Fortunately, the temporary commander-in-chief of these troops is Arthur King's father, Walter King. This man once served as a low-ranking soldier under the same military governor as Thomas Brooks, the chief of Wagang Stronghold, and has always remembered their old ties. That’s why Wagang Stronghold wasn’t simply swallowed up by others and can still barely maintain its own camp.

However, the authority of the various leaders has inevitably been greatly diminished. On this matter, commander-in-chief Walter King is powerless to help. As the main general of the army, he cannot show obvious favoritism in his actions; otherwise, it would inevitably weaken the cohesion of the troops. Besides, this force is a temporary patchwork of several outlaw bands, and there wasn’t much cohesion to begin with.

“Can an army this chaotic even fight?” After all, the second-in-command Brian Scott had recently forced a lot of knowledge into his head, so Eric Scott's insight had improved considerably. Seeing everyone as scattered as loose sand, he became even more doubtful about the outcome of this expedition.

But no one had time to answer his questions. The chief Thomas Brooks was busy all day advising commander-in-chief Walter King and rarely returned to the Wagang camp. As Thomas Brooks’s right-hand man, the second-in-command Brian Scott had been recommended to manage the army’s supplies and logistics, and was so busy every day that his feet barely touched the ground, leaving him no time to guide Eric Scott. From the third-in-command Richard Foster on down, the other stronghold leaders still saw the chubby kid as just a half-grown child; as long as he could manage himself and not cause trouble for others, that was enough. He had no right to meddle in the upcoming battle.

The only one who still had time to say a few words to Eric Scott was Arthur King. Also a half-grown child, he was brought along this time just for experience. So, when it came to “military and national affairs,” he didn’t have much right to speak either. But compared to the chubby kid, he was at least better informed. So, what he said, at first glance, sounded rather insightful.

“Stop worrying so much!” Seeing his playmate frowning all day, he felt obliged to offer some comfort. “We’re not the only ones here to make trouble for Zhao Yanshou. General Yang, General Yan, General Xiang, and General Nie, as well as Prince Han’s own brother, General Murong, are all gathering troops in the counties around Bianliang by order. Zhao Yanshou only has a little over twenty thousand troops under his command, and now they’re split into so many groups—none of them will be very strong!”

“But Zhao Yanshou isn’t stupid. Why should he split his forces just because you want him to?” Eric Scott squatted beside a large rock, sharpening his hand axe with a “clang, clang” sound.

This was a bad habit he’d picked up since waking from his coma. Whenever he got nervous, he wanted to polish his axe. Only by doing this could he gradually calm himself. The more nervous he was, the harder he sharpened, and the worse the sound became. Many of the stronghold leaders couldn’t stand it and would avoid him whenever he started sharpening his axe.

The grating sound of the axe made Arthur King wince, but he patiently explained, “You’re right, Zhao Yanshou isn’t stupid—he definitely knows that splitting his forces will weaken his combat strength. The problem is, he’s someone else’s dog now, and the leash is in his master’s hand. Yelü Deguang ordered him to eliminate the bandits everywhere as soon as possible, but after more than two months of campaigning, he’s barely wiped out any bandits, and now there’s smoke rising from places even a hundred miles from Bianliang. If he keeps dragging his feet and playing around with us, do you think Yelü Deguang won’t chop off his head?” (Note 1)

That’s the price of being a lackey for foreigners: you’ll never be trusted, and in everything you do, you have to consider your master’s attitude. One careless move, and you’ll lose your head. No matter how miserable your end, you won’t get a shred of sympathy.

But a dog will always bite, especially when it’s cornered. Although Eric Scott agreed with most of Arthur King’s analysis, he still didn’t have much faith in their own side’s prospects. He picked up his first axe from the rock, ran his finger along the bright, sharp blade, and continued in a low voice, “Even if we’re not outnumbered, it still won’t be easy to win! With so many strongholds gathered together, they fight over food and water even in peacetime. Even your grandpa can’t keep them in line. If we really go to battle, who can guarantee everyone will work together?!”

“Why do you always boost the enemy’s morale?” Arthur King blushed at the question and retorted, “Don’t you want to drive out the Khitan dogs as soon as possible? Don’t you want to save the people from suffering?”

His answer was another round of harsh “clang, clang” as Eric Scott lowered his head and started sharpening his second axe. This was his last line of defense, and he couldn’t afford to be careless. Second-in-command Uncle Scott had been forcing him to work hard at reading and writing lately, but hadn’t forgotten to make him practice martial arts, either. He’d drilled into him the principle that you can’t always rely on others. In troubled times, the most reliable thing is the weapon in your hand—as long as you don’t put it down, there’s hope to keep living.

Sometimes, the more silent the response, the greater the pressure on the other person. Soon, Arthur King gave in, gritted his teeth, and volunteered, “Ugh, stop sharpening, it’s driving me crazy. I’ll tell you, but you mustn’t tell anyone else—not even Second Master Scott! My grandpa definitely has something up his sleeve. But I don’t know exactly what it is. Don’t ask, and don’t worry—anyway, we’re definitely going to win!”