieve much.
"Thirteen sets of armor, thirty-five sabers, twenty-eight battle axes, ninety-six spears, sixteen crossbows, five knight swords..."
Looking at those pitiful figures, Hudson briefly suspected that heaven wanted him to learn from Nurhaci and carry forward the spirit of "raising an army with thirteen sets of armor."
It was only a thought. If someone tried to play the game of "are kings and nobles born to rule?" on the Aslant Continent, the Rebel Army soldiers being burned in the flames were the example.
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