Chapter 165: Opposing Opinions

“I was a Warlord even before I walked the path of the Spiral,” Gorak roared, his deep voice vibrating the stone pillars. “I was born for war. I forge my supremacy on the battlefield. You cannot cage me in a garrison.”

Elian stood tall and met the Troglodyte’s furious gaze.

“You are staying precisely because you are the best of us,” Elian countered firmly. “Look at the Vanguard’s composite forces, Gorak. Old-Shell can withstand any siege engine and inflict massive damage, but he is incredibly slow and lacks mobility. I am a mortal human. I do not possess your terrifying baseline strength. The Kobolds and the Grey-Fins are lethal and swift, but they lack your sheer destructive mass.The Treants will not march to war unless the Sovereign explicitly orders them to uproot. The Troglodytes possess the perfect balance of intellect, absolute strength, and endurance.”

“That is exactly why I must lead the vanguard into the Fourth Continent,” Gorak snarled, taking another heavy step forward. “I am the heaviest weapon. I break the lines.”

“You have a mate and a child,” Iron-Scale interjected smoothly, his metallic voice slicing through the tension. “You must consider their security. Furthermore, your species requires a king to maintain discipline in the deep-core sectors. Gulag is a magnificent huntress, but she cannot rule the subterranean political structure in your absence.”

Gorak turned his massive head to glare at the Kobold. “Elder Zek will manage the Onyx Hall until I return from the slaughter. The deep-core sectors are secure.”

He looked back at Elian and Iron-Scale, his chest heaving under his bone plating. The frustration of being sidelined pushed him to lash out.

“If either of you are genuinely terrified for the safety of the empire,” Gorak rumbled darkly, a cruel sneer crossing his sloped face, “then perhaps you should remain behind. Since you admit your own physical weaknesses compared to my strength, the Bastion would be perfectly safe holding the lesser commanders.”

Iron-Scale’s slitted eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His clawed hands subtly shifted toward the hilt of his sleek sword. Elian’s hyper-dense muscles tensed, his grip tightening instinctively on his star-iron holy symbol.

The heated argument teetered violently on the edge of a physical clash between the Vanguard’s most lethal commanders.

Before the standoff could turn bloody, Old-Shell shifted his colossal weight in the corner of the room. The massive Iron-Back Tortoise dragged his heavy, calcified claws across the stone floor, the grinding sound breaking the deadly tension.

“Pride… clouds your tactical vision, Warlord,” Old-Shell rumbled. “We do not fight for glory. We act as a single, impenetrable shield for the Bastion.”

Elder Syra stepped out from behind Elian, her silver fins flaring slightly. “Furthermore, the Sovereign granted the Elders the authority to vote on strategic deployments in his absence. We have cast our votes, Gorak. The council has officially decided you will remain.”

Gorak snapped.

He lunged forward with terrifying speed, slamming his massive star-iron gauntlet down on the remains of the strategy table. The heavy stone exploded into gravel and dust. He pointed a thick, armored finger directly at Syra, then at Elian.

“I will shatter any blockade you put in front of those docks!” Gorak roared, his sheer physical presence threatening to suffocate the room. “No mortal vote binds my strength! I am the absolute peak of the Vanguard’s martial might! Unless the Spiral himself descends and commands me to sit in the dirt, I am boarding those ships, and none of you can stop me!”

Elian held his ground against the towering monster, refusing to be intimidated. “We are not trying to cage you, Gorak! We are securing the foundation of the empire! If the Fourth Continent somehow sneaks a naval fleet past our perimeter and strikes the capital while we are deployed, we need our strongest anchor here to hold the line!”

Gorak sneered, leaning down until his jagged teeth were inches from the Prophet’s face.

“If the foundation is your genuine concern, then you must stay behind, Prophet,” Gorak countered viciously. “The human population outnumbers the rest of the Vanguard combined. You are their undisputed king. You manage the surface logistics, the alchemical grain production, and the mortal morale. You have a duty and a responsibility to your people.”

Gorak drove his point deeper, tapping his gauntlet against Elian’s chest armor. “More importantly, you are the voice of the Sovereign. Apostle Krug still slumbers in his alchemical vat. Without the Apostle awake, the Bastion absolutely cannot afford to lose its Prophet. If anyone should be guarding the throne, it is you.”

Elian’s jaw tightened. “An expeditionary force requires the Prophet to anchor the Omni-Web on foreign soil. We have to convert the Second Continent’s populace and establish the faith. You cannot crush souls into submission with a gauntlet, Gorak. They need the Spiral’s light.”

“And you cannot break twenty-foot-thick fortress walls with a prayer!” Gorak bellowed back. “The Fourth Continent relies on heavy cavalry and impenetrable armor. Iron-Scale’s assassins will shatter against them, and your human shock troops will be trampled in the mud. You need the Troglodyte legions! You need me!”

“We have the heavy artillery to break their walls,” Iron-Scale hissed. “We don’t need to risk our most vital domestic warlord.”

“Artillery runs out of ammunition! My stamina does not!” Gorak fired back instantly.

The chamber fell into a tense, breathless silence. The arguments were brutally sound on both sides. Elian’s presence was required to spread the faith and manage the global server integration, but Gorak’s sheer destructive power was necessary to break the enemy lines and minimize Vanguard casualties.

At the same time, the capital desperately needed one of them to stay and maintain stability.

Old-Shell let out a long, wheezing breath. “A stalemate of logic… Only absolute authority… can break it.”

Elian finally stepped back, his chest heaving as he stared at the ruined table. He unclipped his holy symbol and held it tightly.

“Fine,” Elian declared. “We petition the Sovereign directly. We let the Spiral decide our fate.”

Red sat cross-legged on his throne. He was currently in the middle of eating a steaming bowl of synthesized, high-protein alchemical noodles, peacefully watching a holographic feed of the ocean currents.

Suddenly, a glowing red system prompt shattered his quiet meal, projecting directly into his field of vision.

[Alert: Major Command Dispute Detected in the Central War Room.]

[Petition Received: Prophet Elian vs. Warlord Gorak.]

[Subject: Supreme Leadership of the Second Continent Expeditionary Force.]

Red stopped chewing. He read the attached arguments scrolling rapidly across his interface, detailing the exact points both commanders had just made. He let out a long, tired sigh, placed his chopsticks down on the console, and wiped his mouth.

He was going to have to babysit his apex predators again.

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