2 Months after the meeting in the inner courts
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Mein Führer!" came Seris's voice from beyond the thick oak doors of the private quarters. "Mein Führer, you are needed — it is urgent."
A sharp breath escaped my nose as I jolted awake, eyes snapping open to the darkened ceiling above. My hand instinctively reached for the Walther pistol resting on the nightstand.
In one fluid motion, I sat up, cocked the weapon, and aimed it toward the door.
"Who dares to contact me at this hour?!" I barked, my voice ragged with sleep but laced with fury.
"It's Seris, Mein Führer!" she called quickly, her voice tense but controlled. "Otto has summoned all officers, generals, and key figures. He says it is urgent — no delays."
A beat passed.
Tch.
I lowered the pistol.
"Enter," I growled.
The door creaked open and Seris stepped in, already dressed in her formal slate-grey uniform, hair neatly tied. Her face bore none of its usual calm — only restraint.
I swung my legs out of bed and stood, the cold stone floor biting against bare feet. In silence, I moved to the wardrobe, tossing on my black shirt and trousers, then fastening the charcoal grey-trimmed jacket over my shoulders. My hands worked quickly, buttoning tight cuffs, strapping my sidearm in place, and smoothing back my disheveled hair with the water basin nearby.
As I adjusted the collar, Seris stood by the door, hands clasped tight.
I stepped toward her.
"Where is this meeting?" I asked sharply.
She didn't answer immediately — instead, she turned on her heel and led the way briskly through the torchlit hallway.
We emerged into the courtyard, where a covered wagon waited beside two mounted guards. The sky above was still cloaked in pre-dawn darkness.
"Follow me, Mein Führer," Seris said as she approached the rear of the wagon, lifting the flap.
I paused, eyes narrowing.
"We are not convening in the council chamber?"
She shook her head once.
"No, sir. Not this time."
She held the flap open. "I will brief you inside. Please — time is short."
I stepped forward, boots crunching lightly on the frost-slick stones.
Whatever this was, it wasn't ordinary. And that made it dangerous.
The wagon rumbled forward, its wheels grinding softly over gravel as they departed the central square. Inside, the light was dim — a single lantern swaying overhead, casting dancing shadows across the wooden walls. The interior had been reinforced with soft cushions and a map rack, but comfort was far from the concern.
Seris sat directly across from me, posture rigid, hands folded over her lap. Her usual calm demeanor was strained — the tension behind her blue eyes betrayed it.
"Begin," I said, voice flat.
She nodded. "Mein Führer… early this morning, a scout patrol returned from the Larrak Valley with a report. They spotted a large force — approximately ten thousand demi-humans — gathering along the southern ridge beyond the farmland. Banners. supply wagons. No civilians. All warriors."
I didn't speak. I simply stared — my expression unreadable, my thoughts already moving.
Seris continued, "They appeared to be preparing a forward position. No sign of siege equipment, but the numbers alone—"
"Ten thousand," I repeated coldly
I leaned back slightly, fingers lacing together atop my knee.
"So then," I said at last, "we are heading to the emergency bunker I had ordered constructed months ago. Correct?"
"Yes, Mein Führer," she confirmed. "Otto ensured it was completed beneath the western barracks, just as you instructed. Reinforced, shielded by rock and snow. We'll arrive within the hour."
"Good," I said. "It will serve well as a temporary command post — if this turns into a prolonged engagement."
Seris nodded.
I let the silence hang a moment before asking, "Anything else?"
She shook her head. "Otto has the rest. But… he told me to inform you—everyone in the meeting knows about our weapons now. He said it was necessary for planning."
I gave a slow nod. "I would've done the same."
After that, we said nothing more. Only the wind spoke as we approached the bunker carved into the cold skin of the mountain.
After roughly twenty minutes, the wagon halted at the bunker. Without hesitation, I stepped down from the rear.
Ten rifle-armed guards immediately snapped into formation, heels clicking, saluting with the gesture of the Reich.
"Mein Führer," one of them called out, stepping forward to unlock the heavy seal.
The door gave way, revealing a long corridor lined with torch sconces and the faint scent of oil and damp stone.
Seris turned toward me. "This is where I leave you, mein Führer. The guide will take you the rest of the way."
I gave her a curt nod. A young officer stepped forward and led me down the passage to a wide, dimly lit chamber lined with war maps and a single table carved from dark wood.
One by one, the key figures filed in — Otto, the commanders, several senior officers. No wasted words. No hesitation.
"Mein Führer," Otto began, remaining on his feet. "We don't have time for formalities. Intelligence suggests they'll begin their push by evening."
I sat, fingers interlocked. "How many do we have?"
Otto glanced down at a slip of paper. "Three hundred riflemen with modern arms. Ten functioning cannons, all loaded and positioned along the northern ridge." He hesitated, then added, "But with the valley's current population — refugees, farmers, former laborers — we now have six thousand infantry-ready men. Mostly spears, axes, bows, and basic armor, but they're willing."
A long pause.
"Six thousand?" I repeated.
He nodded. "We've begun light training. Discipline is low, but morale is high. They're eager."
I leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Then we don't just hold the valley. We drown them in it."
Otto stepped to the central war map. "Shall I walk through the original plan?"
I gestured for him to continue.
"Once the enemy arrives, they'll likely form up in dense blocks. If they do, we fire all cannons directly into their formations. Not for precision — for terror. The goal is to shatter morale."
An officer stood. "And during that confusion, we send cavalry around both flanks?"
"Correct," I said. "The hammer."
Another spoke next. "We propose mixing experienced riflemen with horses — fast-moving volleys. Hit-and-run tactics."
"Approved."
Then I tapped the map myself, shifting focus. "But the true power lies in those six thousand infantry."
I looked across the table.
"We divide them into four layers. First wave — the expendable but eager. Give them simple orders: delay and scream. Not to win. Just to stall, absorb, disrupt."
A younger officer blinked. "You mean… bait?"
"Yes," I said coldly. "Human obstacles. The first wave is not expected to hold — they are to draw attention and absorb the first charge."
I pointed again.
"Second line — we turn the wheat fields into killing grounds. Hide behind stone fences, inside collapsed barns, behind rows of overturned wagons. Let them think it's empty. Then strike from cover. Spears, pitchforks, ambushes. Guerilla tactics."
Otto added, "We'll scatter improvised barriers through the farmland — sharpened fence posts, broken carts, irrigation trenches. Enough to slow cavalry and confuse infantry."
"Exactly," I said. "We don't fight clean. We fight hungry. We fight like ghosts in the grain."
A grizzled commander leaned in. "Third wave?"
"We hold the high ground behind the farms — the old grain silos, windmill ridges, broken storage towers. Place archers and slingers there. Hidden trap crews behind fences. When the enemy pushes forward, we set fire to the fields. Smoke and fire will do the rest."
Another officer interjected, skeptical. "But the smoke could blind us as well—"
"Good," I said. "Let the world vanish. We know the land. They don't. Confusion is a weapon."
Otto continued, "And the fourth wave?"
I nodded. "The final line — trained infantry. Survivors of the uprising. Hide them inside cellars, irrigation tunnels, and beneath hay carts. When the enemy overruns the third line, they'll believe we've broken. Then, and only then, we strike. A coordinated counter-surge across the entire field."
Another officer raised a hand. "Should we reinforce farmhouses with rifle teams?"
"Yes. Fortify the strongest ones. Break windows for firing slots. Make each one a bunker. And when we abandon them — booby trap the doors. If they take our homes, they'll bleed for every room."
Otto's eyes scanned the battlefield sketch. "It will be chaos."
I nodded once. "Exactly."