Chapter 111 – The War Council
The night draped the battlefield in heavy silence. Lines of campfires burned like scattered constellations on the earth, throwing jagged shadows across weary faces. The men of Eisenwald had survived the first clash. More than that, they had won.
Yet Fenrir knew too well: today's triumph was but a single step. Tomorrow would be far harsher.
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The large command tent smelled of wax and parchment. A broad wooden table dominated the center, maps stretched across its scarred surface. The glow of candlelight flickered across the faces of Fenrir's commanders:
Darius Holt, the grizzled veteran, his jaw set like stone.
Selene Aestra, sharp-eyed and precise, strands of blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders.
Garrik Stormhoof, built like a fortress, a man of sheer presence and booming voice.
Lyra Nightshade, silent as a blade in the dark, her gaze cold and penetrating.
Roland Ironarm, hands large as shovels, ready to sketch positions and lines on the maps.
Kael Morgenstern, the wandering knight, newly sworn yet already a pillar, aura of quiet power about him.
No time was wasted on casualties—that had already been reported. Tonight's meeting was for one purpose alone: how to survive the enemy's retaliation tomorrow.
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Fenrir tapped the map with the hilt of his dagger. His voice was calm but ironclad.
"They will strike us head-on. They cannot accept being humiliated today. The question is—how do we endure without losing ground?"
Darius growled. "My infantry can hold, but not without rotation. Men standing shoulder to shoulder for hours will break before the line does."
Fenrir nodded. "Then we rotate every hundred paces. Fresh ranks step forward, tired ones fall back. We bleed their strength while sparing ours."
Selene leaned forward, arms crossed. "Arrows are running low. If I use them carelessly, we'll be blind on the third day."
Fenrir's gaze was sharp. "Then target only their cavalry. Break their horses, and their charge will collapse before it reaches us."
Roland rumbled. "Ballistae will only fire if they bunch together. Otherwise, we save every bolt."
Fenrir allowed a thin smile. "Good. We will not fight blindly with brute strength. We will fight with calculation."
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For a moment he closed his eyes, and in the dark of his mind rose words from another life: Sun Tzu, Clausewitz, the Thirty-Six Stratagems.
War is not about destroying the enemy. It is about leaving him unable to fight.
He opened his eyes. "Tomorrow we fight an Attrition War. We let them shout, we let them push—but we will not break. We drain them, little by little, until it is they who falter."
Darius barked a laugh. "Sounds mad. But damn it… I like it."
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Garrik slammed the butt of his spear against the floor. "If their weight falls on the center, then let me and Kael ride the flanks. Once they loosen their grip, we'll drive into the gap."
Kael turned, voice steady. "My lord, if you unleash the Crimson Knights without chains, we can strike anywhere. We are not a line—we are your blade."
Fenrir's lips curved faintly. "That is why you are here, Kael. The Crimson Knights will be my hand of judgment. You will move where I command, when the time is right."
Lyra's voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the air. "I can learn their plan before dawn. But it is dangerous. My scouts may not return."
Fenrir's gaze was steady. "Take the risk. Every scrap of knowledge could save a hundred men."
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As the council wound down, Fenrir's eyes swept over his commanders. They were more than subordinates—they were Eisenwald's limbs and sinews.
"Tomorrow we do not merely hold," he said softly, but the weight in his voice silenced the tent. "Tomorrow, we prove today was no accident."
The candles flickered. Silence stretched long.
Then Lyra re-entered, her face pale with urgency. "My lord… word from the scouts. Baron Falkenhain himself was seen on the enemy's front. He's watching you."
Fenrir's lips curved into a thin, cold smile. "Good. Let him watch. If he seeks me, he'll find more than he bargained for."
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