After he finished speaking, only the acrid smell of burning tobacco and the bloody odor seeping from the wounded men's bandages lingered in the meeting room. For a moment, no one responded.
It was not because the proposal was particularly brilliant, but because it showed such a lack of common sense.
The commanders exchanged looks, carefully weighing their words as they tried to point out the flaws without offending the young Count's dignity. After all, he was the benefactor who had just saved the fortress's defensive line.
"My lord, your idea is... very imaginative."
A Griffin Knight broke the silence. He wore a patch over his left eye, and his remaining right eye rested on Veylin.
"But forgive an old man's bluntness. I fear it would be difficult to put into practice." The old Knight's tone was exceptionally gentle and patient. "Aerial combat is different from ground combat. The Knight and his mount act as one. Our reins are in front of us, our eyes face forward, we sense the airflow through our spines, and we convey commands through our legs. If we face away from the direction of flight, we effectively sever the connection between Knight and mount. Who would tell the mount where to fly then? Who would avoid the obstacles ahead?"
Several Royalist Faction officers nearby nodded in agreement.
"There is also the matter of psychological instinct." The old Knight sighed. "My lord, imagine diving at several hundred kilometers an hour with your back to the direction you are traveling. That intense sensation of weightlessness, that terror of not knowing whether you will collide with something in the next instant-it would break a Knight. It is not that our soldiers lack courage. Such 'blind flying' goes against the survival instinct and simply asks too much of human