I think if you do something good and run with it, put your passion into it and go for it . . . it will be good. Dependent on what their reason / intent is . . .
Lots of people think the Far East is undefeatable . . . Their cavalry swift and strong, with archers that strike from afar, accurate enough to split a hair on a babe’s head without so much as breeze on the babe’s face. Their long sword like spears can pierce or slit the hardest and thickest armor, their war hammers can render base stones of a cliff face to powder. They have exotic beasts: their oliphant’s trumpets can rout a whole wing of horses, their rhinos can smash through phalanx lines, their demi creatures half man and half beast can rip a man asunder. Their troops number in the millions, drinking rivers dry and spreading dust clouds to the heavens. The earth thunders when they march, their spears made of hardest metals unknown. Their swords bright razor enough to cut the very wind itself, and arrows so numerous they block out the sun. Their skill born of years of sweat, of strange oriental arts of war . . . Supplied by over a 1000 nations.
They say: Give up, for the horde is kind. The horde will take you in. You will have riches. You will be made lords of your lands. But you must kneel and submit to the will of the horde. You will serve and be rewarded richly.
But what of it . . .
Their opponents . . . raised in the very heat of battle itself. Attuned to their body, making spear, shield and sword a part of themselves as much as their beating hearts. They fight for their lofty ideas, nay even put their trust in providence will guide them as they hold fast to their laws. They fight for their very lands, whilist their opponents fight far from home. For themselves and those close to them who cannot fight. They actually test themselves, going into the waters, baptised in the waves. The currents of the battlefield are theirs, they can feel it in their senses. The saltied air, the cry of gulls unhappy as they feast on bloated carrion in the sea. For they know their land, they know their breaks. For they fight for themselves, their very physical existence, their right to live as they choose. To surf as they want, not what is the top WCT move. But their enemy fights for greed, power, and control.
They say:
We will funnel them trough the hot gates. There, their numbers account for nothing. Wave after wave will smash against Spartan shields. They will incur many losses, so much that they will have to abandon their campaign.
translation: if you have passion, understanding of your field, if you care about what you do . . . you can win if what your up against does not have the same . . . if they are only hired to do so, or seeking gold and plunder, at the crack of their master’s whip.