The night wind howled across the highlands of Eldenia's western region, and flags fluttered behind Leon as he stood, armored and with hands behind his back, surveying the war-torn battlefield. The smoke of battle was slowly dissipating, but the air still carried the stench of blood.
Heavy footsteps approached from behind, and several officials from the war cabinet knelt solemnly before him. The chief of staff stood and unfurled a military report, his voice hoarse yet filled with some passion, "Your Majesty, in this battle, our forces have slain seventy thousand of the enemy coalition, but..." He paused here, seemingly weighing his words. "We have also lost nearly thirty thousand of our own soldiers."
Leon did not respond immediately. He gazed ahead, as though imprinting the sound of the battlefield winds and the cries of the fallen into his heart. There was neither sadness nor anger in his eyes, only coldness and an unwavering resolve.
"The cost of victory has always been blood," Leon said, his voice low and steady. He turned and looked over the officials kneeling before him. "The enemy has retreated, and the western territory of Eldenia is now under my control. Tell all commanders, the sacrifices are for our glory, and that glory will lay the foundation for our future."
A bead of sweat appeared on the forehead of the war council officer, who lowered his voice, asking, "Your Majesty, though the morale on the front lines is high, the supply lines are becoming strained. Should we..."
At this moment, a messenger arrived, riding quickly and bringing the latest intelligence from both the front and the rear. "Your Majesty!" The messenger dismounted and handed a scroll of urgent information to Leon. "The Eldenian defense line has completely withdrawn, and their forces and civilians are now retreating toward the capital. They are preparing to establish a new defense line near the capital. Meanwhile, our rear forces are being harassed by tribal militias from Airtulan. The Silver Wolf Tribe of Airtulan is blocking our advance in the canyon!"
"Airtulan?" Leon furrowed his brow, tossing the report to the nearby chief of staff with a cold laugh. "Those barbarians dare to meddle in this war? They are courting death!" He punched the stone wall, a flash of fury in his eyes. "Give my orders—after we take Eldenia, leave no civilian alive! Turn this place into a wasteland!"
His voice was as cold as ice, and the officers surrounding him felt a heavy pressure. Leon's gaze was sharp as an eagle's as he surveyed the war council. "The remaining forces will advance east with me. Eldenia must crumble under my iron heel!"
He paused, turning toward the senior official in the cabinet. "How did the Airtulan tribes manage to bypass the northeastern defense and attack our rear? Wasn't the north always guarded by Marquis Eric? Are his men simply idle?"
The war council members lowered their heads, their faces showing discomfort. After a moment of hesitation, one responded, "Your Majesty, the Airtulan forces seem not to have directly clashed with our northeastern defenders... In fact, we've found no sign of any defensive preparations in the north since the war began."
Leon's face darkened immediately. He drew his sword from its sheath, pointing it directly at the official. "Are you telling me that Marquis Eric didn't deploy any defense for this war? What is he thinking?!"
The senior official wiped sweat from his brow, speaking softly, "Marquis Eric has always opposed this war. He has repeatedly stated in meetings that he doesn't believe we need to expand our conquest in the northeastern region... Perhaps, he has reservations about the war..."
"Reservations?" Leon sneered, his voice dripping with menace. "It seems he's not just 'reserved'; he's hoping for our failure! The northern nobles are nothing but parasitic vermin! Once this war is over, I'll personally settle accounts with them—no one will escape!"
He thrust the sword back into its sheath, his eyes burning with fury. At that moment, another messenger hurried to him, delivering the latest update: "Your Majesty, Eldenia's forces have fully retreated into the capital, Whitehold. The Whitehold fortress is well-defended, and it will likely be difficult to breach in the short term."
"Difficult to breach?" Leon snorted, his eyes gleaming with disdain. "Tell the front-line commanders, no matter the cost, they must destroy Whitehold! Does Edmond think he can hold them back? I'll make them understand that anyone who stands in my way will only meet one fate—destruction!"
He turned and left the battlements. As he descended the stairs, he paused, his gaze growing deep as though pondering something. After a moment, he turned to the senior official behind him and said, "If the Airtulan tribes could bypass the northern defenses, then our rear is already exposed to the enemy. This situation is more complex than it seems—there's someone behind this, besides Marquis Eric."
The war council member asked cautiously, "Your Majesty, what do you mean?"
Leon lowered his voice. "The Airtulan 'barbarians' have always had trade relations with Eric's northern territories. They wouldn't have joined this war without reason. Someone is using them—either a noble faction or some hidden enemy."
He stopped walking and said coldly, "Send people to monitor the movements of all the nobles. Let's see what kind of schemes they're pulling behind the scenes."
The cabinet nodded in agreement. Leon continued, "Also, strengthen the defenses in the rear. I don't want to hear any more reports of harassment. If someone can't handle it, let them be replaced."
He walked away, his gaze as sharp as a blade. He knew that this war was not just about external conquest; it was also about internal cleansing. The attitude of the northern nobles had raised his suspicions, and once the war was over, they would face reckoning.
Meanwhile, Marquis Eric stood on the walls of his northern fortress, gazing at the distant forests of Airtulan. His attendant approached and whispered, "My Lord, we've received word from the front. Leon has captured Eldenia's western defense line. His next step will be to march on the capital."
Eric frowned, the wine cup in his hand trembling slightly. "Leon's victory was expected. But now the real question is, will he turn his eyes toward me?"
The attendant hesitated before quietly reminding him, "My Lord, if he discovers that there were no defenses along the northeastern border, he may begin to suspect you."
Eric's eyes sharpened. "Leon needs stability in the north. All he cares about is victory. If I move my forces now, he will only think I've allied with Airtulan, and true disaster will follow."
He paused, his voice becoming hard. "But you're right. Perhaps we should prepare. Go find out the reactions of the other nobles, and we'll make a plan."
In Strongson's main camp, Leon was meeting with a messenger from the northern regions of Strongson. The messenger, looking anxious, reported on Eric's situation.
"The northern region of Strongson is calm. Marquis Eric has not mobilized his forces. He insists that the current war does not require the involvement of the north, believing the main army can handle Eldenia. As for himself, he claims no collusion with Airtulan," the messenger reported cautiously.
Leon sneered. "Eric is too confident. Does he think that by using his deceptive tongue, he can fool me?"
An official from the war cabinet added, "Your Majesty, perhaps we should send someone to the northern territories to investigate Eric's true stance. If he's secretly colluding with Airtulan, he should be removed from power."
Leon pondered for a moment, then revealed a cold smile. "No need to send anyone. Once the war is over, Eric and all the nobles who oppose this war will face retribution. Let them live to buy me time. When Eldenia is finally subjugated, I will deal with them."