"Storm the fortress with all you've got!" Clyden orders the men head-on.

Too late, as of now... That fool! We achieve nothing but failure, squandering soldiers in the frontline with no gains but only pain. I thought he was better than this! He graduated from University of Inglovian Occidental - Military Academy. To my dismay, of course, I am greatly furious because of his erratic judgment to plunge several men into the battle… and with no chance of success. Oh, Clyden… Clyden,... Clyden,... what were you doing? Such an utter waste of men that can hardly be replaced. I was too late to stop since he left recently where he also took charge of the command when I was nowhere to be seen.

"Milord, where have you been?" asks by one of the guards in my war camp, where she opens the drapes towards the entry.

"Have you got the news, Lord Aisla?" as the other man follows, confirming.

"Yes, I am fully aware. When did Clyden start this plan?" I answer the inquiry of the gal while I ask a question to them of my own, palms on my forehead, in a pensive slouched position.

They stop as they haven't found any confirmations about the unplanned assault of my dumb second-in-command officer. I verify their faces - the man and the lady look at each other, communicating among themselves. They shake their heads. So, this means 'insubordination'. I know he will fail since I have seen Durgat not long ago, doing retention testing on his blade. That's a huge indication. An apparent sight that Clyden failed to recruit Durgat for launching an attack on the stronghold. Our 'secret weapon' is not interested in the biddings of my lieutenant. Why would he be? And I am familiar with the two of them being in dispute with each other. Clyden breathed his disdain during the strategic meeting towards Durgat the prior convention and the big orc champion was not vocal about it but I know Durgat hates him too. Just my intuition.

I instruct the woman at the entrance, uttering: "Go find, Międzyboży! The guy who is from another camp." with a stiff shout.

"Who is that, sire. I fail to comprehend your biddings, sire." she honestly answers right back.

"The man is short, fairly muscular. And he is definitely at the same height as yours, young lady. He has an unkempt hair, partially dyed-blonde on his left temple and on its tips. Clean-shaved. Brown eyes. That's all of the descriptions I have to give you, gal. Copy?" as I describe the definition of the individual that I am looking for, where she leaves after she has the whole details.

"I should have said 'Capiche' in lieu of 'Copy' to look myself cool just this once." I breath under my throat when stating those words.

"You…" calling the man,... "... what is your name, gentleman?" I ask the soldier, in a respectful fashion.

"Sire? My name is Mikhail, sir. 'Misha' for short." he responds, bowing his head after he answers my question.

He then approaches me on my table, where he writes an alien script to me which I encounter once. With a stylus on his hand, he writes on a parchment - (Mиxaил) or the other way around (Mиxaиʌ).

"That's 'Mikhail', right?" jabbing my finger, as I am trying to reconfirm, I question.

"Yes, milord," he nods his head "This is my name, indeed." then he gives me a gleeful smile. "... or you can call me, 'Michael', in your tongue, milord."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Mikhail… Now, call the big guy." I call him in a calm mood.

"Who is this guy that you're referring to, Lord Aisla?" he tells me, asking for the details.

"You'll see about soon enough." I tell, as I behest him to bring the stated individual on the double.

Meanwhile, about half an hour. Both of the soldiers report to me in the open when I am doing my regular inspection of the mustering. Of course, I cross out Clyden and the rest that he enlisted for his assault effort. An estimation of five hundred and fifty men. They salute at me in a sharp and snappy look, which they also bring to me the instructed individuals - Durgat and Międzyboży. Good job to Michael for presenting me this huge orc champion in flesh. Well, this lady… I don't know if it fits the category that I was referring to as what I see is a well-groomed half-naked stooge. There's a partial blonde on his left side. Brown eyes.

"You called, milord?" the man speaks, as I notice the accent and the intonation of the voice.

"Are you perhaps, Międzyboży?" I ask for reconfirmation.

"Aye sir!" in a jovial tune, he answers.

"Oh," showing my face, in a surprised look "It's my first time seeing you like this - neat and organized," as I drop with regards to my sardonic remarks "Because I thought I was identifying you with somebody else."

He then chuckles at my statement and comfortably answers: "No chance, milord. I am the only one who sports this kind of hair. And actually, what is your instruction upon calling me here, Lord Aisla?" as it gets back into a serious tone.

I convince the Verlassenes, including their leader… Maison, to fill up the ranks in the frontline which they approve of. Durgat will serve as the siege weapon since the initial wave which has been administered by Clyden has begun. Thus, the rest will support the onslaught as the second wave of the attack. To support this doofus plan, I think we should concretely ask each leader or representative of their respective camps to voice out their opinions. Durgat doesn't refrain from making the call since he is vital to this operation. The big guy insinuates that the vanguard will cause some distraction whilst the preparation of his launching over the walls is complete. Maison objects to the degree of stress gravitating upon her and her troops; she counters that they will not head-on dash towards the focal point of the entry. Albeit, rather; the Verlassenes will spread on their advances during the marching phase. Both grievances have been resolved, concluding that it will all come down to the trebuchet operators on how fast they can dispatch Durgat over the skies during the Verlassenes marching to the castle. Durgat and Maison share a handshake to seal the agreement.

"Milord, I have a proposition…" says the man, whose units, probably the leader of Międzyboży.

"I'm all ears. What do you have?" I say, respond with a definition, eyes forward to the man.

"Since, we are loosely governed - -..." he stops.

"... I appoint myself to hold a special mission to this siege on our own." he then finishes.

"And what is this 'special mission' that you're referring to?" it intrigues me to a degree that I might find it fascinating and would later integrate it into the plan, if possible.

He beckons me to head into my personal war camp to discuss the preparation. And then, two hours from now on, we employ the strategy of the leader whom the man suggested the plan to. Regardless of any inadvertencies and hiccups, the independent attack of the mercenaries will commence. As Durgat flies in the sky and, concurrently; Maison, together with her elite units, dashes towards the walls to bolster 'the failing assault' of my incompetent second-in-command - Clyden.

As easy as that, during the merged vanguard of Verlassene and Clyden's recruited troops (levies, his personal cohorts, and some of the mercenary units) have served their role. Consolidating their position while in preparation of Durgat's launching. The remaining mercenary units have designated their resources to form a 'four-storey turtle formation'. Fortunately, the defenders have focused their line of sight towards our vanguard as they served as an obstruction. It takes a huge risk to deploy two independent tactics (thirty-three percent allocated towards the siege spearheaded by Maison and Clyden, another thirty-three percent dedicated for readying the secret plan to hurl Durgat over the walls of the enemy fortress and finally, a thirty-three percent dispatched to aggregate a well-composed formation by the mercenaries) instead of concentrating our attack in one-go. In the end, we successfully capitulate the core within without suffering too many casualties on either side during the second wave of the attack. The leader of the rebels had surrendered when Durgat had breached inside, hoisting the flag and waving. In conclusion, they are persistent but when someone has penetrated inside… they fold.