Marquis Melis was leisurely enjoying a glass of southern wine at his manor, a stack of urgent military orders from Duke Horace Cohen resting beside him. The message had been delivered, but a playful smile spread across his face as he looked at it, as if utterly unconcerned by the situation.
"Horace is still the same, always so impatient," Melis said as he put down his wine glass and gently stroked his beard, his eyes showing a hint of disdain. "Does he really think everyone will be as eager as he is to prove their loyalty?"
He casually tossed the letter aside, turning to a servant standing nearby. "Tell him I, Melis, would naturally be willing to respond, but my territory is busy with affairs at the moment. I can only send a ceremonial guard to assist, as a token of my goodwill."
Not long after, a ceremonial guard of fewer than a hundred men set off, their flags waving and armor gleaming as they marched to Horace's camp. They carried no battle force, but instead, an overt humiliation.
In contrast, the Marquis of Erik in the north had a different attitude. Standing atop his castle tower, he gazed at the endless northern mountains, holding the urgent dispatch from Horace in his hand.
"Troop movements?" Erik muttered softly, then smirked coldly. "Does Horace really think I will pay the price for his rashness?"
He handed the letter to his adjutant, pausing to think for a moment before saying, "Send some food and weapons, tell them that the north is currently short on troops and can only offer material support."
"Milord, what about Duke Horace's response?" the adjutant hesitated.
Erik waved his hand dismissively, his expression indifferent. "No need to concern ourselves with it. The supplies are enough to demonstrate the north's 'loyalty.' If he is dissatisfied, he can take it up with Leon."
Meanwhile, in the capital, Duke Horace waited anxiously for news from the southern and northern territories. When he saw the ceremonial guard sent by Melis, his face immediately turned ashen.
"A ceremonial guard?" he shouted furiously, pounding his fists on the table. "This is an insult! A blatant insult!"
He stormed back and forth, veins bulging on his forehead as if he might explode any second. Pointing at the air, he screamed, "Melis, that old fox! Does he think these hundred useless men will do anything? Are they a gift to the enemy? And Erik! He doesn't send a single soldier, yet sends a pile of worthless supplies. Is he trying to make a fool of me?"
Horace's rage echoed through the vast council hall, and the attendants and advisors dared not speak a word.
However, after venting his frustration, Horace knew he had to calm down. The southern and northern territories had long been royal fiefs in the history of Strongson, and the marquises were always indifferent to Horace's commands. Even Leon had to be cautious in dealing with Melis and Erik, let alone him, the duke.
"They won't lift a finger, and defeat is inevitable," Horace muttered to himself, his face grim. He rubbed his brow, feeling helpless.
To make up for the lack of soldiers, Horace turned his attention to Griffith Carro, a baron and controller of the western sea trade routes, who held significant resources and connections.
"Baron Carro, I need more soldiers. Can you send some men from the western territories to support me?" Horace asked urgently.
Griffith smiled slightly, hands folded across his chest. His voice was calm but polite. "Your Grace, the west can indeed provide a certain number of troops, but you know that moving troops from the west to the east is time-consuming and laborious. I'm afraid it will be a case of 'distant water cannot quench nearby thirst.'"
Horace ground his teeth in frustration but had no retort. He knew Griffith was speaking the truth, but the situation was already overwhelming.
"If the south and north continue to stand aside like this, I fear Leon will not even last long enough for reinforcements to arrive!" Horace muttered fiercely, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Griffith remained calm, his face serene. "Your Grace, perhaps you need more persuasive means to make the south and north see the consequences of their inaction."
Horace lifted his gaze to the composed baron, a complex look passing through his eyes. He knew this was a gamble he had no choice but to take, and the stakes were nothing less than the future of the entire war.