In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

After dismissing the knights, Michael allowed himself a moment of reprieve. He glanced at Marcus, who slyly pocketed a few jewels from the stash. Pretending not to notice, Michael focused on refining his strategies.

His thoughts were interrupted when his squire, Alex, entered hurriedly.

"Sir, Lady Miaomia and the gargoyles have returned."

Michael's elite reconnaissance team, composed of the shapeshifting Miaomia and the gargoyles, had been scouting the plains. Their versatility made them ideal for the task.

Miaomia, upon entering, immediately flopped onto the floor in a show of exaggerated exhaustion.

"Did the mission go well?" Michael asked, hiding his amusement.

[Exhausted. They're faster than I expected. But as you suspected, they're moving in tribal units. I've marked their general locations. We focused on tracking supply routes, as you requested.]

Michael nodded, satisfied. His prediction about their mobility and tactics had been accurate. Soon, they would regret splitting into smaller units.

Taking the scrolls brought back by the reconnaissance team, Michael headed to the secret training ground where the special task force was drilling.

The task force was composed of knights chosen by the nobility of Elonia and Lania. Most were either direct descendants of noble families or closely related to knights.

This arrangement reflected the nobles' desire to avoid placing all their heirs in one place. While eldest sons remained with their families to defend the main frontlines, younger sons were sent to join the task force and operate in the plains.

It was a calculated move to prevent the catastrophic loss of all heirs in a single battle.

As Michael arrived at the training ground, the exhausted knights sprang to their feet, snapping to attention.

"The devil has arrived!" someone muttered under their breath, but Michael ignored it, his mind focused on the battle to come.

Louis, the youngest son of Count Charles, had volunteered for the special task force. He was acutely aware of how his life had been shielded under his father's protection. For the first time, he wanted to step out from that shelter and achieve something on his own.

Thankfully, his efforts had not been in vain, as he was selected to join the special unit. The selection process had been grueling, but it brought with it a sense of accomplishment. Among the chosen, Louis recognized many familiar faces—young nobles like himself, sharing similar privileged backgrounds.

This was true even for those from Elonia. Aside from the knights Michael had personally brought, most of the members were scions of prominent families. These young men and women, not yet fully seasoned, were ready to risk their lives to prove their worth.

Count Charles visited the training ground to congratulate his son. Seeing the task force composed of esteemed noble offspring reassured him. With such distinguished members, there was little risk of them being treated as expendable.

These recruits were not just noble by birth but also skilled and talented. While the nature of their missions carried inherent danger, it seemed unlikely they would meet senseless deaths. Moreover, with Michael personally leading the unit, their chances of survival increased significantly.

Michael's reputation as a competent commander, coupled with the proven skill of the knights he had brought, gave Count Charles further peace of mind.

However, Louis's training quickly turned into a harsh reality. The charismatic and approachable Michael seemed to vanish, replaced by a merciless commander. Training sessions were grueling beyond imagination, testing both body and mind to their breaking point.

For Louis, the physical and mental agony was unlike anything he had ever endured. Compared to this, his past training felt like child's play.

Watching his youngest son, covered in sweat and dirt, struggling through the exercises, Count Charles couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow. Eventually, he approached Michael to voice his concerns.

"Sir Michael, the training seems excessively harsh. As you know, these young men are inexperienced. Couldn't the training be moderated somewhat?"

Michael's response was cold and firm.
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"Count Charles, the special task force will be deployed on the most dangerous and critical missions. Those who can't survive the training won't survive on the battlefield. Regardless of rank or status, this rigorous training will continue. If you're concerned, I suggest withdrawing your son. This is a war, not a picnic."

Count Charles's face hardened as he fell into a heavy silence. To pull Louis out now would be a disgrace, one that neither of them could live down.

Resolving to support his son's decision, he stepped back and left the training to continue.

The grueling training finally ended, and the recruits sprawled across the training ground, utterly exhausted. Their bodies were covered in sweat and dirt, and their muscles were strained to their limits.

Some exchanged lighthearted jokes, but most remained silent, catching their breath.

When Michael appeared, the atmosphere instantly shifted. The recruits scrambled to their feet, the air growing heavy with tension.

Holding a scroll containing intelligence gathered by Miaomiao and the gargoyles, Michael addressed the group.

"Our target is the rearmost unit of the Pamir Empire's forces," he announced in a low, commanding voice.

"The nearest target is located 200 kilometers ahead. Their numbers are approximately 2,000, though we haven't identified their tribe. Judging by their discipline, they won't be an easy opponent. Tonight, we'll launch a surprise attack. Stay alert!"

A palpable tension spread among the recruits as they processed Michael's words. Louis took a deep breath, replaying the instructions in his mind.

One of the knights hesitated before raising a hand. His voice betrayed a mix of anxiety and curiosity.

"Why target the rearmost unit? Is it a supply unit? Wouldn't it make more sense to strike the closest advancing force to halt their progress?"

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. Michael surveyed the knights calmly before responding.

"Attacking the nearest advancing unit might seem logical, but it would also expose us. If the advancing tribes find their comrades annihilated, they'll be on high alert."

He paused, meeting the eyes of the questioning knight and others.

"Our goal isn't to annihilate the Empire's forces entirely but to disrupt their supply lines and diminish their numbers. Do you understand?"

The knights nodded in agreement, the reasoning clear.