Ivan then reaches into his robes and tosses a sealed scroll onto the table.
"I managed to extract intelligence from the general. The Akerians are changing their approach. They're testing new weapons—firearms, explosives, and something they call 'airships.' They had planned to storm our skies as well as our walls."
The chamber remains silent for a moment. Then, the faint scrape of chair legs signals the emperor's motion. Arkanos leaned forward over the grand strategy table, fingers interlocked beneath his jaw. A shadow passed over his sharp eyes.
Abaddon leaned against Ivan, wings rustling, grinning like he'd just won a bet. His pupils shimmered with sadistic delight.
"Messy work, my lord, but fun. Their airships popped like overripe fruit—sparks everywhere. Pity they didn't scream more."
Arkanos smiled softly.
"You have done well, both of you. The realm will remember this day—when heads rolled and borders were bathed clean in blood. Now…"
His eyes swept across the assembly.
"Now—speak to me. The war with the Akerian Empire inches ever closer. Tell me, how prepared are we to greet it with fire and steel?"
"I want your reports. Every man, every blade. How soon can our forces march?"
General Kael, stepped forward first. His voice was gravel, worn but steady.
"Your Majesty, my Third Army is at full strength. Twelve thousand infantry, two thousand cavalry. Iron-forged weapons, trained relentlessly for winter conditions. They can march within three days."
His hand twitched slightly on the hilt of his sword, a warrior's instinct that never dulled.
Esten came next—lean, sharp-eyed, his hands never far from the maps.
"My forces stands at eight thousand, all under arms. We've finished drilling our new formations for siege tactics. Our supply wagons are being loaded as we speak. With road clearance, we can join the front within the week."
He tapped one corner of the map as he spoke, fingers precise and almost twitching with calculation.
General Laris stepped forward, arms folded behind his back. His posture was stiff, almost military to a fault.
"Thmy forces are nine thousand men stationed across five counties. If ordered, I can consolidate them at the southern crossing within five days. Morale is high, and the men are eager for war."
His chin tilted up slightly—a proud soldier, but not one to embellish.
Garik, oldest of the four military commanders, broad-shouldered, nodded.
"My regiment is smaller—four thousand—but each one seasoned. No conscripts. We specialize in breaching and urban warfare. They'll carve through stone or flesh. Just give the word."
A low glint sparked in his eyes—a quiet hunger for blood and broken walls.
Arkanos listened in silence, eyes fixed upon the map before him.
Imperial Marshal Seraphine spoke next.
"The capital's standing forces are fully mustered. Twenty-five thousand. They'll form the heart of your invasion force. Supplies are stockpiled. Smiths are working day and night. We've begun coordinating logistics with local lords for the march."
Her polished armor gleamed under torchlight, and her gloves creaked as her fingers curled tightly behind her back.
Then came the voice of the Church.
High Priestess Isode stepped forward, robes flowing behind her like a drifting shadow.
"The clergy have blessed the banners of war. Sermons will be delivered to inspire divine favor. The peasantry shall be reminded that this is a just war—one fought to preserve order and sanctity. You will have the full moral backing of the Church."
Her serene voice belied the fire in her eyes, which burned with certainty… and perhaps something more.
Arkanos nodded once.
"Good. Let faith steel the hearts of our soldiers."
Now came the turn of the nobles—lords who had sworn their swords to the throne.
Sir Velder Meldon of House Meldon bowed. "Your Majesty, House Meldon has raised three thousand men-at-arms."
Sweat beaded at his brow despite the cold room, though he held his voice steady.
Sir Tarius Valebright, father of the Marshal, followed. "We've raised five hundred knights of my sword clan's elite order and twelve hundred archers from the Valebright estates. Equipment is polished. Horses are ready. We await only the call."
He flashed a confident smile, one hand lightly brushing the hilt of his rapier as though itching to ride.
Lord Valen Darkmoon stepped forward with a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Our contribution is smaller. One thousand men, but they've trained year-round. Night raids, sabotage, and border skirmishes are their forte. They will serve better in shadows than in the field."
He tilted his head slightly, like a man offering a poisoned gift with elegance.
Countess Elira Valtorin stood tall, her voice as cold as the winter wind. "House Valtorin pledges eighteen hundred soldiers. Our estates have produced steel for the armories. We are prepared."
Her eyes, frosted gray, did not blink once during her report.
Lady Serina Windwhisper, hair bound in a braid that hung like a whip, nodded with that smug smile of hers.
"House Windwhisper stands ready with a force of two thousand. Our elite guards will remain behind to protect trade, but our standing army will march."
Her shoulders were squared, yet her fingers drummed lightly against her belt, betraying restrained impatience.
Lord Gladius Virellian grunted.
"Four thousand from Virellian lands. Trained and armed. Half will march. Half will defend the border against retaliation."
He crossed his arms over his chest like a stone guardian, unmoved and unwavering.
Lord Hosaion Thorneveil, sharp-featured and clad in near-black mail, said simply,
"Two thousand pikes, six hundred longbowmen. My men know war. They need no ceremony."
His gaze was like a knife—direct, merciless, and humorless.
Lastly, Lord Damaris Draevenhart stepped forward."Draevenhart offers one thousand five hundred. We've supplied grain and salted meat to support the campaign. We are ready to march and feed others who do."
He glanced to the other nobles, his voice calm, but the stiffness in his jaw suggested buried resentment—or fear.
When all had spoken, the room settled into a heavy silence. Outside, the first sounds of the bustling city stirred beneath the cold morning air.