Four days. Not one more.
That was the time I had given myself to crush the East. No endless siege, no war of attrition. A blitzkrieg, struck with the speed of a black lightning bolt. I knew the South and the West were watching us. If we lingered, they would have time to move, to weave their alliances, to tighten the noose. So there would be no slowness. No rest.
From the very first day, I had given the order: get rid of the useless. The armor too heavy was stowed away, the baggage divided, the convoys reduced to the bare minimum. My soldiers marched light, black armor only on shoulders and torsos, bare legs in the snow, but their eyes burned with animal haste. Human prisoners were put to use, dragging supplies and weapons, but even they quickly understood: whoever slowed the march died in the snow, a dagger in the nape.
