The war room stank of sweat and fear.
Nathan stood near the back, arms crossed, watching the generals argue. Maps covered the table—topographical surveys, fortification schematics, supply line projections. Red pins marked the Demon King's advancing forces. Blue pins marked the capital's defenses.
It wasn't enough. The blue pins were too few. Too spread out.
"Three days," the First Prince said, his voice cutting through the noise. He stood at the head of the table, his silver hair pulled back, his pale blue eyes hard. "That's what the scouts are reporting. Three days until they reach the eastern pass."
"We can't hold against thousands," a general protested. He was old, fat, his uniform straining at the buttons. "We don't have the numbers. We don't have the fortifications. We don't—"
"We have what we have," the prince interrupted. His tone was calm but firm. "We don't have time to build more walls or recruit more soldiers. We use what we've got."
