Third-person POV - Ronald's Headquarters
The tent reeked of leather and iron. Lanterns flickered, casting restless shadows of the generals bent over sprawling maps onto the canvas walls. Ronald had loosened the clasps of his heavy armor and slammed a goblet onto the table in anger.
The entrance flap burst open. A dust-covered messenger stumbled inside, gasping for breath. His knees buckled as he collapsed to the ground, his voice trembling:
"My lord… the supply convoy…" He faltered, fear choking the words in his throat. "…has been seized. Almost none survived."
A low murmur swept through the tent. Officers exchanged tense glances; some slammed fists onto the table in fury, while others bit their lips in silent panic.
Ronald rose slowly. The rage burning in his eyes was so sharp that no one dared breathe. "Who did this?" he asked. His voice carried no calm, only a blade of frozen threat.
