Rain lashed the stained-glass windows of the Royal Palace with the force of an omen. Each thunderclap made the kingdom's banners tremble, and the torch flames flickered as if they, too, feared what was coming.

  In the center of the Council Hall, the map of Carpathia spread across a black oak table, stained with wax, seals, and dried blood. The borders were traced in red, and the name "Dara" burned in ink like an open wound.

  King Erkhan struck the edge of the map with his fist."Five thousand elite soldiers from the Duchy of Douglas will march on Dara."

  The words landed like a heavy blow. No one dared speak. Erkhan continued:"Another five thousand will come from my own armies. That is the minimum."

  A tense murmur rippled through the hall. The dukes and counts exchanged glances, understanding the weight of what they had just heard. It was not a request; it was a decree.

  Duke Bourlance was the first to break the silence:"Your Majesty… my house can barely spare two thousand high-ranking men. If I do, my lands will be left defenseless."

  "And I only fifteen hundred," added Sneider, his face lined with worry. "Briggs will muster no more than a thousand."

  The king did not look at them with reproach. He observed them with a calm more terrible than anger."I know. But you will send your best. I do not want peasants or squires. I want men who know how to kill without hesitation."

  In Kuria, the word "elite" was not honorary. It was a sentence:those who went to war returned as heroes—or did not return at all.

  Bourlance slammed his staff on the floor."And who will guard our borders, our children, our wives? If we lose those troops, our houses will be weakened for generations."

  The king nodded."Yes. You will lose them. And with them, part of your lineage. But if we do not fight, there will be no lineage left to protect. The Empire will take no noble prisoners; it will take your names, your lands, and your children as offerings."

  A silence as dense as iron fell over the hall. Every noble understood what being conquered meant:public humiliation, burning of family shields, wives turned to spoils, heirs re-educated under the imperial banner.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Between the sword and the wall, only honor remained.

  The king continued, marking the map with his dagger:"Douglas: five thousand.Crown: five thousand.Bourlance: two thousand.Sneider: fifteen hundred.Briggs: one thousand.The other counts, between five hundred and eight hundred. The lesser houses, two or three hundred if possible."

  Then he raised his eyes."Whoever hides forces, whoever fails to comply, will answer to me… and to the people who will die for their cowardice."

  The air became unbearable. Some nobles lowered their heads. Others, older, stared at the map in resignation. They knew they would see these routes again—but painted in red.

  Sneider spoke in a whisper:"And Duchess Sofia? Her riders of magical beasts are the finest shock force in the north."

  Erkhan clenched his jaw."The Duchess stays in Mondring. Her power will protect the Duchy of Douglas. That order is not up for discussion."

  Bourlance huffed in frustration."Then half of our strength will remain behind."

  "Half the strength," the king replied, "is what keeps the north alive. If Mondring falls, the entire kingdom will fall."

  The words pierced the hall like spears.Some understood, others did not. But all knew they were sealing their fate.

  Erkhan straightened, looking at the men who had accompanied him for decades.He had seen them toast at harvest festivals, marry, bring children into the world. Now he saw them with the shadows of death reflected in their eyes.

  "The Empire will mobilize entire legions," he said, his voice low, almost reverent. "We cannot match their numbers, but our elite… our elite is worth ten thousand men. Let them remember that when they reach Dara."

  He then raised his silver cup."For the Kingdom, for Blood, and for the Memory of those who will not return."

  No one toasted. They only lifted their cups with the solemnity of those attending their own trial.They knew some would never see their lands again.That the names engraved on their rings would soon become epitaphs.That war would claim not just bodies, but entire legacies.

  When the meeting ended, the sound of the rain was all that remained.A rain that seemed to weep in advance for the children Kuria was about to send into the fire.

  Silence returned to the council, heavier than any sword.The kingdom's strategy had to balance ambition and caution: sending enough troops to the border without leaving territories unprotected, containing the population against the threat of monsters and raids, and maintaining the unity of the noble houses against an enemy seeking to seize the kingdom and claim Lusian Douglas.

  Meanwhile, citizens and peasants felt the war as a direct threat. Without their protectors, the harvest season and the raising of beasts became deadly hazards: herbivores ran wild, carnivores prowled, and villagers faced these dangers with minimal defense.

  Thus, the entire kingdom prepared for war: personal interests, ambition, and civic duty converged in a single point. Internal differences had to be set aside; unity was the only hope against the advancing Empire, and all houses—from the greatest to the smallest—mobilized, aware that spilled blood might decide Carpathia's fate.