For you dear brother, you've treated the art of war like a simple hobby, a game that if you play long enough that one day your father will hand you the sword of the papal states. Oh yes, you keep yourself trained under those priestly skirts, but you weren't raised in the art. You have never had more forces at your hand than a small cadre of guards, have you? You've never had to know the forces of arms and watched them march over the land like a sea of red and gold and metal. An ocean of comrades who rely on your very word and breath to lead them through to the next battle and home. You will see them die, Cesare, torn apart by canon, priced by arrows, felled by swords. They will litter the ground as a reminder of your mistakes and no matter how many you save, the widows will always blame you for their loss. To become a general you become responsible for the death of thousands, and it is only the holy mother church that protects you from damnation.