Renly knelt before the king and delivered the message exactly as Lucas had instructed, every word careful and precise, yet the moment the number left his mouth the atmosphere inside the tent shattered beyond repair. The king's eyes widened, not in shock alone but in something far colder, and before Renly could finish explaining how the information was obtained, the king's aura surged violently.
"Twelve thousand," the king repeated in a low voice that trembled with disbelief, then suddenly roared, "Twelve thousand waiting for us."
The table beside him exploded into fragments as his fist came down, maps tearing, ink spilling, cups and instruments crashing to the ground in a storm of splintered wood and metal. Renly flinched but did not rise, remaining where he was as the king paced like a caged beast, overturning chairs, ripping banners from their poles, his breath heavy and uneven.
