In the heart of the Rigil district, King Xerxez presided over a tense council of his military commanders. The chamber, adorned with sprawling maps and ancient relics, spoke of a kingdom steeped in history—a history meticulously preserved in the revered Thallerion tome, rendering the wisdom of living elders obsolete. For the Thallerions, knowledge of their past was paramount, and ignorance a folly.

Xerxez, facing the full assembly of his military leadership, first confirmed the grim message dispatched to Ossibuz. His words to their leader, Matar, were unwavering: “I will not retreat from you, Matar, even though you are Corvus’s subordinate. Just ensure you uphold the agreement, but if you attack as you did in Wendlock, we will not announce when we strike.” The fate of Cathark, their messenger, remained unknown, adding to the palpable tension.

“How is Cathark? Has he returned?” Xerxez’s gaze fell upon Catana and Vethor. Catana, her face briefly brightening, reported, “The messenger Cathark has not yet arrived. Perhaps Cathark finds it difficult to enter the borders of Ossibuz.” Vethor quickly interjected, reassuring the king, “Do not worry, my king. Once he returns, I will immediately convey the Ossibians’ response to your letter.” A small measure of relief touched Xerxez’s stern features.

Xerxez then spoke of past wounds and present threats. “Moonatoria shattered us once,” he began, his voice heavy with sorrow. “And now the nation of Ossibuz has laid waste to our farmers in Wendlock and slain them.” As his commanders listened intently, Xerxez’s eyes swept across their faces before he took a deep, fortifying breath. “Whatever fate our hands shall forge, remember this…we are Thallerions; we will never kneel to anyone.”

Chief Commander Matheros added with a heavy sigh, “We have no entity to rely on; therefore, we can only rely on ourselves in the coming war.” The ominous mention of an “Entity” hung in the air, a chilling reminder of past struggles and the formidable foe they now faced in Corvus, known for his mastery of illusions and dark magic.

“I ask you, can you do everything to fight the Ossibians?” Xerxez’s voice, though fervent, carried a tremor of the fear that accompanied confronting such a powerful adversary. Phalleon, resolute, declared, “I am ready to lay down my life, for that is the vow of our ancestors. Because of what they did in Wendlock… I swore to myself that I would personally kill the old man Sapar.”

Matheros then urged swift action: “Let us not waste time, comrades; do everything for the training of our soldiers.” His adornments clinked as he moved amongst the oblong table, emphasizing the urgency.

Just then, Xerxez announced a crucial, unexpected development: “However, I have something important to tell you.” All attention shifted to the king. It was a difficult confession—he and Matheros would journey to Thartherus to forge an alliance, even before King Driother’s birthday.

“What is it, my king?” Catana inquired, her bow gleaming and her braided hair falling over her shoulder. Xerxez, striving to convey his strategic intent, explained, “Do not think that I am leaving you here to sightsee in Thartherus. You likely know that King Driother’s birthday is approaching. We will go there early to seek aid and additional weapons for our soldiers.” He observed their faces, noting no unusual reactions.

“I will accompany Xerxez to Thartherus,” Matheros confirmed, placing the immense responsibility of soldier training squarely on Phalleon’s shoulders. “Phalleon, I know you are easily angered by our complaining soldiers, but I trust you to tame them.” Phalleon’s unsettling smile hinted at his unique methods: “Hehe, I’ll take care of it; that’s child’s play for me.”

As the meeting concluded, Xerxez and his commanders carefully planned their next moves, keeping their strategies guarded. Guards stood vigilant outside, ensuring no prying eyes or “ravens” could infiltrate the Rigil camp and discover their preparations for the war to come.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep