In the days that followed their unexpected encounter, Caroline avoided Gavin Ward at every opportunity. Whether it was out of shame, confusion, or a tangled mix of both, she no longer dared to meet his gaze. Whenever she heard his footsteps in the hallway, she would retreat into her quarters. At meals, she made excuses to eat elsewhere. Even when passing by, she lowered her head and hurried away.
Gavin could only scratch his head helplessly at her behavior. He hadn't intended for things to unfold the way they had. Innocent though he was, he bore the weight of responsibility. But there was little time to dwell on personal matters. The throne demanded his full attention.
For the realm of Los was preparing for war.
Gavin spent his mornings poring over reports, his afternoons in the training grounds inspecting recruits, and his evenings locked in council with generals. Government matters stacked up like mountains, but even heavier was the task of shaping his army for what lay ahead.
Already, he had expanded his forces to one hundred thousand men. Industrial machines roared day and night, hammering out steel blades, forging armor, and producing rows of gleaming weapons. The smoke of progress curled into the skies above Los as the kingdom braced itself for conflict.
At last came the military council. Inside the great war hall, banners of crimson and black fluttered in the torchlight. All officers above the rank of regiment commander were present. These were men who had stood with Gavin since his earliest days—knights once loyal to the old Ross Kingdom, now sworn to him, elevated to officers under his command.
Gavin sat at the head of the long table, his dark uniform crisp, his expression calm but resolute. The hall fell silent as Rotis, one of his most trusted advisors, began the briefing.
"Our immediate enemy is the Orc Empire," Rotis declared. "Their vanguard force numbers around one hundred thousand. But this is only the beginning. The rest of their mobilized forces, along with those not yet summoned from within their empire, are estimated at over two and a half million soldiers."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Two and a half million. Against Gavin's one hundred thousand, the disparity was staggering.
"And beyond them," Rotis continued grimly, "we face a potential adversary in the east: the Duke of the Golden Lion."
The name itself carried weight. The officers leaned forward, their brows furrowed.
"Is the Duke of the Golden Lion truly a threat to us?" Gavin asked in a low, steady voice.
Rotis nodded solemnly. "A very real threat. Though his troops wield mostly cold steel, the Tongsley Empire is collapsing, and the Duke is one of its highest lords. He commands full legions of battle magicians and regiments of flying dragon knights. He has three hundred thousand troops directly under him. Beyond that, twenty-three member states of the Tongsley Alliance answer his call. If he were to muster all his strength, his numbers could easily exceed two million, and those would not be raw recruits. They would be hardened, trained elites."
A heavy silence pressed over the council chamber.
"In total, then," Gavin muttered, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair, "our enemies could reach nearly five million."
The number echoed in everyone's mind like a thunderclap. Five million soldiers. Against Los, whose entire population barely exceeded three million.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Rotis said. "But they will not unite. The Orc Empire despises humans too deeply. They will not ally themselves with the Duke. That is our saving grace."
Even so, the disparity in size was daunting. Gavin glanced down the table at his commanders. "Our forces number only one hundred and twenty thousand. Loyal and brave, yes, but mostly new recruits—men trained for less than a month. Against millions, we risk being overwhelmed before we can strike decisive blows. The enemy need not crush us outright. They could send detachments to pin our main army and sweep around to devastate the kingdom from another front."
The officers exchanged uneasy looks. They all knew it was true. And the enemy possessed assets Gavin's troops could not yet match: magicians in great numbers, air units capable of raining fire from above, cavalry trained to perfection.
The Ross army, reborn under Gavin's rule, was unmatched in quality. Their discipline, their weapons, their training—far beyond any army of the age. But numbers did not lie. The ocean could drown even the strongest swimmer.
To make matters worse, if Gavin marched south against the Orc Empire, the Duke of the Golden Lion might seize the chance to invade from the east. The thought of being attacked on two fronts was unacceptable.
"Then we must expand again," Gavin declared at last, his tone sharp with finality. "We will recruit from among the Nord population. Ensure that only the loyal are taken. Our target is one hundred and fifty thousand new soldiers."
A ripple of approval swept through the hall.
The Nord people numbered around three million. By conscripting one in ten, Gavin could theoretically raise three hundred thousand. But not all Nords were trustworthy. The warrior class was restless, their loyalties divided. Thus, Gavin would draw from the common folk, those more loyal to Los and more willing to fight for survival rather than ambition.
It was a compromise, but a necessary one. Numbers alone would not win this war, but without sufficient troops to guard the homeland, no amount of brilliance on the battlefield could save them.
When the order was set, the kingdom's army was reorganized into two great fronts:
The Southern Front: 120,000 troops, with 20,000 veterans anchoring the line and 100,000 fresh recruits forming the bulk.
The Eastern Front: 150,000 soldiers, largely recruits, tasked with holding against the Duke of the Golden Lion should he strike.
In total, Gavin would command 270,000 men. Still a fraction of what their enemies could field, but a force capable of standing firm on two fronts.
"Population… population… population!" Gavin muttered bitterly, rubbing his temples. "That is our greatest weakness."
He thought of history—of Germany in the Second World War, with over eighty million people, fielding eleven million soldiers and drawing on fifteen million more from vassal states. If he had even half that manpower, raising five million troops would be child's play. But he did not. He had to build brick by brick, step by step.
Meanwhile, far away in the heart of the Tongsley Empire, within the Principality of the Golden Lion, a different council was underway.
In a towering castle adorned with banners of gold, knights in shining silver armor marched the halls, their cloaks embroidered with lions in golden thread, fluttering proudly in the breeze.
At the center of a lavish dining hall sat a man whose very presence demanded respect. His hair was a wild mane of gold, his beard thick and bristling like a lion's. His shoulders were broad, his frame immense, and his piercing eyes carried both majesty and menace. He was the Duke of the Golden Lion himself.
His family dined quietly around him, too cautious to break his silence. Finally, he turned to one of his great knights standing nearby.
"Has Dame Lusia not returned yet?" he asked, his voice low and edged with impatience.
The knight bowed. "Not yet, my lord."
The Duke's brows furrowed. "She has been gone three months. Is it so difficult to subdue the king of a small nation? I sent her to bring him under my hand, to make him my puppet. Yet there is no word."
He drummed his fingers against the table, irritation flashing in his eyes. The mission had been simple: subdue minor kings on the verge of ruin, restore their thrones with his backing, and bind them as vassals. Through such maneuvers, his strength grew with every restored kingdom.
The knight shifted uneasily. "Perhaps Dame Lusia was delayed on the road. After all, the Kingdom of Los is far from here."
"The Kingdom of Los lies by the sea," the Duke snapped. "Aside from the Orc Empire, it is the only realm with such a position. We cannot sail through Orc lands. Los is the only gateway. Do not defend her failure. If Lusia does not return within a month, I will declare her mission a failure and march myself. I will seize the lands around Los and secure the coast with my own hands."
His eyes gleamed with a hungry fire. For the Duke of the Golden Lion, the coast was no mere prize of war. It was the keystone of his grand design—a plan whose scale reached far beyond the borders of the collapsing Tongsley Empire.
And so, both Gavin Ward and the Duke of the Golden Lion prepared for the inevitable clash. The armies of millions stirred, and the storm of war loomed closer with every passing day.
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