Konrad conjured the simplest of his animated illusions.
A human in tribal clothes, copied a hundred times over with only minor differences. He even automated a basic movement pattern and gave them a simple goal. Then cast and forget.
The method was almost the same as his fake goblins used to be.
A syntax streamlined to cut both costs and ease the strain on himself. He ended up spending less than a single mana for every clone, and it didn't take much to uphold the illusions, either.
They weren't fancy, of course.
If you looked too close, you'd see the rough shapes and bleeding colours.
But it had done the job before.
Well, sure, when he used them in the dungeon, the environment and lighting helped him sell the image. He even had to make his fake goblins blue to avoid confusing his allies.
And here? The sun was bright above the mountains.
Almost no vegetation, a simple road cutting across the pass.
No obstacles, only a little cover—he wasn't sure if his enemies would buy his trick that well.
But oh boy, did they?!
The fake soldiers joined some real ambushers who snuck up on the lancers in their blind spot.
When actual spears hit them from behind—be it only a pinprick—it still caused panic.
Before they could adjust their formation, an overwhelming force surrounded them.
At least, that's what they saw. Then—pure chaos.
To Konrad's luck, they did not attempt to break out backwards.
Instead, the lancers walked straight into the trap Vargas had set for them.
With that, everyone got what they wanted, and not a single—real—tribesman had to die.
The nomads lost around ten men before their morale wavered, and they all laid down their arms. The garrison's biggest problem was to disarm them faster to get them out of the way.
"Have your men take them back to the camp," Konrad ordered. "That should please your lord."
That was what Vargas was after anyway.
To earn glory for the Duke of Aset—and knowing him, a potential raise for himself.
"I'd much rather the garrison took them," he said instead, surprising him. "They need rest and treatment for the wounded. The ones who can still fight will have a lot more to do."
Sure, it made sense, except—
"What?" Konrad asked, groaning. "We defeated like one tenth of the vanguard in one fell swoop."
"Which leaves nine-tenths more," the captain retorted with a smirk.
He never saw the man this eager before.
It was almost as if he wasn't planning to fight for his own benefit.
But no, that would have been so out of character for the old schemer.
"I told you," Vargas continued. "I want to deal with them before the rest of the army arrives."
That he did, but—
"How? Even if I call up all the forces we currently have, the odds would still be against us. Let's say the nomads have only four thousand left at the foot of the mountain. We have one."
The captain only gave him a shrug.
"It doesn't matter on the narrow road," he claimed. Which was something Konrad had already learned. "We have a map of all the hidden alternative paths and the element of surprise."
Right. If their telepaths were still elsewhere, they should've had no idea what happened yet.
He didn't even have to guess. He could ask Maple.
'What is the enemy commander thinking?'
He never cut the telepathic channel, even if his haremettes were quiet for a while.
'He's annoyed 'cuz he thinks his scouts are lazy, and the telepaths are hours away,' the dragoness reported. 'Why, bossman, did something happen?'
Whether that was sarcasm or she was actually clueless, it didn't matter.
She made it obvious that Vargas was right.
They had no idea—and his forces had to be quick to take advantage.
"Okay, what's the plan?" He turned to the captain next while his lieutenants sorted out the lancers' fate. "You want to rush down the mountain and into their camps, or what?"
"Well, would that work?" Vargas turned his question around. Annoying as always.
Konrad only wanted him there to answer such questions, not to ask them.
"You tell me. They don't know about these guys yet, but riders are on their way," he said.
The royal garrison worked as fast as possible, but it took time to process so many prisoners.
Their weapons and armour were all fine merchandise. He could've sold them to ease the burden on his finances or arm his militia better. But logistics questions could wait.
He couldn't let those scouts figure out what happened and report back.
If they've spotted this mess—
That's when he realised he still had his illusion warriors.
Once he studied the lancers' gear, all it took was a flip of a switch, and the fake troops turned into nomads as well. It was so sudden that it startled his own men, too.
"Now that's a neat trick," Vargas commented, taking a step towards their formation.
Their looks didn't hold up that close, like low-res NPCs in the games back in his world.
But they could've fooled a messenger until it got into the range of his archers.
"Can they talk?" the captain asked, reaching out to touch one, but his hand passed through. "If we could have them ask for reinforcements—"
"They can if I want them to," Konrad claimed. "But I don't speak the nomad's language."
And unless they shouted, the scouts would've noticed something was off by then.
"Can you also turn my soldiers into nomads?" Vargas pondered, as if a plan was formulating in his head. Konrad might've had the same thoughts, and it wasn't impossible, but—
"It's easier to create these illusion troops from scratch," he noted. "Cheaper, less taxing."
"But they can't actually fight, can they?" The captain waved his hand across one's torso.
"Well, if your men-at-arms pick up their weapons and armour, they can. And it's much easier on me," Konrad pointed out. "I'm willing to lend my spoils to you if it earns us a quick victory."
"You mean my spoils?" Vargas asked, raising an eyebrow.
Right. They should've clarified who got looting rights for what beforehand.
"Unfortunately, nomads are shorter than my men. Their faces look different, too," the captain complained. "Can you at least make up the differences? It'd be easier on your tribesmen—"
"You want us to dress up like this filthy scum?!" Bor showed up right in time to protest.
And talking about height, Welf and Kade also returned from processing the prisoners. They flanked him like two towers. There was no way in hell he'd find them something that fit.
But Konrad knew what Vargas cooked up, and he liked the idea.
"Those filthy scum are people, too," he argued. "And they have much better gear than we do."
His lieutenant had no issues taking their bows earlier, after all.
Now he was grumbling, but Konrad had none of that.
"Pick twenty men we could fit into these, and touch up on their faces with my magic," he ordered. "And better hurry before their messengers get here."
From Maple, he knew they were already on their way.
Sure, he could've had his archers snipe them as usual, but—
Having them think the nomads had won could've led to an even greater victory.