In the council chamber of Lords Manor in Lakeheart Town, the flames on the candlesticks flickered violently.
Paul Greiman unfurled the parchment scroll sealed with orc blood lacquer, revealing aggressive words outlined in ink.
"In the name of the War Wolves and Thunder! Abar Zarg, chieftain of the Zhaerge Clan, lord of the Orc Royal Tent, chosen one of the spirits of the grassland, condemns your tolerance and harboring of fugitives."
"Your despicable actions have severely damaged the interests of the lords of Yellow Earth Land. As their current protector, the Great Chieftain must intervene in this matter!"
Catherine stood beside her husband, reading out the outrageous demands word by word: "Cease Blackrock Fields, and pay an annual tribute of one million silver coins." Her voice suddenly tightened, like a fully drawn bowstring, "Otherwise, Northwest Bay will be reduced to ashes."
Old Knight Schroeder slammed his hand on the table with a loud thud, causing ripples to spread in the inkwell.
"Arrogant beasts!" His white beard trembled with rage. "They've forgotten how they were routed by the Firearms cannons in Blackrock Fields last time!"
Paul's fingers gently traced the rough handwriting on the parchment, each symbol resembling a mark cleaved by a battle axe.
"It seems Abar is quite skilled at negotiation," Paul chuckled suddenly, tossing the scroll onto the table. "He started by proposing an impossible condition."
His gaze swept over every general present, "so that the bloody battle to come may appear legitimate."
Scholar Alvis, who was invited to the meeting, stroked his beard and sighed, "Well, how should I put it? The orcs' behavior patterns are starting to resemble ours. They never used to bother making up reasons to start a war."
At roughly the same time, in the golden hall of Crystal Radiance Palace, the crisp sound of parchment tearing was like a thunderclap.
Rodney XVIII tore the orcish manifesto in two, his sleeves drawing sharp arcs in the air.
"Two million silver coins?" The king's voice echoed like a cold wind beneath the vaulted ceiling. " Abar, you might as well just take my crown!"
The fragments drifted onto the polished floor of the hall, the rough runes still baring their claws even after they were broken.
"Send someone to urge our troops to speed up their march north."
The king's sword suddenly drew half an inch from its sheath, its cold gleam reflecting the portraits of past kings on the wall. "I want to see the orcs' war banners burning across the land of Aldor!"
Crystal Radiance has already informed Lakeheart Town, and Paul's reply has greatly boosted Rodney XVIII's confidence— Alda's army is not afraid of Abar's army, and they are confident of victory.
Eugene, the banished orc messenger, hurried through the streets of Crystal Radiance. The people of the capital had been told to give him a proper send-off, but not with flower petals and cheers, but with rotten vegetable leaves and curses.
Eugene passed through the towering gates of Crystal Radiance, and as he finally emerged out of arrow range, he whirled around, his face, covered in rotten vegetable leaves, revealing menacing fangs.
"Weak humans!" He waved his fist at the defenders on the city wall, his voice like the grinding of sand. "When the Great Chieftain's iron hooves break through the city gates, I will personally tie your king to the back of his warhorse and parade him through the streets!"
He tore a leather pouch from his waist and poured the liquor inside onto the ground in front of the city gate. "I swear by the spirit of the grassland —when I return, the gold of Crystal Radiance will cover the tents of Great Chieftain Abar!"
Eugene mounted his horse, taking one last look at the gleaming royal capital's spire in the sunlight, a strange light flashing in his single eye: "Just wait, humans. Once we breach Northwest Bay, your golden cage will be next!"
He flicked the reins, and his horse's hoofprints were deeply imprinted in the mud of the road, like a string of marks leading to war, stretching northward.
Inside Abar's Royal Tent, the crackling embers in the brazier cast flickering light on the Great Chieftain's ever-changing face.
His rough fingers were stroking the map spread out on the table.
This is a map from Northwest Bay, carefully laid out on a table. The geographical information on it is astonishingly detailed—the curvature of every river is precisely shown, the height of every hill is marked with fine contour lines, and even the location of the smallest village is accurate to the last detail.
The Great Chieftain's rough fingers traced the neatly printed place names, a stark contrast to the orc tribes' parchment maps drawn from memory—like the difference between a miracle and a child's scribbles.
"Look at this scale...look at these contour lines..."
Abar murmured the new words he had just learned from humans, his eyes gleaming with awe.
He used a dagger to measure the distance from Stone Bridge Town to Laois, the length of which corresponded exactly to the "ten-mile mark" marked on the map, an appalling precision.
Abar recalled the maps drawn by the shamans in the tribe—rivers would suddenly disappear behind the mountains, and the boundaries of the forests were entirely left to the imagination.
"Fool!" Great Chieftain suddenly slammed his fist on the table in a rage, causing the inkwell to shake violently.
He wasn't cursing the shaman in his own tribe, but rather Paul Greiman.
"How could such a precious secret be allowed to fall into the hands of the common people!"
He couldn't understand why anyone would casually publish such important geographical information for business travelers to buy.
The generals inside the tent fell silent, only the old shaman Otasi noticed the small print in the corner of the map.
Civilian version - 5th revision.
Unbeknownst to Abar, Alda's army possessed another version of the map. It marked hidden mountain trails, seasonal shallows, and the most suitable high ground for Cannon's deployment—all the information truly crucial to the outcome of the war was marked on it.
The map he treasured was merely a declassified civilian version.
"Tomorrow, send out troops and notify all lords that all such maps must be handed over, and anyone who dares to keep them will be executed without mercy!"
The flickering in his eyes revealed the Great Chieftain's urgent feeling; such important geographical information could not be allowed to circulate among the people.
"Yes, Great Chieftain!" the orc generals inside the tent answered in unison.
Abar finally got back to business.
Acosta's letter...
"Too deliberate!" Abar muttered, a glint of suspicion flashing in his single eye. He wouldn't easily trust Acosta just because he had pledged allegiance.
"Send the Nightwalkers to scout again." The Great Chieftain pressed his finger heavily on the location of Stone Bridge Town on the map. "I need to know the whereabouts of the Glaeman army and gather information on every single one of their movements!"
In the days that followed, the spies under the control of the orcs began to work intensively.
No matter how well the secrecy is maintained, much information is difficult to hide and may even be public. For example, if a large group of people passes by on a certain road, it will definitely be witnessed by the residents along the way. Or, if the price of food in a certain place suddenly rises, it means that many more mouths to feed have been added to that area.
The intelligence brought back by the spies can be roughly summarized as follows: Northwesters are indeed increasing their activity in the Laois direction, while their activity in the Stone Bridge Town direction is relatively less.
Although it wasn't exact information about troop deployments, it still corroborated the contents of that letter, albeit from the opposite perspective.
" Glaeman is too impatient."
After gathering all the information, Abar sneered and threw the last piece of intelligence into the fire. The rolled-up paper curled up in the flames and turned to ashes.
"Order the warriors of each tribe to assemble in three days. We must turn Glaeman's scheme into a trap that will bury him."
Abar narrowed his eyes in satisfaction, having determined his main objective. Soon, the waters of Stone Bridge Town would be stained red with blood.