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*Chapter 45 – The Shadow Over the Western Front**
The council chamber was steeped in an oppressive silence.
Maps lay sprawled across the table, marked with the grim tally of lost territories. The generals and advisors of the Western Coalition sat in tense contemplation, the weight of recent defeats pressing heavily upon them.
At the head of the table, General Kaelith Voren broke the silence.
"Our forces are not merely being defeated," he stated, his voice measured. "They are being dismantled with a precision that defies conventional warfare."
The Duke of Veltara leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Reports attribute these actions to a single individual—Sirius von Ross. A youth of sixteen, yet bearing the titles of Grand Sword Master and ninth-class magician."
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the assembly.
"Titles can be bestowed," an older general scoffed. "But such prowess in one so young?"
Voren's gaze was unwavering. "The evidence is irrefutable. Entire battalions have fallen before him. Fortresses reduced to rubble. He operates with an efficiency that leaves no room for retaliation."
The Minister of Intelligence spoke up, her tone grave. "Our soldiers speak of him in hushed tones. Morale is crumbling. Desertions are on the rise. They fear facing a force they cannot comprehend."
A young strategist interjected, "Perhaps if we understood his tactics, his patterns—"
Voren interrupted, "There are no discernible patterns. He strikes unpredictably, leaving devastation in his wake. Conventional strategies have failed us."
The room fell into a heavy silence once more.
"Then what course of action remains?" the Duke pressed.
Voren's expression was grim. "We must anticipate his moves, adapt swiftly, and seek any advantage, no matter how slight. Underestimating him has cost us dearly."
The assembly nodded in solemn agreement, the shadow of Sirius von Ross looming large over their deliberations.