A Small Trouble?

Anyone who has pulled an all-nighter knows that the time between four in the morning and sunrise is the coldest part of the day, as well as the moment when the human body is at its most exhausted and the will at its weakest.

Feeling the temperature drop inside the room, the young commander shifted his chair back slightly. Exhaustion and irritation made this iron-willed warrior loath to even stand up; instead, he reached out from his wrapped blanket and tossed the last piece of firewood into the nearly extinguished hearth. The disturbed fireplace crackled sharply, sending up a few stray sparks.

Suddenly, the sealed door swung open, and the convection of hot and cold air made the young man shiver involuntarily. To enter without knocking? He turned his head, intending to give his impulsive adjutant a stern reprimand and teach that greenhorn who had enlisted in Blackwood Town a lesson about the rules of hierarchy in the army.

Unfortunately, the intruder did not allow the troubled commander the satisfaction of venting his emotions—the young prince pushed the door open with force, his slightly immature voice breaking the silence of the room.

"Lord Maxwell, the adjutant guarding the hallway just told me you haven't rested all night?"

"Your Highness."

Even though he was the highest-ranking commander in the entire camp, he still maintained respect and etiquette when facing this young royal who had made tangible contributions to the Kingdom of Lordaeron with his wisdom, even if the boy was unlikely to become the next King of Lordaeron.

Indeed, after the "drills" following the Harvest Festival concluded and all the Gnoll captives were sent to this battlefield, he—as the supreme commander—had learned from Archbishop Alonsus Faol who had proposed the entire Gnoll plan: the blond boy before him, who was not yet ten years old and whose height barely reached his waist.

Although Maxwell had initially scoffed at this whimsical plan, after the battle had been underway for some time, he had to admit that this method provided excellent protection for the young soldiers stepping onto the battlefield for the first time, while also creating a massive advantage for the war effort.

As for the extra grain consumed? What did such cheap things matter?

In this commander's eyes, if he could bring all these fine lads who fought for the Kingdom of Lordaeron home safe and sound, he would be willing to spend ten times the grain. After all, he was a soldier, not an official who had to worry about the allocation of supplies and the circulation of the kingdom's wealth.

In the eyes of a general, a clever person who could use strategy to help him march toward victory while protecting his men was absolutely worthy of respect, even if he was just a child who hadn't even grown hair on his chin yet. If only he were Prince Arthas, the young man thought, shaking his head inwardly as he looked at the child hailed as a genius.

The boy nodded at the commander, who had stood up to salute, then pulled a chair out from under the long table on his own, braced his hands, and sank into the soft cushion.

"I have already read the letter sent by Master Faol. My father's decision cannot be defied; we must do something."

Looking at the prince who stood on no ceremony, the young commander offered a bitter smile and said in a low voice, "For the sake of survival, every Troll trapped in Zul'Aman is a fearless Champion. If not for the Gnolls standing on the front lines for us, I fear the casualties among the kingdom's soldiers would have already exceeded all our imaginations."

Having said this, he glanced at the boy, who was tilting his small head, then lowered his gaze and continued, "My initial judgment was flawed; the Trolls' resistance and the intensity of the fighting exceeded my expectations. If we continue to increase the commitment of troops, not only will casualties rise significantly, but those Gnolls also give me some cause for concern."

"The reason the Trolls can maintain their current high morale is because they still hold onto hope. If they learned that their clan leader had suffered a defeat at our hands and fled into the forest, what would they do? When that time comes, with no way out, will they muster the courage to fight to the death or submit and surrender to us?"

"You mean?"

Maxwell's expression changed drastically. He looked at the boy with a suspicious gaze, his tone laced with disbelief: "That is too risky; it is nothing short of a massive gamble!"

The boy rested his chin on his hand and looked at Maxwell, who sat at the head of the table. "Give them despair, then give them hope. A person who has fallen to the bottom of a well and is struggling in vain will not hesitate to grab a bucket that might let him float, even if the rope attached to that bucket is held by the enemy who pushed him into the well."

"Our initial goal was not to wipe them out, but to prevent them from launching a sneak attack from behind while the kingdom is at war with the Orcs who destroyed Stormwind City. After this attrition, the number of Gnolls is no longer enough to pose a threat to the kingdom, and the elite combat strength of Zul'Aman has been almost completely exhausted. As long as we keep them in this state, the purpose of this war will have been—"

"If we accept their surrender, who will be able to stop those Trolls from plotting revenge against the kingdom once our soldiers leave this forest? At the speed at which Trolls travel through the forest, it would only take about half a month to reach the activity range of the Amani Trolls."

For the first time, the usually polite young man interrupted the prince. As he shook his head vigorously, he lamented inwardly that the other party was indeed just a naive child who had never truly seen the world.

"Trolls cannot be compared to those scattered mobs of Gnolls. We have harbored a deep, blood-soaked hatred with them for thousands of years; I cannot trust those green-skinned, bloodthirsty monsters."

Alvin was not angry at being interrupted; this was how a normal kingdom general should behave. However, he did not agree with the other's point of view, instead offering a faint smile—a smile like that of an ordinary child planning a prank.

"That is why we need a small plan to separate the Mossflayer Trolls of Zul'Aman from the Amani Trolls of the Ghostlands. And while we're at it, cause a little trouble for those green-skins in Zul'Aman so they aren't so easily distracted."

"How is that possible?"

Seeing the young warrior's stunned expression, the boy's lips curled slightly into a shy smile as he said softly, "I think the High Elves of the Ghostlands might be very happy to do us a small favor, if we could provide them with a Troll guide?"

As he spoke, his hand, tucked into his jacket pocket, already gripped a ring shimmering with a faint emerald light.