Night fell over the battlefield.
For the first time in hours, there were no charges or orders to advance. Only torches, wounded men, and thousands of corpses covering the mud.
Imperials.
Douglas.
Men who, only a few hours earlier, had fought for their families, their lords, or their ideals. Now they were part of the earth.
The survivors began retreating toward Albaterra.
It was not a rout.
It was a withdrawal.
The Douglas had fallen, and the other houses would have to take their place.
As they advanced, whispers began to spread.
—He finally fell.
—It was only a matter of time.
—The Douglas brought it upon themselves.
But others spoke of what had happened.
—The Emperor had to face him personally.
—And he still managed to wound him.
A soldier remained silent for a moment before muttering:
—That man was a monster...
He looked toward the battlefield.
—But he was our monster.
The news was already spreading throughout the entire army.
Laurence Douglas was dead.
And with him seemed to have disappeared the man who had turned the night into forbidden territory for the Empire.
At least, that was what they believed.
When Felipe entered the command tent, the most important nobles surrounded the map.
Bourlance. Sneider. Briggs. Carter. Armett. Macallister. Stanley. Kesller. Brown. Mondring.
No one spoke.
—How many casualties? —Felipe asked.
Briggs checked the reports.
—The count isn't final. The Douglas have lost nearly eighteen thousand men.
Felipe nodded.
—And the Empire?
—More.
That explained the silence.
But only for tonight.
Felipe raised his eyes.
—Laurence?
The silence grew heavier.
—He died fighting the Emperor.
Felipe closed his eyes.
He remembered the duke covered in blood, entering his tent to complain about the supplies after yet another battle.
He had been a difficult man.
A warrior.
And one of the few men Felipe had been able to call a friend.
—How did he die?
—The Emperor ran him through with his sword.
A pause.
—But before he fell, Laurence managed to wound him.
No one spoke.
Even his enemies understood what that meant.
Felipe looked at the map.
—Then he did not die in vain.
He pointed toward the front.
—The Douglas lost almost their entire army. But the Empire lost even more.
He raised his eyes.
—And that is the only thing that matters.
His finger stopped over Albaterra.
—This fortress will fall.
The nobles exchanged glances.
—It doesn't matter how many men we place against those walls. The Empire has too many soldiers, too many resources, and can replace its losses faster than we can.
Felipe slowly exhaled.
—Albaterra will fall.
No one answered.
—The question is not whether we can save it.
His hand closed around the edge of the table.
—It is how much we can make them pay before we lose it.
Briggs raised his head.
—Attrition?
Felipe nodded.
—Every attack. Every assault. Every spell. Every man who falls.
He pointed toward the Imperial positions.
—We cannot stop them forever.
His gaze swept across the room.
—But we can make advancing cost them more than they can afford.
Bourlance understood.
—Until they withdraw.
—Exactly.
—And if they don't?
Felipe held his gaze.
—Then we keep killing them.
A pause.
—Until they do.
No one smiled.
They all understood the price.
They would die too.
Felipe pointed toward the right flank.
—The Douglas can no longer hold it.
—My men will take their position —Bourlance said.
—They will not take their place.
Felipe shook his head.
—No one can.
He spread the map out.
—But we can force the Empire to spend ten men for every stretch of ground that once cost them one.
The orders began to follow.
—Bourlance, you will cover the outer sector.
—Sneider, protect the roads.
—Briggs, keep reserves behind every line. I want fresh men where others are about to fall.
Felipe looked at Carter.
—The mages will remain inside Albaterra.
—And if they attack at night?
—They will.
Carter nodded.
—We'll prepare defenses.
—No.
Felipe pointed toward the positions that had belonged to Laurence.
—We'll prepare something better.
Carter understood.
—Learn from the Douglas.
—Exactly.
Felipe looked at all of them.
—Laurence turned the night into a nightmare for the Empire.
His voice lowered.
—Now we will do the same.
A general spoke cautiously.
—Your Majesty... our losses will be enormous as well.
—I know.
—Then...
—There is no other choice.
Silence.
Felipe looked at the map again.
—One day these walls will fall.
No one looked away.
—One day we will enter them, and there will be no one left to defend them.
His hand struck the table softly.
—But that day has not come yet.
He pointed toward the Imperial positions.
—Our task is simple. Make every man who dies here someone the Empire will be missing tomorrow.
A pause.
—And the day after.
—And the day after that.
Bourlance understood.
—We're not trying to win.
Felipe shook his head.
—No.
—We're trying to make sure they cannot win enough.
—Exactly.
Felipe looked toward the walls.
—If we can make them abandon this campaign, they will return.
—Yes.
—And when they return, they will have to start all over again.
Briggs frowned.
—That could take years.
—I know.
Everyone understood what that meant.
New soldiers.
New knights.
New mages.
An entire generation growing up while the war continued.
Felipe slowly exhaled.
—And by then, we will no longer be here.
The room fell completely still.
There was no hope in his words.
Only determination.
Felipe looked back at the map.
—But they will be.
Outside, a bell rang from the walls.
The soldiers took their positions.
The mages activated their magic circles.
The patrols disappeared into the darkness.
The night no longer belonged to Laurence Douglas.
Now it belonged to everyone.
Felipe took one last look at the right flank.
—Laurence bought us time.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
—Now we will decide how much it is worth.
The nobles began to move.
Orders.
Maps.
Reliefs.
Supplies.
No one spoke of victory.
No one spoke of saving Albaterra.
Only of how much they could make the Empire pay before the walls fell.
Because Albaterra would fall.
They all knew it.
But the Empire would have to decide how much it was willing to lose to see it fall.
In the Imperial camp, the situation was no better.
The Emperor had been taken to his tent.
The healers cleaned the wound on his side.
It was not deep.
But it was there.
A red line across his skin.
Naira remained at his side as she watched the physician wipe away the dried blood.
—Is it serious?
—No, Your Highness.
The physician finished cleaning the wound.
Naira looked at it again.
—Laurence Douglas managed to wound you.
The Emperor did not answer immediately.
For several seconds, he remembered that final strike.
The sword cutting through the air.
The sound of steel against his armor.
And then...
the blood.
—Was he really that strong?
The Emperor raised his eyes.
—Yes.
His answer was calm.
—He was a worthy opponent.
Naira looked surprised.
She had never heard her father speak of an enemy that way.
The Emperor stood.
—And he died like one.
He left the tent.
Naira followed.
Outside, the Imperial camp was illuminated by hundreds of torches.
The wounded filled the tents.
The dead were being laid out in rows.
Officers hurried from one place to another carrying reports.
The Emperor watched all of it for several seconds.
—How many did we lose?
—We don't have the final number yet, Your Majesty.
—The Douglas?
The officer quickly checked his records.
—Nearly eighteen thousand.
The Emperor nodded.
He said nothing.
Naira looked at the rows of wounded soldiers.
—But we won.
—Yes.
—Then...
The Emperor looked at her.
—Albaterra will fall.
He pointed toward the distant walls.
—That is a fact.
Naira followed his gaze.
—They have fewer men. Fewer resources. And now they have lost Laurence.
—They cannot stop us forever.
—Then what worries you?
The Emperor took several seconds to answer.
—The price.
Naira frowned.
—The price of taking a fortress?
—The price of every man we lose to take it.
Naira looked back at the camp.
—We have more.
—For now.
The words fell softly.
—And afterward?
The Emperor began walking.
—After Albaterra, there is still an entire kingdom left.
Naira followed him.
—Cities.
—Fortresses.
—Duchies.
—Armies.
The Emperor nodded.
—And each one will require men.
Naira remained thoughtful.
—We can replace the losses.
—Yes.
—Then...
—Not immediately.
She understood.
Men could be replaced.
The experience, discipline, and strength of a veteran could not.
The Emperor continued walking.
—A recruit can take the place of a dead man.
He looked at the wounded soldiers' tents.
—But he cannot become that man in a few months.
Naira said nothing.
—If this campaign ends here...
The Emperor stopped.
—If, after Albaterra, we have to stop to rebuild the army...
His gaze turned toward the walls.
—We will have won a fortress.
He paused.
—But we will have lost years.
Naira raised her eyes.
—And we would have to start over?
—Exactly.
The wind stirred the flames of the torches.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Naira looked back toward Albaterra.
—And what would change during those years?
The Emperor looked at her.
—Everything.
—The young people of the Kingdom would grow stronger.
—Yes.
—Their warriors would reach higher levels.
—Yes.
The Emperor paused.
—And the Douglas heir would too.
Naira froze.
—Laurence's son.
—The same.
—But he is still young.
The Emperor looked back at her.
—Precisely.
Naira frowned.
—Do you think he will become as strong as his father?
The Emperor slowly shook his head.
—No.
Naira looked surprised.
The Emperor lowered his gaze toward the wound on his side.
—He will be stronger.
Silence.
The Emperor looked toward Albaterra again.
—There will be something worse.
Naira remained silent.
The Emperor resumed walking.
—Albaterra will fall.
His voice was calm.
Certain.
—The question was never whether it would fall.
He looked at the army stretching out behind them.
—The question is how many men we will have to sacrifice to make it happen.
Naira watched the soldiers.
For the first time, she understood why her father was not celebrating.
They had won.
But they could not afford to win at any cost.
The Emperor turned his gaze toward the walls.
—Tomorrow, we attack again.