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Jules had just finished handing out pay to the troops. He was watching them sit around the campfires, chewing jerky and sipping hot soup, faces finally showing a rare moment of ease. Then Tiberius burst in screaming like the world was ending. Jules's brows snapped together.
"What's the panic?!" he barked. "Did the sky fall, Tiberius? Breathe, then talk!"
Tiberius didn't waste time explaining. He grabbed Jules's thick arm and practically dragged him to the map table.
"Uncle, look! Right here!" His finger slammed onto the thick blue line marking the Disputed River.
"This river separates us from Volantis. Their main army is deep in the Disputed Lands right now. We've got them trapped with our blockade and turtle defense—right?"
Vito, who'd followed them in, nodded uncertainly. "Yeah… so we just starve them out slow."
"Starve them out?" Tiberius's voice cracked with urgency. "Vito, you're dreaming!"
He dragged his finger upstream, stabbing at the source lake and the few marked crossings.
"Uncle Jules—put yourself in the shoes of that undefeated Volantene general. He's got nine full Tiger Cloak legions, Iron Rhino super-heavy cavalry, and over a thousand war elephants. His enemy in front is hunkered down like a turtle refusing to fight. He can't retreat the way he came because our navy's blocking the lower river—he's cut off!"
His words came like machine-gun fire. His finger jabbed at their current upstream position.
"So why wouldn't he take the easier path? Since downstream is blocked, he goes upstream!"
"From here—from these upper crossings—he can march home! The current's fast, the draft's shallow. Our warships are mostly deep-sea vessels. We're spread thin blockading the whole river, plus sieging New Volantis Port and the Tax Collector Islands. Our fleet can't get up here in time!"
"If I were him, I wouldn't smash my head against the Three Daughters' second defensive line. I'd turn north immediately, punch through, and open my supply route home!"
Tiberius looked up, face pale, eyes wide with real fear.
"Uncle—think about it! If Volantis's main army turns north… we're sitting right on their only escape route! They'll hit us from both sides and grind us into paste! We have to move—now! If we wait any longer, it's too late!"
The easy smile vanished from Jules's face. He stared at the map, pupils shrinking as the path to the lake stared back at him. Veins throbbed on his forehead.
Tiberius's analysis had stabbed straight through every comforting illusion. The old soldier's gut screamed that his nephew was probably right.
"NOW!!!" Jules roared, voice shaking the tent. Outside, soldiers froze mid-bite.
"Vito! Sound the alarm! Full assembly—emergency! Ditch all non-essential baggage! Weapons, rations, and the wounded only! Retreat—west—back to the Three Daughters' colonies in the Disputed Lands!" He'd made the safest call: fall back to friendly lines.
"No! Uncle!" Tiberius grabbed Vito before he could run, eyes burning with near-mad determination. "We can't retreat into the interior!"
Vito skidded to a halt, furious and confused. "Are you insane?! If we don't fall back to our own lines, we wait here to die?!"
"You've all forgotten—the Flank Corridor is broken! Volantis is already deep inside the Disputed Lands! And right now our own armies are carrying out scorched-earth policy!"
"If we head that way, who do we meet first—our own people or Volantene patrols? It's a coin flip!"
Tiberius turned to Jules, voice shaking with intensity but cold as steel.
"Uncle—the Volantenes are terrifyingly strong. Their general and soldiers are monsters. But let's be brutally honest: how did they recover from the 96 AC border defeat in just three years, raise this massive army, and not borrow a single coin from the Iron Bank of Braavos? Impossible."
He didn't wait for an answer. His fist smashed down on the map—right on Volantis's heartland.
"They couldn't! So their homeland is stripped bare. Every fighting man is here on the front. Across the river—" His finger greedily traced the opposite bank.
"How many defenders do they have left? Twenty thousand? Ten? Maybe not even ten thousand!"
He looked up, eyes gleaming with a gambler's desperate fire.
"We cross the river. We strike straight into Volantis's soft underbelly! We march downstream along the bank, link up with our navy—that's our only path to survival, and our one shot at turning this war completely around!"
The tent went dead silent. Vito's mouth hung open. Jules's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
The plan was insane. Suicidal. Yet it carried a terrifying, almost fatal allure.
Peninsula Port
Marcus stood with hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the pouring rain. Inside he felt as black as the storm clouds.
Their navy had lost—badly.
Now, beyond the harbor, not a single Volantene sail was in sight. Instead, the Three Daughters' banners fluttered mockingly on the distant sea.
The original plan had been simple: take Peninsula Port, and Volantis's fleet could sail unchallenged from home waters straight to the port—devastating the Three Daughters' navy and sea trade.
But after the fleet got fed to the fish, that plan was dead on arrival.
Idiots. Those damn Elephant Party fools! Marcus thought darkly.
Saw our Tiger Party winning on land and got greedy for glory. And look what happened!
He hurled the small dish of roasted soybeans out the window.
"We're fucked!" he roared. "That Elephant Party admiral—brain-dead? Fleet hits a storm near New Volantis Port and instead of sheltering, he sails straight toward Lys? Crashes right into their main force! Flagship sunk!"
The officers in the room didn't dare speak. Marcus was on the edge of exploding, a predator ready to tear someone apart.
But they exchanged glances—they understood the rage.
"My lord… do we go home?" one officer asked shakily.
"Home?" Marcus barked a bitter laugh. "Home?!"
"Latest news: New Volantis Port and the Tax Collector Islands are blockaded by Lysene ships. The entire Disputed River is theirs now!"
"Home with the few broken planks we have left? Against the combined Three Daughters fleet? Dream on!"
"My lord… then our supply lines—" A sharper officer went pale as the implications hit.
"Yes. No more supplies." Marcus's face was so dark it looked ready to drip blood. "They own the whole river. Not one of our ships can reach Rhaesh!"
"So what do we do, my lord?"
"What do we do?" Marcus stepped to the map table, grinning savagely as he moved the Tiger Cloak legion markers deeper into the Disputed Lands.
"We do whatever the hell we want! They fight their war—I fight mine!"
"With the Flank Corridor in our hands, the Disputed Lands are wide open. Let the boys eat their fill first!"
"Tiberius," Jules said under the oil lamp, staring hard at his nephew, voice low and laced with worry and doubt. "Tell me the truth."