A week had passed. And the land that had once been a lush, living stretch at the gates of Dara… was now an open graveyard.
The wind carried the metallic scent of blood, mingled with smoke, charred flesh, and the distant cawing of crows.Imperial banners—pristine at the start of the campaign—were now torn and blackened, some even driven into mounds of corpses to keep the bodies from rolling down the hillside.
Inside the grand imperial tent, the atmosphere was worse than outside.
"USELESS!" Princess Naira roared, her voice thick with fury and mana.
Her words sliced through the air like a blade.
Her generals and advisers immediately fell to their knees, trembling before her. Clad in crimson armor, the young imperial princess paced like a storm barely contained. Her gaze burned.
"You promised me," she said softly—far too softly—"that within a week this wretched fortress would be ours."
Her eyes dropped to them as though she were looking at refuse rather than elite warriors.
"One week," she repeated, enunciating each syllable. "And not only have we failed to advance a single step, but…"
She seized a report tablet and hurled it to the ground.
"More than thirty thousand imperial soldiers are dead."
"Y-Your Highness—" one man tried to speak.
"Silence!" she thundered, and he collapsed forward, forehead pressed to the floor.
Naira drew a slow breath.
"And the kingdom's losses?" she asked.
A general swallowed hard."F-five thousand, Your Highness… from an initial force of twenty-one thousand six hundred thirty-seven."
Naira smiled.There was no humor in it.
"Five thousand… for thirty thousand.A ratio fit for a horror story… or a grotesque farce."
Her gaze turned colder still.
"And as if that weren't enough… four of the ten generals the Emperor assigned to me are dead. Another lies dying, unable to return to the field."
Her nails scraped against the war table.
The silence that followed was as heavy as a tombstone.
One adviser dared to whisper, "But Your Highness, we succeeded in removing Duke Bourlance from the battlefield. His wound is severe—though he may return in a few weeks—"
Naira clenched her jaw.
"And you consider that an achievement?That brute was never the problem.The problem is still there."
Her finger struck the map, directly over the central front.
"Laurence Douglas.The Death Reaper.The man who has slain three of our generals by his own hand."
Every gaze dropped to the floor.
Naira inhaled slowly… and for a fleeting moment, her fury mingled with something else: anxiety.
"How am I to explain this to the Emperor?" she murmured. "He sent me with ten elite generals. And I have already lost nearly half… without taking a single wall. How do I justify that?"
One of the strategists ventured to speak.
"Your Highness… perhaps we should request reinfor—"
"No," she cut him off. This time she did not shout, yet her tone chilled the blood of everyone present. "If I request reinforcements, I admit I cannot subdue a fourth-rate kingdom. And my father… does not forgive incompetence."
Her expression shifted.Her anger sharpened into resolve.
"If I cannot break their defenses by force…then I will break them by strategy.But Dara will fall.No matter the cost."
The princess straightened. Her imperial mana flared, bathing the tent in a violet glow that drove everyone to their knees without conscious thought.
"We will prepare a night assault. Two elite squadrons."
Her eyes narrowed.
"And I want precise reports on the physical condition of the Kingdom's three commanders. I need to know exactly how far I can push them… before they break."