Chapter 47: No More Touching Without Permission

“Sir, sir, we’ve found the Lorrainers.”

Marco arrived before Leo, panting heavily. He had half run, half sprinted all the way here, leaving his entire body numb with exhaustion.

Seeing that it was Marco, Leo first had Stevana hand him a jug of water.

Marco took the jug and gulped down a generous mouthful before finally catching his breath.

“We spotted the Lorrainers ahead in Lizzano. They’ve set up camp there,” Marco reported. “They seem to have a lot of men.”

“How many is a lot?” Leo’s brows knit together.

Such vague statements were of no use to Leo—he needed clarity to make decisions. If the Lorrainers had brought an army of ten thousand, there would be no point in fighting; he might as well go home and await his fate.

Marco hesitated in place for a moment before replying uncertainly, “I... I’d say about five thousand.”

Five thousand?

At that number, not only Leo but also Alberto and Giovanni beside him were visibly startled.

“For Duke Geoffrey to lead an army of five thousand through these mountain paths—he really is bold,” Alberto remarked. “Last time, he used the Emilia Road.”

“If it’s really five thousand, then there’s no way we can fight,” Giovanni said, looking dispirited, though caution dominated his tone.

As Leo’s ally, Giovanni had no intention of dying by Leo’s side for nothing.

After a moment of silence, Leo spoke. “Marco, keep scouting. Pass the message to your fellow scouts and have them regroup along the mountain path.”

“Understood.”

Without pausing to rest, Marco gathered his small unit and set off again.

Once Marco had left, Leo turned to address the doubts swirling among his companions.

“I think we should withdraw, Leo,” Giovanni said. “Fall back to a position where we can control both Lucca and the mountain pass, and build a temporary fortress there.”

Giovanni’s words were tactful, not openly opposing the campaign, but his suggestion gave the Tuscan knights around them a sense of greater security.

A battle of such scale was, at its core, a gamble—no one could say who would emerge the victor. If they lost, every knight present would pay the price: captured for ransom, or worse, slain, plunging their families into turmoil. No one wanted that—not even Leo.

But could Leo afford such luxury?

If they failed to quickly defeat Geoffrey the Bearded and became mired in a drawn-out conflict, their troubles would only multiply.

“Leo, I agree, we can’t afford to lose,” Rossi suddenly spoke up.

Leo was surprised. Even Rossi, one of his own, was wavering; what about Matilda?

When Leo’s gaze landed on Alberto, Alberto stepped forward. Short in stature, he was not particularly conspicuous in the crowd, but now all eyes were on him.

“I don’t know. I await the Duchess’s orders,” Alberto declared.

The pressure now shifted to Matilda.

It dawned on everyone that this war was being fought for her. All Leo had done was for Matilda’s sake.

Faced with the ministers, Matilda grew nervous, her hand gripping the reins tightly until a bead of sweat formed on her brow.

What should she do?

Just as Matilda was about to force herself to speak, Leo stepped forward once more.

“Retreating is pointless. Our only option is to advance.”

Leo spoke through clenched teeth. “Are we even sure about the Lorrainers’ numbers? What do you all think? An army of five thousand—could they really traverse such a narrow mountain path? We have only fifteen hundred men and are already crowded. I estimate their force is no more than three thousand.”

“Moreover, the Lorrainers have marched from afar and must be exhausted. Now is the moment when their morale is lowest. If we launch a surprise attack, unfamiliar as they are with the terrain, they’ll never see us coming.”

As Leo spoke, everyone’s conviction wavered.

Yes, Leo made sense. Was the enemy’s number truly so great? Even if it was, Leo’s side held two crucial advantages: home ground and rested troops.

“Ricardo told me there’s a winding valley ahead called Lallima. It’s closer to the Lorrainers than to us, but if we can seize it first, we’ll take the initiative.”

Leo looked around once more. Though his companions were still uneasy, his words had given them something solid to hold onto.

Giovanni seemed as if he wanted to argue further, but Leo would allow no more dissent.

“Alberto, Giovanni, have the soldiers rest now.”

Leo began giving clear, orderly instructions, laying out his plan in full.

“We’ll rise before dawn, break camp, and seize Lallima before the enemy arrives. That’s our task—see to it.”

With all his orders given, Leo left without a backward glance.

Watching his retreating figure, the others, despite their lingering doubts, could only sigh and begin to carry out his commands.

Matilda hurried after Leo, her voice tense. “Leo, you haven’t convinced them…”

“Hush—” Leo pressed a finger to his lips, signaling her to be silent.

Only after they returned to the command tent did he speak.

“This is no time for more debate, Your Grace,” Leo drawled, intentionally prolonging the words. “If we keep discussing, we’ll go round and round forever, and no plan will ever be carried out.”

“But if you don’t explain your reasoning, how will they understand?” Matilda persisted, unable to comprehend Leo’s apparent high-handedness.

Without warning, Leo pinched Matilda’s cheek, subduing her instantly.

The Duchess stood frozen, as docile as a kitten.

“Do you really think I’m the reasonable sort? Matilda, hesitation leads only to defeat. If we keep tangling ourselves in endless debate, we’ll never move forward.”

Leo’s voice was urgent, his tone earnest, but not at all oppressive.

“In war, command must rest with one person. Disjointed voices bring only disaster. At times like these, there can be only one leader—whatever it takes, that must be ensured.”

He released her and turned away to pick up a sheet of accounts, ready to consider the rewards to be given before battle.

Matilda seemed to understand him at last, yet she stepped closer, causing Leo to look at her in curiosity.

“I understand what you’re saying, but…” she began.

Before she could finish, Leo felt a sharp sting on the back of his hand—a resounding slap that sent the accounts tumbling to the floor.

“No more touching me without permission,” Matilda declared, then gathered her skirts and hurried out of the tent.

Through the tent flap, Leo saw her exchange a few words with Alberto before glancing back at him once more.

Well, this was trouble—her gesture seemed less like anger than a display of playful affection.

Leo stooped to retrieve the accounts from the ground, but he had lost all desire to look at them.