The central command tent is thick with the scent of map parchment and cold sweat. Mikhail sits at the head of the table, the flickering candlelight casting long, sharp shadows across his face. Beside him, Maria stands with her hands folded, a silent shadow, while Miyako remains like a statue of ice, her presence heavy with unsaid words.
"Gentlemen, let us begin the strategy for the coming days," Mikhail says, his voice level but carrying the weight of absolute command. He looks toward his commander. "Hilowat, give me the briefing. What happened on the wall while I was away?"
Hilowat steps forward, tapping a section of the map near the northern gate. "Yes, My Lord. Several scattered groups of Orcs attempted to scale the walls. However, their coordination was strangely lacking, and their numbers were thin. We wiped them out before they could even establish a foothold."
Mikhail's eyes narrow as he stares at the red tokens representing the enemy. "What about the numbers?"
"About one to two thousand, My Lord," Hilowat replies.
Mikhail lets out a short, cold huff of a laugh. "It was a scouting party. A bait. They wanted to keep you occupied and focused on the gates while they organized a real offense. They were testing the thickness of your skin."
Queen Yuehua leans forward, her brow furrowed in confusion. "My Lord, I don't understand. If they had 100,000 soldiers, why send such a small, ineffective group?"
"Because of what we encountered in the forest," Mikhail says, his voice dropping an octave. "A Titan Orc. Roughly fifteen feet of muscle and rage. It's their siege engine—in the game, we called them War Machines. They can hurl entire trees and boulders over two kilometers with terrifying precision. I lost two Imperial knights and six horses to a single tree. My guess? There will be at least five of them when the real horde arrives. Their skin is too thick for standard arrows, and their reach is too long for infantry. Their only true weakness is concentrated magical attacks."
The air in the room chills. Hilowat tightens his grip on his sword hilt. "My Lord, how many men would it take to bring one down with steel alone?"
"About fifty," Mikhail says bluntly. "And that's assuming those fifty are willing to die just to get close enough to hamstring it."
The reaction is immediate. One Eldrath general turns to his aide. "I'll go and gather every mage and every drop of magic potion in the city. We need them at the front lines immediately!"
Another general barks, "I'll begin the preparations for a reinforced defensive barrier on the wall. If those projectiles hit the ramparts directly, the stone will crumble like glass."
Hilowat looks at Mikhail. "I'll organize the mercenaries into a separate assault team. They have the mobility and the lack of fear needed to hit those Titans if the mages fail."
"Good," Mikhail nods. "Do it."
Queen Yuehua looks at the map, her voice trembling slightly. "My Lord... when will they attack again?"
Mikhail stands up, the chair scraping against the floor. "Could be anytime. Tomorrow at dawn, or an hour from now. Prepare for everything. All of you are dismissed."
The generals and the Queen bow deeply and exit the tent in a flurry of urgent whispers. Maria turns to follow, but Mikhail's voice catches her before she can vanish into the shadows.
"Maria. Look into those mercenaries. Specifically the leader, Maximus. I want to know about every breath they took before coming here. Every grudge, every contract, and every drop of blood they've spilled."
Maria gives a low, elegant bow, her eyes glinting with the thrill of the hunt. "By sunrise, you will have their lives on a scroll, My Lord." With a rustle of her dress, she's gone.
Finally, the tent is silent. Mikhail slowly turns his head toward Miyako. She hasn't moved an inch, but now that they're alone, the "Sword Saintess" facade is beginning to crack. The tension in her jaw is so tight it looks painful.
"My love," Mikhail says softly, walking around the table toward her. "Let's finally talk."