Four more days of peace have gone by.
But now they're at an end.
There's chaos in the manor. You push through groups of soldiers and servants, approaching the throne of Lord Moren. The man talks in hushed, rapid tones with his steward, who nods and departs from Moren's side.
Your new blade rests in its scabbard, hanging from your belt. You forgot how much you missed the familiar weight of a sword. A hand instinctively settles on it. In such chaos, cold steel can be one's only lifeline.
You approach Moren as the steward quickly walks away.
"What's going on?" you ask.
Lord Moren sighs. "I would have liked for us to have more time. But… it seems as if your time of recovery is over, Marshal Arthur Hornraven."
"What happened?"
"Rade's forces have been spotted. They've marched further north than expected and set up camp outside of the jungle. There's no river to hold them back. Or… that's the report, anyway. It took two days for my scouts to return. Rade has probably moved closer by now."
You curse under your breath. "We need to gather our forces."
"That's what I've been doing over the past weeks…" He chuckles. "But Rade has forced my hand. You must move to meet him by tomorrow. Drive him back. My army is under your command." He leans forward in his throne and practically growls, "Don't make me regret this, Marshal Arthur Hornraven."