Within a mere half hour of sending out the nautical chart intelligence, Anbaixiu received two replies. Added together, the two campaign plans amounted to a paltry five and a half sheets of parchment, written in monstrously large script.
Even to someone like Anbaixiu, who knew nothing of military affairs, a single glance made it abundantly clear that both of these so-called campaign plans were perfunctory—utterly, completely perfunctory.
Aige frowned as she looked them over, turning to Anbaixiu. "It seems your friends aren't keen on helping."
Anbaixiu chuckled softly. "It doesn't matter. I pretty much expected this."
Neither Ryan nor the elves held any goodwill toward Anbaixiu in the first place. Suddenly having a nautical chart shoved into their hands with a demand to devise a campaign plan—how could they possibly take it seriously?
Consequently, without even conferring with one another, the leadership of both kingdoms chose the exact same course of action: carelessly slapping together a so-called campaign plan consisting of nothing but hot air.
Anbaixiu's countermeasure was equally straightforward. He activated the magic mirror and connected to the tieflings far away in the Lands of Chaos.
A middle-aged tiefling who looked to be in his forties appeared. He possessed a very long name with dozens of syllables, of which Anbaixiu only remembered the last one: Demorof. His appearance was quite distinctive, as the two horns on his head crossed over each other. Such a trait was exceptionally rare among tieflings, as unusual as a human having eyebrows that grew in an overlapping cross.
This was not the first time Anbaixiu had met Demorof. He was one of the tieflings Mister Misfortune had met with before carrying out his final plan.
Prior to enacting the exile plan, Mister Misfortune had met with many tieflings to ensure basic stability for their realm. Those were all elites among their kind, and the one Anbaixiu was meeting now was among them.
Mister Misfortune had crafted a transition plan that verged on perfection, smoothly transferring them into Gary Watts's care and minimizing the kingdom's losses.
Demorof was responsible for tending one of the magic mirrors, his primary duty being to maintain contact with Anbaixiu anytime, anywhere.
To many, this seemed like an unglamorous job—nothing more than serving as an ordinary mouthpiece. Yet Demorof valued it immensely. Whenever Anbaixiu sought him out, he invariably responded at the very first moment.
Anbaixiu greeted Demorof with a smile and asked, "Regarding the campaign plan, you haven't finished your draft yet, have you?"
Demorof replied humbly, "A thousand apologies, Master Ultraman. A campaign plan involving hundreds of thousands of troops across an entire realm cannot possibly be finished in half an hour. Please grant us at least a few days."
Now, this was the right attitude. These tieflings knew how to conduct themselves.
Of course, that likely had to do with Anbaixiu controlling their sole channel to the outside world.
For any communication with their original world, Anbaixiu was the only option. To the tieflings, he was someone who must never be offended. Not to mention that Anbaixiu had rendered tremendous assistance during the rescue of the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn. From both practical and moral standpoints, Anbaixiu deserved the utmost deference.
Naturally, Anbaixiu's attitude toward them was quite pleasant as well.
"No need to be nervous. I'm not here to rush you. I have a campaign plan here for your experts to review. I'd like you to put everything else aside for now and tear this operational report to shreds. I trust that won't take much time."
Demorof froze for a moment, not quite grasping Anbaixiu's meaning. "Master, I'm not entirely sure what you mean."
Anbaixiu explained, "This is an operational report from the Ryanites, and I need you to tell those damned, arrogant, idiotic Ryanites that their campaign plan is a steaming pile of dog shit. Understand?"
Demorof understood immediately. Excitedly, he reached up to stroke his crossed horns—a little habit of his whenever he grew thrilled. The tiefling said with absolute solemnity, "Rest assured, Master Ultraman. We guarantee the mission will be accomplished. If we fail, may my soul plunge into Hell for eternity!"
For a tiefling who had endured so many tribulations, the penalty of such an oath was exceedingly severe.
Anbaixiu transmitted the Ryanites' campaign plan over, then cut the connection.
Watching Anbaixiu's maneuver, Aige asked in confusion, "What is the point of doing this?"
Anbaixiu explained, "Human nature is truly perverse at times. People can do a splendid job, but they refuse to do it properly until someone forces their hand. Just wait a little while. I'm going to teach Ryan and the elves a lesson, letting them know that they cannot brush off the tasks I assign them—otherwise, the consequences will be dire."
Aige didn't quite understand. What effect could having the tieflings critique the Ryanites' plan possibly have? Wasn't that just having the tieflings do the Ryanites' work for them?
Yet in less than a day, a thick volume arrived from the tieflings.
Without even reading it, Anbaixiu said directly to Demorof, "Well done. Continue working on your own campaign plan, but there's no need to rush on your end. The Ryanites will have to redo theirs now."
Demorof asked eagerly, "Master Ultraman, does this report meet your satisfaction?"
Anbaixiu flipped through two pages, glanced at them, and remarked, "The wording is a bit too polite, but everything else looks good."
Demorof was stunned. Too polite? To thoroughly humiliate those Ryanites, they had dredged up every vicious word they could conceive of.
Then again, the ones tasked with revising the plan were nobles, so perhaps they were somewhat lacking when it came to sheer vulgarity.
Highly satisfied, Anbaixiu closed the connection. Aige hurried to ask, "Are you contacting the Ryanites now?"
Anbaixiu nodded. Beneath Aige's expectant gaze, he connected to old James Watson.
The moment the mirror cleared, the former Supreme Arbiter appeared, his face brimming with resentment.
"It is the dead of night! Do you have any idea how difficult it is for an old man to fall asleep?" James Watson snapped angrily.
Anbaixiu retorted without hesitation, "A little brat who hasn't even hit a hundred dares whine to me about being old? I'm several centuries older than your grandfather! Besides, why sleep so long in life when you'll sleep forever in death? You might as well slit your throat right now and let me cure your sleep troubles once and for all."
James Watson was half-dead with rage, but he couldn't be bothered to trade barbs. "What in the world are you contacting me about in the middle of the night?"
"Something terrible has happened. The orcs think Ryan's interior is undefended. Now that the Iron-Blood General is dead, you have no great commanders left to lead your armies, and they're preparing to launch a retaliatory invasion," Anbaixiu said, fabricating alarming news on the spot.
James Watson took fright and quickly asked, "How could this be? Where did you get this intelligence?"
Anbaixiu transmitted the tactical report critiqued by the tieflings and said to James Watson, "Look at this. An eight-year-old child could write a better campaign plan than the one you gave me. If this doesn't prove that no one among you knows how to lead troops, what does?"
"Utter nonsense!" James Watson's beard bristled with fury as he roared, "What does an operational report prove? This report was... was..."
Anbaixiu waited a moment, but James Watson sputtered for ages without being able to finish the sentence.
James Watson had indeed had someone slap that report together haphazardly, but the old man could hardly admit that out loud. In the end, he could only change the subject. "You're no fool. What are you really trying to say?"
Anbaixiu replied calmly, "Nothing much. I simply had some other friends look over this so-called campaign plan, and they concluded that it is absolute dog shit. You can take a careful look at their critiques."
James Watson skimmed a few pages, and his eyes instantly turned bloodshot. The septuagenarian could barely restrain himself from tearing the report to shreds.
Only then did Anbaixiu say with a grin, "James, you and I both know very well that asking you to write this report was putting you to work for me. But did you honestly think you were doing it for nothing?"
"What else?" James Watson asked. "Devils don't enter losing bargains, and you never touch any business that yields less than a tenthousandfold return. You know how much work goes into an entire campaign. Why should we write it for you?"
"Very simple. Because this area is where the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn once sat, which means this sea borders Ryan directly. James, if I can't secure this sea, what do you think will happen to Ryan's coastline? You don't honestly believe marine races can never set foot on dry land, do you?
"James, without costing Ryan a single soldier or a single coin, I'll be securing this sea for you. Isn't that profitable enough for you? Taking a little time to study tactics—is that really so unreasonable?!"
Anbaixiu's words silenced James Watson. He truly hadn't considered this angle before. He had merely assumed Anbaixiu was tricking them into doing his dirty work and taking advantage of them again.
Now, however, it seemed they genuinely needed to treat this with gravity.
James Watson sighed. "I understand. I will find experts in this field to formulate a new strategy, but it will take time."
Anbaixiu nodded. "I understand. I didn't ask you to finish it today, did I?"
The conversation was just about over, but James Watson couldn't resist asking, "What was that about the orcs getting word of our weakness?"
Anbaixiu declared decisively, "If you don't take this seriously, I will go inform the orcs myself and incite them to attack!"
"You! Shameless!" James Watson felt his chest ache from sheer rage.
"So what if I'm shameless? I'm no paladin. If shamelessness is my only fault, I'm practically the kindest of all undead, understand?"
James Watson abruptly severed the connection without even saying goodbye; otherwise, Anbaixiu might truly have angered him to death on the spot.
Anbaixiu chuckled heartily. He was confident James Watson wouldn't dare brush him off again, because he truly would incite the orcs to march. Right now, Ryan didn't lack capable commanders, but the empire was on the verge of fracturing and could spare no forces to defend against external foes. If the orcs made a move, the dwarves would follow suit, and even if Ryan prevailed, it would suffer disastrous consequences.
Having witnessed the exchange between Anbaixiu and James Watson, Aige couldn't help marveling. For a lich to manipulate high-ranking figures of two nations at will—one of which worshipped the Lord of the Dawn—was truly an admirable feat.
"What about the elves? Are you going to use Ryan's leverage to pressure them as well?" Aige asked excitedly.
Anbaixiu shook his head. "It's not that simple. James Watson currently has no power or status left—only connections—and he has an upright, benevolent nature. I can twist him around my finger with ease. But on the elves' side, they have a clever man sitting on the throne. External pressure won't sway the elves, though that doesn't mean there is no way."
Anbaixiu activated the magic mirror once more. This time, he waited a long while before the connection went through. Appearing in the mirror was a tall, handsome elf clad in loose silk sleepwear, his face heavy with drowsy slumber.
Chapter 425