"Marshal, the reinforcements have arrived. When are we going to fight the enemy in a decisive battle?"
Count Oran asked uneasily.
Coming over to ask at a time like this clearly carried the suspicion of forcing the commander's hand. If possible, he would not have wanted to do this either.
But one could not always act as one pleased within noble circles.
As one of the Northern Aristocrats, if he wanted to remain part of this circle, he had to stand with everyone else.
Intimidated by Hudson's influence, the newly risen nobles did not dare act rashly, so Count Oran, who had a special relationship with him, was pushed to the forefront.
Count Oran had no choice. He had to be the one to stick his neck out. If someone else came and the talks broke down, they might accidentally die on the battlefield someday.
Members of the Coslo Family could also have served as "representatives," but those minor nobles held far too little status. Their words carried no weight at all, making Count Oran the only suitable candidate.
"Count, are you all really this impatient?"
Hudson said irritably.
The reinforcements had only just arrived, and they had already come urging him to send troops into a decisive battle with the enemy. Who exactly was the commander here?
Since ancient times, those who challenged a commander's authority had never come to a good end.
After years of campaigning north and south, Hudson had long grown accustomed to life and death. If the Northern Aristocrats behaved themselves, that would be one thing. But if they tried any tricks, he would not be merciful.
"Marshal, it is not that everyone lacks patience. We truly cannot hold on any longer!
"We were forced to abandon most of our property during the hasty evacuation.