Chapter Text
[An extract from the memoirs of the tactician Robin.]
In the course of both the Plegian and Valmese campaigns, I created and enacted many successful strategies. As with any tactician, my measure of “success” is simply that they ensured victory for my side in exchange for the smallest possible cost. All of these strategies, as with any wartime measure, required some measure of sacrifice and, while I always tried to keep loss of life to a minimum, naturally the lives of the enemy soldiers did not feature in my calculations.
In general, scholars and bards have seemed to understand this; the former have approved my strategies, while the latter have sung my praises, quite literally. There is one incident, however, of which even some of my strongest supporters seem unable to entirely approve. Many accounts of the Valmese war regard the only naval skirmish of the war with horror and vitriol, while those which are determined to see me as some kind of saint prefer to bury it under faux-objectivity and excuses.
Unlike these latter poor excuses for scholars, I will not attempt to justify my actions, nor to pretend that I have not occasionally harboured grave doubts about them. I have, however, never regretted them. I did what was necessary, and what I still believe was the best course of action. I did a monstrous thing in pursuit of a greater good. If I am damned in the process, so be it. Posterity may judge me as it wishes.