The hall erupted into a muffled chaos of whispers and gasps. The sheer scale of providing rations for 400,000 private soldiers and a million auxiliary men for an entire year was undeniably extravagant. Compared to this, the Grumman family's earlier "generous" offer looked like a beggar's handout.
But what shocked the assembly even more was the final pledge: the Paladin.
As the pillars of the Saint Garus family, the Paladins were the elite of the elite, possessing the rare neuro-sync qualifications required to pilot the massive Knight suits. Each Paladin was traditionally accompanied by two Armiger-class "Squire" pilots—assistant knights who, while slightly weaker in individual combat, remained terrifying engines of destruction on the battlefield.
Rumor had it that one Paladin was already at the front protecting Leo Saint Garus. This meant Caladogon had just deployed a total of at least six Knight-class war machines. A single Knight could easily tear through an entire company of Leman Russ tanks; Caladogon was truly going all out.
While the room was still reeling from the shock, every gaze involuntarily shifted toward Raynor. He was the only one left who had yet to "quote a price." They waited to see what kind of "sincerity" this new Governor—this "Chosen One"—could possibly offer.
Raynor sat perfectly still, his expression a mask of calm, but inwardly he was cursing the entire Saint Garus bloodline. These people based their pledges on their relative status. If the Grummans were strong, they bid high. If the Stones were weaker, they bid less. The Industrial Alliance traded steel for food, and the Wasteland Walkers traded lives for gear.
Caladogon, however, had raised the stakes to an exaggerated level that was just within his own means, but calculated to bankrupt Raynor. Carter had just returned 500,000 PDF veterans to Raynor's direct control. If Raynor pledged those 500,000 men now, he would be acting according to his status, but he would lose his only real muscle. Without those troops, why would the Chuck Faction—or anyone else—ever fear him?
But if he pledged too little, his prestige would be shattered. The Noble Council would paint him as a selfish coward who cared more for his own skin than the survival of the planet.
Raynor picked up his glass and took a slow sip. He appeared as steady as a statue, but his mind was racing at redline speeds. Beside him, Carter's expression was grave. The CEO realized the trap as well.
There's a mole in my staff, Carter realized bitterly. He had issued the troop deployment order less than half a day ago, yet Caladogon already knew the exact numbers. The old King's "quote" was a surgical strike designed to force Raynor to choose between his army and his reputation.
The silence in the hall stretched. Raynor felt like a lamb being roasted over a slow fire. Finally, he raised his head, a confident, almost triumphant smile playing on his lips. He held up a single finger.
"I pledge 600,000 PDF veterans," Raynor declared. "Plus, enough food for 1.5 million people for six months!"
The room was silent for a heartbeat, then erupted.
"Excellent!" "The Governor is truly generous!" "A leader worthy of the Emperor's blessing!"
Cheers and applause filled the hall. The nobles smiled and threw out empty compliments, but their eyes were full of mockery. Six hundred thousand men? The fool had just bid more than he even possessed. In his desperate attempt to outshine Caladogon, he had wagered his entire foundation. To them, Raynor was no longer a threat—just a hot-headed child who didn't understand that a Governor without soldiers is just a corpse in a fancy coat.
Caladogon leaned back, a smug glint in his eyes. But then, Raynor spoke again, his voice cutting through the noise like a thunderclap.
"Gentlemen."
The hall fell silent. Raynor stood up, his face set in an expression of deep, solemn compassion.
"You are all the golden pillars holding up the sky of Brevis," Raynor said, his voice heavy with feigned gravitas. "You have sacrificed much for our survival. But I have just done a rough tally. Our combined relief force consists of nearly five million regular troops and ten million auxiliary militia. Fifteen million souls in total."
He looked around the room, his tone turning sharp. "There is a saying: 'An army without a general is a snake without a head.' Even the strongest legion is just a pile of sand if it lacks a unified command. Fifteen million men thrown onto a chaotic battlefield without a single leader will not help the front—they will only create a slaughterhouse of confusion."
His gaze swept across the powerful faces at the table. "Commanding fifteen million, coordinating their logistics, and formulating a grand strategy requires prestige, status, and..." he paused for emphasis, "the Emperor's explicit approval."
Caladogon's heart skipped a beat. Something is wrong.
Raynor straightened his back, his voice rising to a crescendo that demanded obedience. "I am Raynor von, Governor of Brevis. This is a burden I cannot and will not shirk. I shall personally assume Supreme Command of this relief army. I will lead these fifteen million men to the Frost Forbidden Wall myself to direct the defense against the Xenos threat!"
"In the name of the Emperor, I will not fail! We shall not return until victory is ours!"
The silence that followed was absolute. The nobles stared at Raynor, the "hot-head" they had just been mocking.
He just traded 500,000 men for the command of 15 million? The realization hit them like a physical blow.
Carter, sitting next to Raynor, let out a silent breath of relief, his wine glass hovering in mid-air. Even the stoic CEO couldn't hide his admiration. Brilliant. Not only had Raynor saved his reputation, he had used the Council's own greed to propel himself into a position of absolute military authority. With fifteen million men under his banner, Raynor was no longer a guest in Brevis—he was its master.
As some of the nobles opened their mouths to object, Carter stood up. His voice was cold and final.
"Governor von is the de jure supreme ruler of this world," Carter said, emphasizing the word supreme while looking directly at Caladogon. "For him to lead the army personally will stabilize the hearts of the people. Furthermore..."
Carter's sharp eyes swept over the dissenters. "The Governor is the Emperor's Chosen. His talent and loyalty have been verified by the Golden Throne itself. Do any of you here wish to publicly doubt the God-Emperor's judgment?"
No one spoke. To object now was to admit heresy in a room full of State Church Bishops. Raynor watched the "pious" nobles swallow their protests, realizing he had just won the opening gambit of the war.