The door slammed open again startling the seated men. What other surprise did Jonas have for them now?

In came Raneria dressed up in leathers and wool. A more comfortable existence as she called it. On her hips were two massive axes Jonas was hard pressed to see himself pick them up. Of course, he didn’t even try, what would they say if he failed. ‘There ruler was too weak to pick up a woman’s weapon?’ 

That would be the end of him...why though, he didn’t really understand. What was the difference between a man’s weapon and a woman’s? Was there a substantial weight difference? He would need to ask Frezar.

Raneria came in like a tornado. She jumped into her seat without waiting for Jonas’s express permission. “Jonas! You left me with the creep! How could you?! The monster was staring at me with the weirdest stare. All smiles and chuckles and laughs...his gut looked like it had mouths of its own! All of them were laughing with him!” 

Poor hue, forever to be misunderstood. The creepy stares were nothing more than genuine happiness. What for, he wasn’t really sure. The man just wiggled his eyebrows at him in a suggestion of some sort. When he asked Ash-the first person he had met after that-she just laughed and politely asked for permission to leave the premises. 

Shaking his head he refocused on the ball of energy and nativity next to him. 

“-he is nice and big! Strong too, though his voice needs working on. I wonder if he would-“

Jonas guessed where the conversation was. “Gregor this. Gregor that. Gregor here. Gregor there. Get your stuff together, Ran. He isn’t going to run away, as long as you stay with me you can see him all the time.” She saw him once and wouldn’t stop challenging him to a spar, full contact and with bladed weapons. 

He destroyed her handedly. He was sure Gregor had to do his best not to hurt her. Ever since then, Raneria wouldn’t stop yammering about him. It was obvious after the duel, but she was head over heels for him. Sad really since he was sure Gregor felt no real emotions other than a burning need to rebuttal with either as much stoicism as possible, or as much sarcasm as realistic.

“Yea, yea. You’ve said that a hundred times! I get it!” She looked around conspiratorially, making sure no body-other than every single person on the frickin balcony-heard her. “Are you still going to go through with your promise. Today right, make sure he is in the sparring room.”

With a mischievous smile, he quickly looked at Gregor, who obviously heard Raneria, and chuckled evilly. “Yes. It’ll happen. Don’t worry.” He felt like a drug dealer, whatever that was. 

She pumped a fist in the air and then stared out towards the parade. The showing made her chuckle. “They are so unorganized, it's hilarious.”

“What…?” Jonas rubbed his ears. Did he hear that right? He looked at the men to his left with a dark look. They withered visibly in front of him. “What do you mean?”

“Just look at them. They can’t even make a perfectly straight line, how do you expect to prevent any type of charge, especially with how tiny you humans are. Other than the cavalry, everything else is unprofessional. And why do you guys have five rows of swordsmen in the front of each battalion? They are useless there, give them spears or something long for Altenm’s sake.”

“Hoplites…” Jonas whispered to himself. It was always there, he...he just never remembered. Was it a part of his classes? He couldn’t fully recall where he got it from.

“Hop-what?” Raneria said getting close to his face. 

That action had the generals and lieutenants whispering amongst each other. He had no idea what they were saying, nor did he have any plan of getting to know. For all he cared right now, they could jump off the balcony. He’d find someone more capable then without starting a political Cold War for the ages. 

Jonas just shook his head and stayed silent. He had a lot to think about and even more to change. 

He ignored Raneria’s rambling as he stared out to the mistake riddled parade. That immaculate illusion had been fully removed and in its place was worse than he feared.

They showed long winding formations easily crushed by a powerful charge and easier to flank. Instead of long weapons to shore up their greatest weakness, they instead had three rows of shield men and women carrying, well, shields.

Massive tower shields as tall as they were in height. While the idea of putting a wall there for the enemy to crash into and rebound making them easy pickings was well and good, but the actual implementation of it was unrealistic. 

Especially during any charge using oversize beasts and animals. Just the thought of a fully armored, French charge at full speed or a Carthaginian elephant rumbling towards their lines made him shiver in cold sweat.

Err...Carthaginian…? Was that supposed to mean something important? Some kingdom across the sea or the like, he thought. 

That doesn’t matter, what does was the fact that this tactic was inefficient and easily turned against its users. They would face massive loses just to sustain such a wall if they weren’t routed and completely crushed hence from the initial clash. 

All this meant he had work to do. A whole lot of work.