"General Elisabeth!" Officer Durango called as he burst through the tent flap, out of breath, his uniform dusted with ash and mud.
Elisabeth turned from the table, where a map of the valley was pinned with knives. Her expression sharpened.
"Report."
Durango stood straighter. "Our forward units confirm the ambush was successful, ma'am. The demi-humans have begun to retreat in scattered formations."
A flicker of satisfaction touched her features. "Good. And casualties?"
"We estimate three hundred wounded on our side, most already being evacuated. Around fourteen hundred dead… but we cut down over three thousand of them."
Elisabeth gave a short nod. "It was worth the cost."
Durango hesitated, then added, "We also captured a leopard trying to flee the field on horseback. He was likely attempting to call for reinforcements."
Her gaze darkened. "Bring him in. I want him alive. Have Virella read his thoughts before interrogation. If he was a messenger, I want to know who sent him and where they're gathering."
"Yes, General."
She crossed her arms and glanced toward the open tent, the smoke from the distant battlefield still hanging faintly in the morning air. "And the artillery?"
"They performed better than expected," Durango said. "Two barrels chipped from repeated fire, but Otto's men believe they'll be ready again soon."
"Make sure they are. They were the spearpoint of this victory — and we'll need them again."
She stepped toward the map and pulled one of the knives free, dragging it to mark a new position on the field.
"New orders came from the Führer. If the enemy does not strike again by sundown… we strike first. Midnight raids. No more waves. No more drawn lines. Surprise and speed will be our new doctrine."
Durango raised an eyebrow. "Abandoning the Führer's original plan?"
She didn't look up. "No. Adapting it. The battlefield changes, and so will we."
The flap of the tent rustled again.
Elisabeth looked up from the table, her brow furrowing at the sudden silhouette entering. When her eyes adjusted, they softened just slightly.
"Ah… the perfect man for this moment," she said with a hint of dry relief. "Wilhelm."
He stepped in with his usual measured stride, his uniform spotted with mud and travel dust, gloves tucked under one arm. A cold wind followed briefly before the tent closed behind him.
"Elisabeth," Wilhelm nodded, then glanced at Officer Durango and gave him a short look.
Durango instinctively straightened and saluted. "General Drossen."
"At ease," Wilhelm said with a small gesture. Durango obeyed at once.
Elisabeth smirked faintly, arms still folded as she leaned against the edge of the table. "Tell me — have you seen the Führer's letter yet?"
"No," Wilhelm replied, stepping closer to the map. "But seeing the battlefield through my spyglass from the ridgeline, I can guess what it says."
"Oh?" Elisabeth raised an eyebrow.
Wilhelm folded his arms. "I'd wager he wants us to strike again — sooner, not later. Probably figured they won't walk into another full ambush. So we change our rhythm. Keep them nervous. Keep them guessing."
She grinned. "Good answer… and exactly right."
Durango shifted beside the table. "If we're raiding tonight, what about the artillery?
Wilhelm turned to Elisabeth for that one.
She answered smoothly, "The three you gave us were damaged — barrels chipped, recoil mounts worn out… but Otto's men are fast. They'll be operational again by nightfall."
Wilhelm nodded. "Good but we won't need them."
Durango scratched his head. "So… no Artillery this time?"
"No," Wilhelm said firmly. "This will be fast. Silent. Foot patrols with blades, axes, and speed. No flashes. No cannon fire. We strike from the dark and vanish before they know where we came from."
"Bold," Elisabeth murmured.
"I'll position a few sniper teams on the hill just east of their camp. They'll cover the retreat in case anything goes wrong."
Elisabeth blinked. "Snipers?"
"Riflemen with spyglasses and finely tuned sights," Wilhelm explained. "Trained for long-distance kills. One shot, one kill. They'll see what we can't."
She nodded slowly. "I like that."
Wilhelm leaned over the map, eyes locking on a cluster of structures along the enemy's rear line. "I suggest targeting these camps first. We go in three teams. Silent entries. Kill sentries. Burn their food carts, smash their water stores, and disappear before the alarm is raised."
"Then hit again an hour later… but from the opposite side," Elisabeth added, now tracing lines with her finger. "Keep them up all night, chasing shadows. Exhaustion is a weapon."
Wilhelm looked up, his voice calm. "We're not just winning battles, Elisabeth. We're breaking their will."
"And that," she said, drawing a final mark on the map, "is how we win the war."
The tent flap rustled again.
Elisabeth looked up from the map with a smirk already forming. "Ahh, Commander Bruno. My favorite soldier."
Bruno Hartmann stepped into the command tent with his signature swagger, the long folds of his cavalry coat trailing behind him. His boots thudded against the earth with purposeful weight, and the Iron Cross medals pinned to his chest clinked softly with each stride. A scar stretched down one cheek, pulling into a broad, wolfish grin as he let out a hearty laugh.
"You praise me too early, General," he said with a laugh that filled the tent. "But I'll take it."
He turned to Wilhelm, recognizing him immediately from sketches and war stories. Bruno stiffened and gave the salute of the Reich, his arm slicing clean through the air.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, General Drossen."
Wilhelm nodded in return. "The pleasure is mine, Commander Hartmann. Your reputation precedes you."
Bruno smirked. "Hopefully the good parts."
Elisabeth crossed her arms with an amused tilt of her head. "How's the cavalry? I heard you got new horses last week."
Bruno's grin grew wider. "Stronger than the last batch. And faster. My riders are battle-hardened and hungry. We've been drilling them hard through the night hours — they'll be ready when the time comes."
He took a step closer to the map and glanced down at the ink-stained lines. "What about your infantry? I saw smoke and bodies from the ridgeline — can't imagine all of that came easy."
Elisabeth's expression turned slightly grim but calm. "We used about two thousand untrained men in the ambush. Farmers. Laborers. They served their purpose — held the lines long enough for the trap to close."
Bruno's eyebrows rose, but he didn't interrupt.
"The trained ones," she continued, "are still in reserve. Disciplined. Positioned. The next time we strike, it won't be with desperation."
Bruno gave a nod of approval. "Good. I like that."
Suddenly, the tent flap snapped open once more, and a young messenger stumbled inside. His chest heaved, sweat dotting his brow despite the cold outside from dropping temperatures. His eyes darted around the tent — and went wide with recognition.
Wilhelm. Bruno. Elisabeth. All in one place.
He straightened fast, too fast, and held out a sealed envelope with both trembling hands. "Message… from the top, ma'am."
Elisabeth took it without a word. Her gaze lingered on the seal, eyes narrowing slightly.
She exhaled through her nose.
"All the important things seem to be happening right now," she muttered.
The messenger bowed quickly and ducked back out, too overwhelmed to wait for a reply.
Elisabeth took the envelope from the wide-eyed messenger, noting the seal stamped in black wax. "It's from Otto," she said, her voice measured.
She unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning the script briefly before lifting her chin.
"I will read it aloud."
To General Elisabeth Ritter,
By direct order of the Führer, a full census has been completed across all territories under our protection. I am pleased to report that the results, while unexpected in scope, confirm the scale of what we are building. The total population now residing within our lands exceeds 90,000 souls — most of them displaced refugees, freed laborers, or defectors who now pledge themselves to our cause.
While we had long assumed the number to be in the thousands, the final count presents both a challenge and an opportunity.
Per the Führer's directive, 25% of all able-bodied civilians — both men, women, and teens — have been conscripted into military service. The remaining population has been reassigned to critical support roles: farming, supply coordination, animal handling, and construction. Every hand now has purpose. Every home, a function. This is no longer a camp of survivors — it is a rising society.
I must acknowledge a bitter irony: our original plan, as you may recall, was to avoid engagement until the peak of winter — when the enemy's supply lines would stretch thin, and their stomachs would turn on them for lack of farmland. But time has betrayed us. Autumn wanes. The cold has begun to set in. Winter is nearly upon us — and the enemy has moved early.
They hope to break our spirit before the first frost. Instead, they will feel the bite of it more cruelly than we ever could. Their numbers are vast, but they do not know the land. They march into unfamiliar valleys, chasing ghosts. Let them.
The Führer has made it clear: if we destroy this invading force — these 10,000 spears marching on Larrak Valley — then our next move must be swift. We will not retreat. We will advance. Nearby villages will fall in succession. Cities, if lightly defended, may follow. By the time winter's grip tightens, we must be more than a resistance — we must be recognized as a power.
On another matter, please inform General Wilhelm Drossen that the prototype weapon he inquired about — the accelerated-firing mechanism — has shown promising results. It operates on a rotating feed system, using the same powder charges as our rifles but with significantly improved discharge rates. While field-ready production is still several months away, initial trials have exceeded expectations. When perfected, this device may replace entire squads with a single team.
I will continue to send updates as new developments arise. Until then, may your steel strike true and your orders be swift.
In unity and vigilance,— Otto Eisner
Elisabeth set the parchment down, her fingers brushing the rough wooden edge of the map table.
"Ninety thousand under our banner…" she said softly, more to herself than the room.
Officer Durango blinked, then stepped forward. "Wait—did I hear that correctly? Twenty-five percent conscription?"
Wilhelm crossed his arms, expression firm. "Yes. That means twenty-two thousand and five hundred souls in arms, if Otto's numbers are accurate."
Bruno let out a low whistle. "This is getting real," he muttered. "But the question is… can we actually win?"
There was a pause. The fire crackled in the brazier nearby. Elisabeth broke the silence, her voice calm but resolute.
"I don't know," she said. "But doubt won't win us anything. In over a century since the last uprisings, all were crushed before they left the forest. This—" she gestured around the room— "this is the first one that's survived long enough to fight open battles. To seize territory. To earn a name."
Wilhelm gave a slow nod. "His leadership is… exceptional. Better than any I've followed in my lifetime. Ruthless, yes. But clear. Focused. He does not waiver."
He glanced toward the lantern hanging above.
"Still… I worry," he added. "He dictates everything. From the rifle bore width to food rationing. Every word, every command comes from him."
Elisabeth folded her arms. "Yeah. I've noticed that too."
Bruno chuckled and leaned against a support beam. "He'll be a great king, though. You've seen the way people salute him. I've never seen anything like it."
Elisabeth tilted her head. "A king, huh? I wonder what royal bloodline we'll even have now. Who becomes the new nobles? Who decides that?"
Wilhelm's brow furrowed slightly, then he looked toward the tent flap. "That… I doubt."
He turned back to the others.
"He doesn't seem to care for bloodlines. Or tradition. And I've never once seen him look at a woman with anything resembling… interest. Not lust, not affection, not even passing admiration. To him, it's like we're all tools — male, female, young, old — tools to be used or sharpened."
Elisabeth brow rose. "Really?"
Wilhelm nodded. "I've lived long enough to watch countless men rise to power. Some good, most wicked. But every one of them—every single one—took wives, concubines, lovers. It was inevitable. Power attracts desire."
He paused.
"But the Führer? Not once. Not a glance. No late visits, no whispers behind doors. He treats every person like a soldier on a chessboard. Cold. Efficient."
The tent went quiet.
Bruno scratched the back of his neck. "If I were him," he muttered, "I'd have had a lady or two already. You know… enjoy the spoils while you can."
Elisabeth made a face, but didn't argue.
"And as for nobility?" She questioned.
"I don't think we'll see that either. Not in the way we've known it. There won't be dukes or barons or viscounts—there will be commanders, administrators, and enforcers."
Elisabeth raised an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure? There's never been a kingdom without nobles."
"There's never been a kingdom like the one he's building," Wilhelm replied evenly. "It's not a kingdom. Not really."
He walked to the edge of the table, laying a hand on the map.
"You see that?" He tapped the valley, the hills beyond, the scattered markings of the villages soon to be targeted. "This isn't land to be ruled by aristocrats. It's territory to be controlled. Every inch mapped, every grain counted. Every worker registered. Every soldier accounted for."
Bruno frowned ."You make it sound more like… a marching army than a kingdom."
Wilhelm nodded slowly. "That's exactly what it is."
He looked to them one by one.
"It's not a kingdom he's building. It's a great war host — unyielding, disciplined, endless. A realm shaped not by bloodlines or birthright, but by command and order. He governs like a grand strategist, not a sovereign. Every soul is a part of the whole — not subjects, but pieces to be placed, moved, or sacrificed as needed. There are no lords whispering in courts, no councils to temper his will. Only him, alone at the center, charting every path. This is not rule by blood... it is rule by will.
"Elisabeth crossed her arms, gaze narrowing. "So what do we call that, then?"
Wilhelm's jaw tightened. "We don't have a word for it. Not yet."
Elisabeth took a long breath, eyes fixed on the letter.
"Ninety thousand souls," she murmured again. "Twenty-two thousand and five hundred in arms… and rising."
She looked up.
"And once we destroy their ten-thousand-man force, he'll have leverage. The nearby villages will fold. The cities might follow."
Wilhelm nodded. "This is the tipping point."
Bruno frowned. "You really think we'll take cities?"
"If we win here," Wilhelm said, "we'll be known as more than rebels. We'll be the storm on the horizon. They'll either send everything they have… or run."
Officer Durango voice was quiet. "And if we lose?"
Wilhelm looked at her. Then down.
"We won't lose," Elisabeth said suddenly, cutting through the tension. "Because if we do — we all die. That's not an option."
Bruno grinned. "Now that's the kind of general I follow."
Wilhelm gave the faintest smile.
The brazier's flames crackled louder for a moment as the wind outside howled against the canvas.
The storm was close — in more ways than one.
"Shall we prepare the raid, General Wilhelm?" "Yes. It's time we remind them this valley is no longer theirs."