Just after Viscount Webster finished explaining the distribution of the enemy strongholds and the risks they posed.
A brief silence fell over the command tent as everyone waited for a proposal on their next deployment.
Viscount Webster spoke in a serious, somber tone:
"Based on our current intelligence, the terrain around the Icefang Mine is relatively level. We could consider taking that stronghold first, then using it as a base to advance and defeat the others one by one. That would be the safest approach."
Several nobles of the old guard nodded, clearly approving of this steady, methodical plan.
But before he could elaborate, a hoarse, slightly drunken voice suddenly interrupted him. "What are you dragging your feet for, old man?"
Everyone turned toward the seat of honor.
Count Firth had one hand braced against the back of his chair, barely managing to hold himself upright, though his face still plainly showed how drunk he was.
He pointed at the three red dots on the sand table. "If we're going to attack, hit them all at once! These three rat nests... why not clear them out together? We've assembled five thousand men. What the hell have we got to fear?"
The nobles exchanged glances, at a loss for words. Silence fell.
The military adviser behind Firth coughed and quietly added, "What Lord Firth means is that we could send three forces to clear out the three locations separately. If all goes well, we could end the campaign ahead of schedule."
But he was clearly just trying to dress up Firth's drunken rambling into something respectable.
Viscount Webster frowned. "Easy for you to say. Our troops are already limited. Splitting them up would mean cutting off our own reinforcements. The Snow Oath frequently lays ambushes, and every one of those locations