How Many Soldiers Does It Take to Conquer a Land?
This is a crucial question that has been pondered by military strategists and rulers alike. The answer is far from simple, as it hinges on many factors, each contributing to the intricate tapestry of warfare.
To begin with, conquering a settlement is no straightforward task. The first and perhaps most formidable obstacle is breaching its defenses. Consider the border castles standing as silent sentinels between the Darkwind and Windwalker families. These fortresses are masterfully constructed, their thick walls and strategic placements rendering them daunting challenges to any would-be invaders. To overcome such fortifications, an army typically has two viable strategies.
The first option is to assemble a large contingent of silver knights—whose combat prowess are natural enemies of ordinary castles. The second approach involves deploying an arsenal of siege weaponry, from catapults capable of hurling massive projectiles to ladders designed for scaling walls under fire. Each method has its merits, but neither is without significant demands. Siege equipment requires time and resources to transport and set up, while silver knights must be judiciously deployed, their strength reserved for decisive moments in battle.
Each tactic demands meticulous planning, substantial resources, and, above all, an acute understanding of the fortifications being targeted. After all, the strength of a castle's walls often determines the difficulty of an invasion.
When the Windwalker family set their sights on their rivals’ territory, they mobilized an army of 70,000 soldiers led by two silver knights. On the surface, this may seem like a considerable force, but in the realm of warfare, numbers alone rarely guarantee victory. Silver knights, though incredibly powerful, are not without limitations. Their greatest strength lies in their internal energy, a resource as potent as finite. To expend this energy on breaching walls or smashing gates would be a grave misstep—one that could leave them vulnerable when facing the enemy’s own silver knights.
This brings us to a critical truth of warfare: the presence—or absence—of silver knights can determine the outcome of an entire campaign. Ordinary soldiers, no matter how numerous or well-trained, are virtually powerless against these warriors. In a clash where one side fields silver knights and the other does not, the result is almost a foregone conclusion: utter devastation for the silver knight-less force.
In fact, the true strength of an army lies not in its size, but in the quality and caliber of its elite fighters. Great knights, and especially silver knights, serve as the backbone of any military campaign. They wield the power to turn the tide of battle, rendering the contributions of ordinary troops secondary by comparison.
Of course, there is one factor that could dramatically alter the balance of power: mages. The presence of even a single mage within an army would elevate its capabilities to an entirely new level, introducing devastating magic that could obliterate fortifications or annihilate opposing forces. However, on Silver Flower Island, mages are little more than a distant memory. No faction commands the services of these mythical spellcasters, rendering their potential influence irrelevant in the current conflict.
The Windwalker's invading army was tasked with securing and maintaining control over the settlements, cities, and castles targeted in the campaign. Capturing a castle is the first step; holding it is the true challenge. An undefended stronghold, left vulnerable in the chaos of war, would undoubtedly be reclaimed by the enemy in short order. The Windwalker family sought not to destroy the castles but to preserve them. Their ambition was territorial expansion, not annihilation. Burning the enemy’s fortifications to the ground would undermine their long-term goals, depriving them of valuable assets essential for governing their newly acquired lands. By maintaining these structures intact, they could establish a foothold, consolidating their gains and solidifying their control over the region.
This campaign was a foregone conclusion, a fact dictated by a single, decisive advantage: the absence of silver knights among the enemy’s forces.
With two silver knights at the helm of their army, the Windwalker family held an insurmountable edge. The defending castles and settlements, though fortified and well-guarded by ordinary soldiers, lacked the one thing that could pose a genuine challenge—silver knights of their own. The power disparity was simply too great. Even a single silver knight is capable of shattering the defenses of an ordinary castle with relative ease, rendering its garrisons powerless to resist. When two such warriors lead an invasion, the outcome is practically carved in stone.
The disparity between ranks in this world cannot be overstated. Lower-level soldiers, while essential for holding territories and enforcing control over conquered populations, are not the true foundation of a nation’s strength. Their role is supportive at best, a mere backdrop to the actions of the elite. The true backbone of a nation’s power lies in its high-ranking knights, particularly those of legendary caliber.
This truth is why the Bloodstone family has remained the dominant ruling power of the land for generations. Their supremacy is not built on the size of their armies or the abundance of great knights in their ranks. Instead, it hinges on their possession of a legendary knight—a warrior of unparalleled might. In this world, legendary knights are nothing short of demigods on the battlefield. They can obliterate entire armies single-handedly, rendering conventional forces irrelevant in their presence.
Indeed, the emergence of a legendary knight from any family, no matter how humble, would instantly elevate their status to rival that of the king. Such a figure represents an existential threat to the current balance of power, a walking cataclysm capable of rewriting the political and military landscape with their mere existence. It is this unique strength that ensures the Bloodstone family’s unassailable position atop the hierarchy of power.
As for the Windwalker family, their decision to send only 70,000 troops and two silver knights made it clear that they were not fully committed to conquering the Darkwind family outright. Had they been serious about such an undertaking, they would have realized that two silver knights alone would not suffice against the entrenched defenses of the Darkwind family’s internal territories. A larger force of elite warriors and many more silver knights, supported by extensive resources and strategic planning, would have been required for a campaign of actual conquest.
Instead, this invasion was more a performance than a genuine military effort. It was a calculated display of power, a symbolic response to an affront that could not go unanswered. The Darkwind family had dared to target Edric, the most promising member of the Windwalkers, an act of provocation that demanded retribution.
...
As the battle drums echoed across the land, Valdrin, the heir and strategist of the Darkwind family, sat in his chamber with a letter in hand. He opened it with deliberate care, his eyes scanning the elegant script. It took only the first two lines for his lips to curl into a triumphant smile.
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“It seems my plan has worked,” he mused, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. Though his expression was calm, his mind was alight with calculation and triumph.
The letter confirmed what Valdrin had anticipated. The Windwalker family had mobilized their forces in response to his provocation. His gambit had succeeded. While it was true that Edric, the prized talent of the Windwalkers, had survived the attack, Valdrin was not overly troubled. Eliminating Edric would have been a desirable outcome, of course—one less threat to contend with in the future. But Edric’s survival did little to diminish the success of the larger plan.
Provoking the Windwalkers into action had always been Valdrin’s primary goal. Their retaliation, predictable and rushed, now played directly into his hands.
Though formidable on the surface, the Windwalkers' invasion was little more than a prelude to the larger conflict Valdrin envisioned. The future of the Darkwind family—and Valdrin’s rise to power—depended on his ability to navigate this dangerous game of strategy. For him, the war was not fought with swords and soldiers alone. Victory lay in outwitting his enemies, one calculated move at a time.
His father’s condition worsened with each passing day, a steady decline that left little room for hope. The once-vigorous leader of the Darkwind family now spent his days in a haze, his body ravaged by illness and his mind dulled by potent drugs. The mage they had so desperately sought—the one who had promised healing and demanded exorbitant payment—had yet to arrive. Months had passed, and their pleas for aid had gone unanswered, the mage’s excuses growing thinner with every delay.
In the absence of the mage’s intervention, the family’s doctors were helpless. Their treatments did little more than prolong his father’s suffering, masking the pain with ever-increasing doses of narcotics. These drugs left him in a stupor, unable to think clearly or govern as the head of the family. The vibrant, commanding presence that had once defined the patriarch of the Darkwind family was now reduced to a shadow of itself, and the burdens of leadership had shifted to new shoulders.
Effectively, the reins of power now rested with Valdrin. As the eldest son and natural heir to the family’s authority, he found himself thrust into the role of de facto leader. Yet this position was anything but secure. His father’s name and title still carried the weight of legitimacy, and Valdrin’s own claim to power remained tenuous.
But now, the tides of fortune could shift, all thanks to the Windwalker family's intervention.
As the eldest and most senior son of the family head, Valdrin now had the perfect justification to declare a general mobilization. Defending against an external threat gave him the authority to sideline his political rivals, rally the family’s forces, and unify the nobles under a single banner. No one could oppose him without appearing disloyal to the family’s cause.
Wasting no time, he returned to his private quarters. The room was sparsely furnished, its walls lined with books and maps detailing the family’s territories and neighboring regions. At a small desk, he grabbed a pen and parchment.
The letter he began to write was brief but meticulously crafted. Every word was chosen with care, its tone authoritative and urgent. The message, addressed to the leaders of the rebel faction, called for immediate action under the pretext of defending the family’s honor and survival.
Once finished, Valdrin folded the parchment and carried it to his father’s chambers.
The sight that greeted him was painfully familiar. His father lay on the grand bed, surrounded by the trappings of power that no longer held any meaning for him. Ornate curtains hung limply around the bedposts, and the room was filled with the faint scent of medicinal herbs. The man who had once commanded armies and governed vast lands was now a pale, frail figure, his eyes closed in restless sleep.
Valdrin stood silently for a moment, observing the man who had shaped so much of his life. Despite their differences, despite the lingering resentment Valdrin felt for the way his father had ruled, he couldn’t deny a pang of sorrow. This wasn’t how a leader’s story was supposed to end.
But sentiment had no place in his plans. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and reached for the ring on his father’s hand. The signet bore the official crest of the Darkwind family, a symbol of power and legitimacy that few could question. Carefully, he pressed the ring into the wax, sealing the letter with the mark that would ensure its authority.
Satisfied, Valdrin summoned a trusted messenger. “Take this to the headquarters of the rebel faction,” he ordered, his voice firm. “See that it reaches them without delay.”
The messenger nodded and departed swiftly, leaving Valdrin alone in the dimly lit chamber. He turned back to his father, who remained oblivious to the world around him.
“This is what it takes,” Valdrin murmured under his breath, his tone a mixture of resignation and resolve.
As he left the room, his thoughts were already moving ahead, calculating his next steps in the dangerous game of power and survival. The die had been cast, and Valdrin would stop at nothing to ensure it fell in his favor.
The rebel group had already taken bold strides in their defiance, going so far as to declare their own capital. They had audaciously named it the "legitimate capital," a title that was both a challenge to the existing order and a declaration of their intent. Yet for all their posturing and territorial claims, they had refrained from making the ultimate move: an assault on the real capital city, the city his father and he were living in.
The reason for their restraint was clear. As long as Valdrin’s father, the rightful leader of the Darkwind family, still drew breath, their claims of legitimacy were tenuous at best. His father’s continued existence served as a symbolic anchor for the family’s authority, a living testament to the established order that the rebels could not easily overturn.
But Valdrin was under no illusions. He knew the fragile peace could shatter at any moment. The truth was stark and inescapable: the moment his father succumbed to his illness, the rebels would act. They would waste no time launching an assault on the city, aiming to capture it and, with it, solidify their claim to legitimacy. If they succeeded, their position would be unassailable—and Valdrin’s would crumble into irrelevance.
In this precarious dance of power, legitimacy was not just a word but the keystone of the entire struggle. Without recognition from the Bloodstone Kingdom, the rebels remained vulnerable. The Kingdom could brand them as traitors and dispatch an army to crush their uprising. This looming threat was the only thing preventing the rebels from taking more drastic measures, such as assassinating Valdrin’s father outright.
However, the game would change the moment his father died. In the absence of a living family head, the Darkwind family would officially be considered leaderless. This would trigger a requirement for the king’s approval to appoint a new leader. Ordinarily, this was a mere formality, a ceremonial acknowledgment of succession. However, in contested situations such as this, the king’s involvement became a political tool.
Valdrin understood the implications all too well. The king would delay granting approval and wait for the conflict to resolve itself, withholding the succession letter until the dust settled. Whichever faction emerged victorious would ultimately receive the king’s endorsement—and, with it, control of the family.
This delicate equilibrium meant that as long as his father remained alive, Valdrin had a measure of security. The rebels, constrained by the need to maintain a facade of legitimacy, could not afford to openly depose or assassinate the family head. This bought Valdrin precious time, a commodity he could not afford to waste.
If his father passed away before the rebellion was crushed, Valdrin’s position would become perilous. The family would fall into open conflict, and the king’s approval would hinge on the outcome of the ensuing battle. In such a scenario, the rebels’ momentum and growing support could tip the scales against him.
For him, this grim reality shaped every decision he made. The clock was ticking. If he could eliminate the rebel faction before his father’s death, he could secure his position as the undisputed leader of the Darkwind family. With his legitimacy affirmed, the king’s approval would be a mere formality, and the family’s stability could be restored.
But achieving this goal was no simple matter. The rebels had entrenched themselves deeply, gathering support from disaffected nobles and capitalizing on the uncertainty that plagued the family’s leadership. Their bold declaration of a "legitimate capital" had drawn attention and sympathy from opportunists who sought to align themselves with the rising faction.
“This is a race against time,” Valdrin murmured, his voice low and resolute. “Every day that my father lives is a day to prepare, to strengthen my position, to strike at the rebels before they can strike at me.”