Chapter 463 The Western Fron (2/2)
He'd been on the active front for over six years now, only ever returning twice; once for Aaria's birthday, and once for Vyrove's wedding. Though he missed the city life, he didn't mind his current one either. Even if it was dark and somber, more often than not filled with rather depressing outcomes, he was the Commander with the least experience of everyone else, which he somehow had to make up for. Lino had put trust into him, and he couldn't afford to betray it.
Most of the battles thus far were rather run of the mill, hardly any savant-like tactics being employed, mostly direct skirmishes. There was no need to think too much, as these battles were effectively grinders; those with potential unlocked it, and those without it perished. However inhumane it may sound, it was the best and safest way to build up a respectable army. Hopeful youths come to the front often, dreaming of making it big, having their names ascend through the crowd, only to die a few days into the battle. A story told often, really.
His own Legion had started weak, built up entirely out of new recruits, most of whom had never participated in a life-or-death battle. Now, six years later, only ninety-eight remained of the original ten thousand. All were hardened veterans by now, guiding their own squads, making up a Legion of over two hundred thousand souls altogether. Though it may sound like a lot, it hardly was; this was just one front, with at least six-seven simultaneous ones being open at any given time.
He was startled lightly, sensing the vibrations from his void treasure; quickly taking out a talisman from it, he frowned as he burned it. The other end quickly morphed into a depiction of a familiar face – Hannah. Most of the orders were usually relayed through the middle-men; there was simply no reason to contact Ion directly, and most social calls were done through other types of talismans… not through the military's official ones.
”—Lady Hannah? Is everything alright?” Ion asked, his frown deepening.
”Are you alone?” Hannah asked cautiously.
”… I am.” Ion replied after a short inspection, as well as putting of a barrier around him. ”What's wrong?”
”—have you investigated the matter of the deserters?” she asked him.
”Yes,” Ion replied. ”We've only had two cases in the past four years. Both simply terrified lads who couldn't hack it.”
”—what's so different about your Legion than the rest?” Hannah asked.
”… well, the biggest one's probably that all of my men and women are 'locals' so to say,” Ion replied. ”Meaning there are no Cultivators from other Holy Grounds or other powers we've absorbed. Mostly mortals and roaming Cultivators. Should I return and help with the investigation?”
”… no, it's fine,” Hannah shook her head. ”We can handle that on our end. How did the battle go today?”
”We won.”
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”Casualties?”
”Four hundred and eighty-two, and counting.” Ion replied.
”Record them carefully.” Hannah reminded.
”I always do.”
”—also, if you can spare some manpower, start keeping records of all items, whether ordinary or especially rewarded and try to track where they go.”
”… there shouldn't be any major skirmishes for a few weeks at least,” Ion said after a short thought. ”I'll get right on it. Is Master there?”
”—no, he's out somewhere, with Aaria.”
”Could you ask him to contact me when he gets a chance? I've some questions for him.”
”Of course,” Hannah said, smiling lightly. ”Don't overexert yourself, alright?”
”… yeah.” Ion nodded somewhat meekly.
”Alright. I'll see you soon. Bye!”
”Goodbye, Lady Hannah.”
The screen went dark and vanished completely shortly after as Ion slumped back into the chair once more. Frowning once again, he recalled the day he was given the strange task of trying to figure out whether there was a major surge of deserters within his Legion. Though he already knew the answer as he made it a point to at the very least memorize faces of every newcomer if not their names, he still went through all the records carefully in case he missed something – but there was nothing to be found there.
From the sound of it, now, however, it didn't appear as though it was only just deserters; there was something more at play, something that was still slipping through their fingers.
In the end, he merely shook his head; it was not made for these sorts of inspections, he believed. Many smarter and better-suited minds were currently trying to decipher it all, and his contribution, if there would be any, would at most be minimal. His call was to fight and to win. These menial battles, he knew, would soon be replaced by actual ones – where he, and most others, would miss the days of having 'only' four hundred casualties. Until then, he wouldn't lose. Western Front, though largely irrelevant, was important personally for Ion – it was the birthplace of Lino, and the beginning point of it all. He would liberate it, and return it to the reason he was here today. Still fighting.