Laurence Dayton L'Eyre Montserrat was not his younger brother. Unlike his father who had somehow bought Philip's speech about going to the Katze Plains, Laurence knew his brother better than that. This was clearly going to be some sort of ill-conceived plan to defeat multiple Knights of the Empire using his tiny amount of magic, in order to gain wealth and fame. There could be no other explanation why his brother, one of the laziest people he knew, would EVER volunteer for anything. Their father had taken into account Philip's recent work healing the villagers and had often proudly vocalized that he was sure Philip had become a new person. This would be laudable if it were the work of a teenager, but the work of a 32 year old "becoming a new person"? Ridiculious. Laurence had just about had it. Philip had said little but talked much on their way here. Something he only did when he was nervous. Annoying as it was, Laurence had to bear with it because despite it all he did love Philip as a brother and he had to admit that the healing of the villagers was a good look.

Those were the thoughts going through his mind when as he sat at a table in a fancy looking tent west of the battlefield. The Count had just finished presenting their tactic. The same tactic that was used every year. Sit and wait for the approach of the legions,
hold the line against the initial charge, push forward using a phlanx. As good a strategy as any and the only one they could possibly use at the moment as the Noble and Royal factions were always fighting over the possibility of creating a professional army. In the Empire the legions had been the key that enabled the Bloody Emperor to overthrow and destroy the feudal order and become a dictator. Yet, if the Kingdom did not then there was simply no way they could ever advance as a military power beyond simple weight of numbers. Laurence could hear Philip moving around behind him, fidgeting in his standard issue mass produced armor.

"So, are there any questions or concerns?" the Count asked looking around the room for any possible improvements on the strategy. Under normal circumstances in previous years, and undoubtedly in every other tent discussing the matter, there would be no one to speak up at all. Yet through some small twist of fate, at that percise moment Laurence heard an almost inaudible snap as Philip broke one of the straps on his armor. Followed by a vocal word. "Shit."

Everyone in the room turned to them. *By the four gods I'm going to kill him myself... what a fucking embaressment he is...* he thought to himself as his face reddened at his brothers mistake. "Shit?" clarified the baffled count. A pregnant pause echoed through the tent.
Just as Laurence was about to speak, someone else in the room spoke up. "Ah, you mean like goblins?" asked another neighboring noble. The Count turned to that man. "Please explain." he requested in the flattest of tones, as if to say "This should be good." "My Lord, I heard that goblins will sometimes coat their arrows in shit before attacking a human settlement. If an arrow coated in it hits someone, they are sure to fall ill and perhaps die, no?" he declared. Voices of agreement echoed through the tent. If the Empire's Knights were even scratched by such a thing then surely they would die at a later date, and so the Kingdom would inflict a MUCH larger amount of damage as either they would have to expend mana and money to heal the soldiers, or they would simply perish from the scratch.
Either way, such a plan would surely reduce the 5-1 ratio of conscripts to knights that were needed to win a battle in the Kingdom's favor, at least in terms of a war of attrition like the annual wars with the Empire. It was a genuis kind of plan. If only it hadn't come from a complete and utter idiot who just lucked out then maybe Laurence could respect it. "Ah! That is quite the impressive concept. Is that what you meant to suggest?" the Count turned to ask the panicing Philip. "Y-yes, it is as you say my lord." He said with absolutely no confidence in the lie. "As expected of the Montserrat family!" called out one of the nobles to the right. "We should tell the rest of the army!" called out one of the nobles to the left. Inside, Laurence was screaming a anger that could rival a man who had just discovered his wife's cheating. *IT'S NOT FAIR.* he cried out in the loudest possible voice his mind could muster. Silently as it was, his face was still contorted to an odd fashion. "I shall discuss this with the rest of the commanders. Please proceed to your tents, tomorrow we march to war for the Kingdom!"

xxxxx

Anger swelled in Philips heart as he looked over the fog covered wasteland that was the Katze Plains. The ruined towers that jutted out of the sands a reminder that once upon a time this place was more or less civilized. And those days had passed long ago. Yes, the fact that the plan for poison spears wasn't his, but why did he have to get cursed and hit by his brother because of what he did? It worked out in the end. His brother kept calling him and embarassment and a fat waste of space. Such words had been thought long before now but it seemed like this was the moment that his brothers jealous nature and envy for Philip's majestic power had shone through. He was at the front lines, waiting for the Knights to charge. The advisory that the battle would commence had just been given.
The Imperial army had started to move around as they prepared to charge with their cavalry. The breathing and fidgeting of the soldiers was apparent as they knew what was coming. Philip looked to the top of their spears, once shining, had now been slightly discolored thanks to his "advice".
Surely he could have thought of such a move if he wanted to, but Philip was here to claim a throne, not a victory for the Kingdom. He was not atop a horse, much to his chargin, but rather he was simply standing with his own rancid spear. Knowing full well he wouldn't need to actually use it. The only thing that set him apart from the conscripts to the right of him was the white cloak cape he wore, just to set him apart as a magic caster. He looked up at his brother. Still giving a steely gaze to the Legions, and still ever so majestic looking in the families set of plate armor. Philip had nothing but envy in his heart. Plate armor like that belongs on him, HE is the most important member of the Monterrat family.

The Empire began to charge. Most people wouldn't know it, but when horses charge, they tend to create a small earthquake like event. The shockwave from so much force hitting the ground at once, tends to disrupt the spear line and knock over plenty of soldiers before they even arrive to cut down the enemy. The grounds tremors grew more and more, as the Empire drew closer. From a distance, it was like they were tiny insects but the ominious tremors served as a very clear message in the mind of the soldiers that they should run. Yet they could not, and so they didn't, even as the Imperial forces slammed directly into the spear line. Philip couldn't see it of course. He could only hear a quite a lot of unpleasent noise and cries as the battle began.
The moment he felt he could fall over, he turned to his brother and started the incantation. "[Overmagic - Inflict Lesser Wound]" he said quietly as he felt the mana leave his body. For a moment there the only thing Philip did was watch his brothers back and face, before the man slowly but surely fell over at Philip's feet. "Lord! Lord!" called out some of the retainers around him. as a few of the more "valued" conscripts who were friends of the family or friends of Laurence moved over to check on his brother only to find him so terribly dead. Philip moved to take a step back and found his muscles almost refusing to arrange themselves to his demands. *Shit...* he thought as he himself stumbled backwards, feeling dizzy at the edge of losing conciousness as his over use of mana.

"Retreat!" some of the conscripts called out. A hard command to disagree with.

xxx

Count Faringheim had a policy. When in war, stand in the back. Soldiers in the back had historically survived by and wide, in the event of a retreat then they were the first in the charge away, in the event of a victory, they were first back to the camp,
and infact the benefits were so vast for those in the back that were not first into battle, that the only other thing they didn't come first in was their arrival to the afterlife. Indeed, it would be a shame if Count Faringheim, a prominient member of the secret society of Zurernorn, met his God a bit sooner than he pleased. Yet it was not the battle that had concerned him. It was the eye he was keeping on the Montserrat brothers. One was a typical sort of family heir commanding the troops here only to gain some sort of battle experience. His dulled family armor was less expensive than the armor worn by the Imperial knights. Only slightly more effective. What had caught his attention was the younger brother who had suggested such a devious tactic as to coat the tips of their spears. When he shared this tactic with the rest of the nobility just before coming here they had ignored it as "dishonorable" even if Faringheim himself ordered his front line to do so. He had asked Laurence about his younger brother only to be brushed off, as Laurence described him as an "unimportant idiot" who "thinks himself a god because he can use the first tier of magic." Of course the nobility had always looked down on the magic casters of the nation so this was to be expected. Just then Philip had done something to garner far more interest than the battle. He very clearly saw him raise a hand and cast a spell. Just as the Count thought he was mistaken, the armored lordling atop his horse fell at Philip's feet.

A smile crossed the face of Count Faringheim.