“…Yes,” Elise said softly, still gazing down at the formation. “With this, we might just be able to overturn today’s defeat.”
A long silence followed. At last, Andrei exhaled and gave a slow, reluctant nod.
“If you’re truly prepared for this, sister,” he said, his voice low, “then this may be the best—and most powerful—option Argan has left.”
“It’s powerful,” Elise affirmed with quiet certainty. “That’s not in question. We can do this.”
A steady smile unfurled across her pale face, tinged with both grace and steel. Despite her fragility, she radiated an undeniable strength.
“Let’s turn the tide within a month, Andrei.”
***
“One month? My lord, it’s impossible to shorten the travel time any further!”
Marquis Titas finally snapped, his voice cracking with frustration.
As commander of the Belnus Kingdom’s forces—the strongest of the Northern Alliance’s contributing nations and a close friend of Grandel—Titas had kept his composure longer than most. But now, at the edge of the vast central wilderness that split the continent in two, even he had reached his limit.
The allied army had set up camp for a brief rest and strategy meeting. Inside the central command tent, tension crackled in the air. Commanders from all corners of the Northern Alliance sat around a broad circular table, their faces drawn with fatigue. Complaints simmered just beneath the surface, and Titas gave voice to what many were too exhausted to say aloud.
“Getting to Regal’s border by the end of the month would already be a miracle!” he exclaimed, pounding a fist to his chest. “And now you want us to move up the schedule by ten days?! That’s not a request—it’s a death sentence!”
He rose from his chair, gesturing emphatically to the others. “We don’t have your monster-like stamina, nor do we ride horses that can gallop for days without rest or feed! You should base your expectations on our standards—not your own!”
At this point, it was no longer defiance—it was desperation. Around the table, grim nods and wary glances passed between the other commanders. No one dared to contradict Titas. They all felt the same.
It had been nearly two weeks since the emergency war council was held south of the Tene River, deep in Rotiara’s southern reaches. Of the twelve nations in the Northern Alliance, seven had officially pledged their forces. With Grandel’s support, the combined force from eight nations now numbered in the tens of thousands.
Since receiving the deployment order, the army had descended upon Rotiara like a storm—gathered, organized, and mobilized in record time. And then they marched. Ten days. Day and night. Without reprieve, without rest.
All because of the man who stood silently now at the head of the table, arms folded behind his back, eyes unreadable. He hadn’t spoken a word throughout the outburst.
The Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces. A man of terrifying presence and inhuman endurance.
Unshaken, unyielding—like a statue carved from stone.
Before the silent Grand Duke could speak, it was Ruben who broke the tension with an exaggerated sigh, dragging it out for dramatic effect.
“Oh, come on,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “You’re already whining about how hard the march has been? We’ve still got twice the distance to cover.”
Marquis Titas shot him a glare, his voice rising with indignation. “That’s easy for you to say! We’re being held to your standard, not ours!”
Rotiara’s elite troops, seasoned under Rezette’s relentless command, were still holding up remarkably well. But the rest of the allied forces—assembled in haste and thrust into an unrelenting pace—were visibly faltering. Fatigue etched their faces, and morale was beginning to crack.
Ruben clicked his tongue, clearly unimpressed. “Then maybe you should’ve trained harder before signing up for a war.”
Before the argument could escalate, Isaac interjected with a more composed tone, trying to strike a balance.
“It is a rather aggressive timetable, Your Grace,” he said, addressing Rezette directly. “We still have to traverse both the desert and the central wilderness. Infantry units can’t possibly keep up with the cavalry over that terrain. Even adjusting to the new climate will take its toll.”
“Exactly!” Titas added, seizing the moment. “At this rate, our men will be dropping dead from exhaustion before they even see a single barbarian head!”
It was then that the Grand Duke finally spoke.
His voice was low and measured, but it silenced the tent like a sword drawn in a crowded room.
“You raise a fair point,” Rezette said calmly.
Marquis Titas blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected agreement. He was just short of collapsing into grateful tears when Rezette’s tone shifted.
“However—”
The Grand Duke’s gaze swept over the strategic map sprawled across the war table. Without haste, he reached down and plucked one of the small flags from its position.
It was the standard representing the Belnus Kingdom’s forces.
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