Chapter 138: Chapter: 138 North!

In the far north of the Indrath Empire, close enough to the Indus River that the sound of flowing water never stopped, the soldiers stood in wide lines.

From far away they looked like ants, scattered and busy.

Up close, they were a wall of armour and discipline, each man and woman standing in their proper place.

There were around one hundred and twenty thousand soldiers.

They were split into groups of twelve hundred, and every group had the same shape.

Three hundred knights in heavy armour, nine hundred infantry with shields and spears, all arranged in clean rows.

Each group had two ranks: lieutenant, and captain.

Above them all stood the two generals who commanded the entire force, General Sant and General Zenithara.

Their presence alone kept the whole field steady, like two pillars holding up a massive roof.

Behind the army were long rows of carts filled with food, water, tents, spare weapons, and medicine.

Horses snorted softly, stamping their hooves on frozen dirt.

The smell of oil, leather, and steel mixed with the sharp scent of the cold river.

Vined and his father-in-law stood in front of the soldiers.

They were both quiet, watching the huge army settle into place.

Vined’s eyes moved from the front lines to the supplies, then to the soldiers.

His father-in-law did the same, both men lost in their own thoughts.

They were two grandmasters, their strongest power on the field.

The other officers were mostly fifth-star and fourth-star warriors.

Not a single swordmaster had arrived yet.

The emperor had promised to send someone, but no message had come, and no shadow of a swordmaster could be seen.

Vined turned to his father-in-law, his eyes sharp and steady.

“General Sant, everyone is here except the mage corps. They should arrive before the bridge is finished.”

His tone stayed formal.

With thousands of soldiers watching, discipline was the one thing that couldn’t be compromised.

General Sant nodded slowly, rubbing his chin as he studied the river.

“Are the supplies here? The ones needed for the bridge construction?”

His voice carried the same formal weight, shaped by long habits and the need to keep order.

Vined answered without hesitation.

“Yes, everything is here. And this spot is the best place for the bridge. The water pressure is lower, and the boats are already prepared.”

He reached into his subspace and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, the one Vivian had drawn.

The corners were worn from being studied too many times.

He spread it open and showed it to General Sant, pointing at the sketch while he explained.

“We only need to set down the base platforms and stack them together. The chains will run to both riverbanks, and once they’re secured, we use the anchors to lock everything in place.”

His finger tapped the part of the drawing that showed the pontoon sections linked like a chain of floating steps.

“After that, the wooden boards go on top, and the army can move across.”

The river flowed in a calm, steady rhythm beside them, as if listening.

Soldiers nearby glanced toward the generals now and then, sensing that what they were planning would decide the pace of the entire campaign.

A pontoon bridge wasn’t glorious, but it was the kind of simple, clever thing that let an empire walk over nature itself.

And out here in the cold northern wind, even the river felt like it was waiting for that first plank to be laid.

General Sant stood silent for a moment, the river wind tugging at the edge of his cloak.

He had already seen Vivian’s drawing, already heard the explanation from his grandson days earlier, but he still liked to weigh things twice.

After a slow breath, he looked at Vined and asked, “How many days will it take?”

Vined thought it over carefully.

His eyes moved from the water to the waiting boats, then to the supply wagons.

“If the weather is warmer, it would take much less. But with this cold, and with how wide the Indus River is… around fourteen to fifteen days.”

General Sant let out a quiet hum, deep and thoughtful.

Then, with a sudden shift from calm to authority, he raised his voice.

“All the captains, report to me at once! Remaining soldiers will follow the instructions of the lieutenants and captains. Is that understood?”

The answer came like a strike of thunder.

“UNDERSTOOD!!!”

One hundred and twenty thousand voices crashed together, rolling across the field and shaking the air itself.

Even the river seemed to tremble as the echo raced along the banks and scattered into the cold northern wind, like the earth itself was answering back.

General Sant didn’t wait for the echo of the soldiers’ shout to fade.

He turned sharply and walked toward the largest tent, its canvas stretched tight, its poles dug deep into the frozen ground.

It stood at the center of many smaller tents, like a heart surrounded by veins.

This was the conference tent.

Vined followed him, pushing aside the heavy flap as they stepped inside.

The air in the tent was warmer, but heavy with the smell of parchment, ink, and iron.

The space was simple but purposeful.

There were only two chairs in the entire room, placed side by side near the back wall, meant for the two generals alone.

Behind them hung a massive map of the northern region, pinned neatly, showing every river bend, hill, and road in sharp detail.

Both men sat, their armour settling with soft clinks.

A moment later, footsteps sounded outside, steady, controlled, practiced. Then a voice followed.

“Generals, the captains.” It was one of the guards, speaking with the rigid respect drilled into him.

Vined answered, his tone carrying smoothly through the tent. “They may enter.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the tent flap opened.

More than a hundred officers stepped inside, around one hundred and twenty men and women.

Their boots struck the ground in one rhythm.

Armour clattered softly as they arranged themselves into clean lines.

The sound rose like a low tide, steel brushing steel, leather straps tightening, weapons shifting at their sides.

When the formation settled, the whole tent felt smaller, filled with the raw presence of people who had survived more than one battlefield.

Their eyes were focused, their backs straight.

The air shifted, quiet, expectant, ready for orders that could send thousands into motion.

Vined let his gaze sweep across the officers.

When he saw that every captain was present, he turned to General Sant.

His father-in-law gave a small nod, permission to begin.

Vined rose from his chair. The room shifted slightly as more than a hundred pairs of eyes focused on him.

His steps were steady as he walked to the map.

A wooden pointer rested nearby; he picked it up and cleared his throat.

He lifted the stick and tapped the long blue line running down the map.

“This is the Indus River,” he said, his voice calm, steady, carrying through the tent without force.

The river on the map stretched from north to south, a cold vein cutting through the land.

He moved the pointer sideways, away from the river.

On the map it looked like a short distance, barely a few inches, but everyone here knew what that meant in real distance.

Roughly ten kilometers of harsh ground, frostbitten wind, and uneven terrain.

He tapped a spot where a mountain range began, the ink markings sharp and jagged.

“This place is our target,” he continued. “The further we travel, the colder it gets.”

The officers leaned in slightly, armor shifting as they followed the movement of the stick.

The map showed cliffs, narrow paths, and valleys packed with snow.

It was the kind of land that punished even seasoned soldiers, the kind that didn’t care about ranks or banners.

The tent became very quiet, the cold drawings on the map suddenly feeling far too real.

Outside, the river murmured softly, almost like a faint warning.

“Our hardest hurdle,” Vined continued, tapping the narrow curve between two peaks, “will be this point.”

His voice stayed calm, but the words carried weight.

“If we were defending, this place would be a blessing. But we are the attackers, so avoiding casualties will be difficult.”

The officers stayed silent.

They all understood what it meant to fight uphill, where the land itself sided with the enemy.

“That is why we will attack in stages,” Vined said.

His tone sharpened, the natural voice of a general rising through him.

He no longer sounded like a man speaking to his father-in-law or his peers, he sounded like the one who would lead them through frost and blood.

“No sudden charges, no reckless moves. Each step forward will be controlled.”

A quiet tension filled the tent, the kind that makes soldiers straighten their backs without thinking.

Outside, the cold air pressed against the canvas walls, waiting for the plan that would soon shape the movements of one hundred and twenty thousand people.

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