The dim light of dusk filtered through the tattered tent curtains, casting a yellowish and desolate hue. Leon stood in the center of the main tent, his gaze fixed intently on the several battered soldiers kneeling before him. Their clothes were ragged, their faces covered in blood, their bodies trembling from fear. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder from the battlefield and the pungent stench of blood.
One of the soldiers, summoning what little courage he had left, spoke in a trembling voice, "Your Highness... Dragon Cavalry Troops was ambushed by Airtulan... the entire army was wiped out. General Karl Front... he... he... was struck by a rain of arrows while covering our retreat... he... he..."
Before the soldier could finish, Leon's eyes suddenly became sharp, as if they could cut through the very air. It felt as though the atmosphere had turned cold, and everyone present could sense that a storm was about to break.
"What did you say?" Leon's voice was low, but it carried a suffocating pressure. He slowly walked toward the soldier, his expression a mix of disbelief and anger.
"Karl Front, dead?" Leon repeated, his voice laced with disbelief and suppressed fury.
The soldier could bear no more and collapsed to the ground, kneeling. "He... he gave his life to let us escape the encirclement... he... he held on until..."
Leon suddenly raised his hand and struck the soldier's face with a resounding slap. The force of it sent the man tumbling to the floor. His chest heaved violently, and his eyes seemed ready to burst with fury. Beneath that anger, emotions like shock, sadness, and a gnawing pain coiled around his heart—a pain that was almost indescribable.
"Karl Front... is dead?!" Leon suddenly spun around, his roar so fierce it made the guards outside the tent involuntarily take a step back. He grabbed the battle report from the table and threw it forcefully to the ground. "You cowards! You come back here to tell me such news?!"
His gaze was like a raging fire, his body trembling with fury. He grabbed a nearby sword and drove it violently into the wooden pillar of the tent. The blade vibrated, buzzing loudly. He couldn't believe it, couldn't accept it—the comrade who had fought by his side on the battlefield for years, the commander of the dragon cavalry who had led them to countless victories, had fallen just like that.
"Karl..." Leon muttered, his voice hoarse. His hand tightened around the sword's hilt, his knuckles turning white, as if he would crush the sword any second. The image of Karl Front appeared before him—the man who always wore a calm smile and was fearless on the battlefield. He could still remember Karl clapping him on the shoulder, laughing as he said, "Your Highness, no matter how strong the enemy is, my dragon cavalry will always clear the way for you!"
Now, that promise was buried with the man's life in the ruins of Whitehold.
"Order it! Any deserter found today will not be allowed to live!" Leon suddenly lifted his head and roared like thunder. He swung his sword, the blade slicing through the air and severing the head of the first kneeling deserter.
Blood splattered across the floor, staining Leon's armor, and soaking the hearts of everyone present. The officers dared not lift their heads, their bodies frozen as if they were made of stone. Leon exuded an overwhelming aura, as if he would ignite in flames at any moment.
"Karl proved his loyalty with his life, and you... you cowards deserve to die here!" he gritted through his teeth, his voice filled with endless anger and regret. He struck again and again, mercilessly chopping down on the kneeling deserters.
When the last deserter's body was dragged away, an oppressive silence filled the air. Leon's face was filled with fury, but beneath that anger lay an undeniable sadness. He slumped heavily into a chair, his hands covering his face, his throat emitting a low, guttural growl.
The officers stood to the side, too afraid to speak. They knew how intolerant Leon was of failure and how impossible it was to face his wrath at this moment. The bodies were quickly removed, and the smell of blood lingered. At that moment, a messenger burst into the tent, breathless, his face filled with fear.
"Your Highness! The Airtulan forces... have attacked the rear positions of the Rhine territory in the east! The border outposts and supply warehouses have all been destroyed!" The messenger dropped to his knees, his voice trembling.
Leon's face immediately turned crimson, and he slammed his fist onto the table, the wood cracking with a loud "crack." Maps and orders scattered across the floor as he suddenly rose to his feet and kicked a nearby chair over.
"Airtulan! Airtulan!" he roared, his voice nearly shattering the air. He grabbed the support pillar of the tent with both hands, tearing down the cloth, the entire tent swaying dangerously.
"They think this will destroy me?" Leon suddenly spun around, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at the terrified officers. "Send the order down—every lost piece of land, I want it repaid tenfold!"
Leon took a deep breath, his fury unyielding. He motioned for a deputy general to step forward. The man was in his early forties, with a square jaw and calm eyes. He was one of Leon's trusted commanders, named Oscar Valde, known for his cool-headedness and decisiveness. Oscar was large, wielding a massive two-handed sword in battle, but off the battlefield, he was known for his logical and analytical approach.
"Oscar," Leon managed to suppress his anger, "I entrust you with 30,000 elite soldiers to retake Rhine territory. I don't need reasons, I need results! Those Airtulan bastards must be wiped from this earth!"
"Understood, Your Highness," Oscar replied, without hesitation, slamming his fist onto his chest plate before turning to make preparations.
Leon watched him leave coldly, his chest heaving, his teeth grinding. He suddenly swung his fist into a nearby weapons rack, causing spears and swords to crash to the floor. The sound of metal clashing seemed to echo his anger.
"Airtulan," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom, "you will pay for this..."