The rain struck the stained-glass windows of the Royal Palace with the force of an omen.
Every thunderclap made the banners of Carpathia tremble, while the torchlight flickered across the tense faces of the nobles.
At the center of the Council Chamber, a map of the kingdom stretched across an enormous black oak table.
There were wax marks, seals, small banners, and dozens of pieces representing fortresses, cities, and armies.
King Philip Erkhan placed both hands on the table.
—Five thousand elite soldiers from the Douglas Duchy will march toward Dara.
No one spoke.
Erkhan took five white pieces and placed them over the fortress.
—Another five thousand will come from the Crown's armies.
Duke Bourlance frowned.
—Your Majesty... five thousand men from the Douglases already represent a considerable portion of their forces.
—I know.
—And if we send another five thousand...
Bourlance slowly exhaled.
—We won't have enough men to protect our own lands.
—I know —Erkhan repeated.
The king raised his eyes.
—But I'm not asking for five thousand armed men.
He pointed at the pieces in front of him.
—I'm asking for five thousand soldiers capable of fighting the Imperial army.
Count Brandon Sneider stood with his arms crossed.
—My house can barely gather fifteen hundred high-level fighters.
His tone was dry.
—Briggs won't reach a thousand.
Another noble nodded.
—Neither will my house.
Erkhan did not seem surprised.
—Then send whatever you have.
Bourlance lightly tapped the floor with his cane.
—Your Majesty, if we lose those men, our houses will remain weakened for generations.
—Yes.
The answer came immediately.
Erkhan picked up a small wooden piece.
—Because an elite soldier is not simply a man who has learned how to use a sword.
He placed it on the border.
—He is a fighter who has reached a level of power that an ordinary soldier could never match.
He pointed to another piece.
—Greater strength.
Then another.
—More mana.
And finally a third.
—Greater endurance and the ability to use high-level magic.
The nobles remained silent.
They all knew this reality.
A farmer could learn to hold a spear in a few weeks.
An elite soldier needed years.
And a warrior capable of mastering high-level magic could require an entire lifetime.
Erkhan looked back at the map.
—That is why the Empire can mobilize tens of thousands of men while we cannot afford to respond in the same way.
He pointed to the black pieces on the other side of the border.
—They have numbers.
Then he placed Carpathia's pieces on the map.
—We have quality.
Brandon Sneider gave a humorless laugh.
—As long as that quality survives.
Several nobles looked at him.
Erkhan did not react.
—Exactly.
The king traced the border with one finger.
—The difference in individual power can compensate for a numerical disadvantage.
He paused.
—But it cannot do so forever.
Bourlance slowly nodded.
—An elite can defeat many enemies...
—But an elite can also die —Erkhan finished.
Silence fell over the chamber once again.
The king picked up five pieces representing the Douglases.
He studied them for several seconds before placing them over Dara.
—That is why the Douglases will not deploy their full strength.
Brandon pointed toward Douglas territory.
—The duchy?
—The duchy.
Erkhan picked up another piece.
—As long as Duchess Sofia remains in the duchy, the magical beast riders will remain there as well.
Brandon frowned.
—Even now?
—Especially now.
The count stepped toward the table.
—Your Majesty, those riders are probably the most powerful fighting force in the kingdom. If we need them to stop the Empire, why keep them away from the front?
Erkhan raised his eyes.
—Because they are a mobile force.
He removed the pieces from Dara.
—And Dara doesn't give them enough room.
He pointed toward the fortress.
—Inside those walls, their mounts would lose much of their advantage. The roads are narrow. The troops will be concentrated. The terrain will limit their movements.
He moved the pieces toward the plains behind the fortress.
—We need them to be able to maneuver.
Bourlance understood before the others.
—A force for the retreat.
Erkhan looked at him.
—A force to prevent a retreat from becoming a defeat.
Brandon slightly clenched his jaw.
—Are you assuming Dara will fall?
The question hung in the chamber.
Erkhan remained silent for several seconds.
Then he placed a black piece over the fortress.
—I'm assuming the Empire will do everything in its power to take it.
Brandon held his gaze.
—That doesn't answer my question.
—I don't need to answer it.
Erkhan pointed toward the plains.
—I need you to understand what will happen if they take it.
He slowly moved Carpathia's pieces backward.
—The troops will retreat toward the second defensive line.
Then he placed the riders on one flank.
—The riders will cover the retreat.
Another move.
—They will attack their flanks.
Another.
—They will break any formations that try to pursue us.
Another.
—And they will disappear before the enemy can catch them.
Bourlance studied the map carefully.
—We will force the Empire to halt its advance.
—Exactly.
—And every time they try to pursue us...
—They will lose men.
Erkhan raised his eyes.
—That will be the price they pay for advancing.
Brandon remained silent.
He didn't like the strategy.
Not because it was bad.
But because it meant the Douglases would continue to play a decisive role.
Even after everything that had happened.
His father had conspired with the Empire.
He had tried to prevent a war that, according to him, could only destroy Carpathia.
He had betrayed the kingdom.
And he had paid for it.
The Sneiders had lost their ducal title.
They were no longer one of the founding families.
Now they were counts.
And the Douglases were still there.
More powerful than ever.
Brandon slowly clenched his fist.
But when he looked at the map again, his expression was that of a commander.
Not that of a resentful son.
—If Dara falls —he said— the riders will have to cover a considerable retreat.
—I know.
—They will need clear routes.
—They are already being prepared.
Brandon raised his eyes.
For the first time, he seemed surprised.
Erkhan did not explain how he knew that.
—Then they will need mana reserves.
—They will have them.
—And scouts.
—They have already been sent.
Brandon narrowed his eyes.
The king seemed to have thought of every detail.
Bourlance, meanwhile, nodded with respect.
—Your Majesty, if that is the strategy, I support the decision.
Erkhan slightly inclined his head.
—Thank you, Bourlance.
The duke pointed toward Dara.
—But while the fortress still stands, what will we do?
Erkhan placed more pieces around the city.
—Defend it.
—Until when?
—Until necessary.
Bourlance studied the map.
—And what if the Empire concentrates all its forces?
Erkhan answered without hesitation.
—Then we will concentrate ours.
—And if they break the first line?
—We retreat.
—And the second?
—We retreat again.
Brandon frowned.
—That doesn't sound like a defense.
Erkhan looked at him.
—It isn't.
The chamber fell silent.
The king slowly traced a finger across the map, from Dara toward the interior of Carpathia.
—It's a war of attrition.
His finger stopped over one of the main Imperial routes.
—They will have to advance.
Then he pointed toward their own lines.
—We only have to survive.
Bourlance understood.
—Every day that passes, our troops will have more time to reorganize.
—And theirs will be farther from their supplies.
—Their casualties will be harder to replace.
—Exactly.
Erkhan took a black piece and placed it far from Dara.
—The Empire can afford to lose soldiers.
His gaze hardened.
—We cannot.
No one spoke.
—Every elite soldier who dies at Dara will not be replaced tomorrow.
Erkhan pointed at Carpathia's pieces.
—We need years to train another one.
—And if we lose too many...
His finger slowly moved along the borders.
—The villages will be left without protection.
He pointed toward the roads.
—The trade routes will be exposed.
Then toward the forested regions.
—Monsters will begin approaching inhabited areas.
Finally, he pointed toward the territories of the noble houses.
—And every lord will have to withdraw men from the front to protect his own lands.
Bourlance slowly lowered his gaze.
—Then the true danger isn't just the Imperial army.
Erkhan shook his head.
—It never was.
He looked at the map.
—War can destroy our defenses without conquering a single city.
Thunder shook the stained-glass windows.
The torch flames trembled.
Erkhan picked up the dagger resting on the table.
He drove it into Dara.
—That is why we must concentrate our forces.
Then he pointed north.
—And keep our territories protected.
His gaze passed over each of the nobles.
—Because if we lose our elite army, the Empire won't need to conquer us.
He left the dagger embedded in the map.
—The monsters, hunger, and rebellions will do the work for them.
No one argued again.
Erkhan began distributing the forces.
—Douglas: five thousand.
He placed the pieces.
—Crown: five thousand.
Another line.
—Bourlance: two thousand.
The duke nodded.
—Sneider: fifteen hundred.
Brandon did not react.
—Briggs: one thousand.
Erkhan looked at the others.
—The remaining houses will send between five hundred and eight hundred men. The smaller houses, two hundred. Three hundred if they can.
Bourlance tightened his grip on his cane.
—And if any house fails to comply...
Erkhan raised his eyes.
—They will answer to the Crown.
He paused.
—And to every citizen who is forced to defend themselves alone.
No one spoke again.
The war was no longer a matter of pride.
Now it was a matter of survival.
Erkhan slowly raised his cup.
—For Carpathia.
The nobles raised theirs.
—For our houses.
The cups clinked.
But no one smiled.
Because they all knew what this mobilization meant.
They were not sending ten thousand men into a battle.
They were sending ten thousand soldiers who had cost years of training, resources, and generations of magical knowledge.
And many would not return.
The meeting ended late into the night.
The nobles left the chamber one by one.
Brandon was one of the last.
Before leaving, he looked at the map one more time.
Dara.
The Imperial positions.
The retreat routes.
The Douglases.
He clenched his teeth.
Then he left without saying a word.
When the doors closed, Erkhan remained alone before the map.
The rain continued beating against the stained-glass windows.
The king slowly pulled the dagger from Dara.
Then he moved the black piece representing the Imperial army.
He advanced it.
Then another.
And another.
Until it finally reached the point where he had placed the Douglas riders.
Erkhan stared at the board for several seconds.
He knew what would happen.
Dara would fall.
It didn't matter how long its defenders resisted.
The fortress was important, but it was not the true objective.
The true objective was what would come afterward.
The pursuit.
The supply lines.
The open fields.
The Imperial soldiers forced to advance farther and farther from their fortresses.
And then the riders.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each attack would tear men from the Imperial army.
Each retreat would force them to reorganize.
Every kilometer they gained would cost them blood.
Erkhan returned the piece representing Dara to its original position.
To everyone else, it was the first defensive line.
To him, it was the first trap.
—Advance —he murmured.
He looked toward the black pieces.
—I want you to get as far as possible.
Then he extinguished the torch.
The chamber fell into darkness.
Meanwhile, throughout the fortresses, barracks, and villages of Carpathia, messengers began delivering the orders.
Soldiers would be summoned.
Weapons would be prepared.
Mana reserves would be inspected.
The stables would be emptied.
And the noble houses would begin deciding which men they could afford to lose.
Because in Carpathia, war was not measured only in thousands of soldiers.
It was measured in levels.
In mana.
In years of training.
And, above all, in how many of those extraordinary men would still be alive when the first battle was over.
The Empire believed it was advancing toward Carpathia.
Felipe Erkhan knew that with every step, it was also walking deeper into the trap.