After a month of preparations, Lynn, Louis, and those people from the Central Lands faced each other across the strait.
It was winter now, and the cold wind sweeping over the sea carried a bone-piercing, damp chill.
The entire western region of the Central Lands was preparing for war.
Using magic, Lynn gazed toward the faintly visible, blurred and sprawling coastline of the Central Lands. The coastal stretches once dotted with Fishing Villages and docks had now been deliberately cleared, leaving nothing but lifeless black scorch marks and blank emptiness.
According to intelligence, the Central Lands Allied Army, the Holy Papal State, and noble forces great and small from various nations—whether coerced or willing—had assembled a massive force said to number six hundred thousand along that long coastline.
"Grand Commander, how should we fight this?" Naval Commander Marcus looked out over the strait. "They seem to have a lot of men. We're on an expedition; we didn't bring that many troops."
Lynn's voice was slow and calm, yet it carried an invisible power that soothed hearts. "But they are spread out—spread very thin. Six hundred thousand men must defend a coastline long enough to give any general a headache. Their forces are bound to be diluted, their defensive line is bound to have strong and weak points, and command coordination is bound to be fraught with difficulties."
"Not to mention, their morale is already in disarray."
"The Saintess's miracles of our Northern Church, the soldiers of the Northern Alliance—they have been trumpeted by them as holy knights."
"With different motives beneath the so-called shared defensive line, there are countless undercurrents and internal strife."
"The navy has already sealed off the strait. Our fleet is like a floating mountain range of steel, poised to strike."
"It's just that Mikhail always thinks