"Varus, give me back my legion!"
"I've fought for decades and led troops in person, and I've never lost a battle. How could you fail to break through?"
Lothair returned to his headquarters. When he learned that the five thousand men who had crossed the river were surrounded, he flew into a rage and started shouting.
Varus felt wronged, too. He described what had happened on the battlefield and how the enemy had deployed.
Ambushes, hidden troops, luring the enemy in deep, circling around to attack from behind, forming a Pocket Formation, Super-Rank Magic, bombardment, building a dam upstream, and using a flood in place of soldiers.
Everything had been planned down to the last detail. The Northern Border Army had every advantage.
Not to mention their monstrous production capacity and all those weapons made of mithril.
Even Varus himself had barely made it back alive.
When the troops had tried to cross the river and return, enemy artillery had them pinned down. Only a small number could make it across; the rest had no choice but to fight the enemy.
Otherwise, no one would have escaped.
It was fortunate they had extraordinary powers. If the surrounded troops had been even a little weaker, the flood would have become an impassable chasm.
After hearing the details, Lothair was unwilling to accept the loss, but he had no choice but to grit his teeth and swallow it. At the same time, he considered replenishing his troops.
But he was also wary of the small duchy near Holy Shield Mountain. Would his uncle, the Ansu Duchy, stab him in the back?
It wasn't impossible.
Lothair wondered how many men he should pull away. He had an army of two hundred thousand. Would taking a hundred thousand away work?
But could a hundred