The chanting grew louder, the shadows deeper—until everything froze as Adelaide stormed through the tent's entrance, arm raised, eyes blazing.
As she stepped inside, paying no mind to where her bare feet landed, several ink bottles toppled and spilled across the dirt.
"OTTO!" Her voice tore through the tent, making Friedrich flinch behind her. "What was that retreat order!? Who commanded your men to knock me out? I demand answers." She dropped to one knee in front of him, eyes burning with fury, her left hand gripping the tilt of her sword. "You have thirty seconds."
Otto glanced at her blade, sighed, and raised his left arm—ordering the shamans to leave.
"Friedrich, Adelaide," he said with a nod. "I see you've arrived. Take a seat."
Friedrich scoffed, crossing his arms. "Sit? Sit where? This place is a disaster, Otto." His eyes swept over the chaos—black ink puddles, half-crushed maps, a bowl of red liquid. "Are you playing with shamanic nonsense again? The High Queen ordered —"
"Now, now, Friedrich. Is the High Queen here?"
"Well… no—"
"Twenty," Adelaide hissed, continuing her countdown.
Otto shook his head. "The situation was dire, Adelaide. By the time Friedrich's army reached you, let's just say you'd have been long gone."
She glared, her expression twisting with disgust. "If I had ordered the central army to reinforce your flank, the main gates of Jouragend might have opened. We know nothing of their interior forces—heavy cavalry or peasants, who can say? Allowing a double envelopment would have been idiotic for a High Chieftain. Don't you agree?"
Friedrich found a place against the tent wall, leaning with a sigh.
"Ten," Adelaide warned.
Otto's eyes widened; he recoiled slightly. "What more do you want!? Look—I get it. It's a shame a couple thousand of your troops died, but in the end—" He leaned closer, a smile creeping up as he whispered, "We'll win."
"A couple thousand?" she repeated sharply.
He leaned back, casually placing a hand on the tilt of her sword—over her palm. "That's right. Expendable rubbish. We'll resupply you when we return to Castle Rusubi."
Her hand twitched, then violently shook him off as she stood.
Otto yelped as cold steel kissed his neck. "SIX THOUSAND—six thousand of my men stayed behind as your shield, Otto Zekiel!" Her voice cracked with rage. "Shall I take your head to the High Queen as a gift?" Adelaide continued, her voice calming down "The head of the state traitor who DARED disobey her will and called the troops of HER concubine expendable!?"
A bead of blood slid down Otto's throat.
A barbarian burst through the flaps and froze at the sight. He quickly kneeled. "General—the scouts have returned. The imperial army remains at Castle Jouragend. They did not pursue us."
The two leaders continued locking eyes, their glares sharp enough to cut.
Friedrich clicked his tongue. "Alright. Understood. You're dismissed."
"Yes, my lord." The scout vanished.
Otto exhaled shakily. "Listen, Adelaide. Tomorrow—you'll understand everything. Both of you. I swear it on my Zekiel clan. The dreams they revealed to me—"
The blade pressed harder to his throat.
"I'm leaving. The Hera-yo clan is leaving, Otto." She pulled the sword back and turned toward the exit. Before stepping out, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. "The Hera clans—and I—will not forgive this. I pray to the Gods of Rose for your victory tomorrow. For you won't have mine."
Outside, a barbarian kneeled respectfully. "War Concubine, your four thousand troops await your departure."
Adelaide only sighed and strode down the hill toward the forest where her warriors waited.
Inside, Friedrich pushed himself off the tent wall. "Wonderful, 'High Chieftain'," he muttered mockingly. Continuing in a worried whisper. "Now we'll fight the imperials with less than half an army. Not to mention the High Queen does not—"
A cold wind slapped his face as he opened the tent flaps. He stepped out, letting the canvas fall shut behind him. "Should I retreat and beg the High Queen for forgiveness?" he whispered into his beard.
A finely dressed woman—not a barbarian—approached with a soft smile. "Ser, the tent is ready."
"Mhm, mhm. I'll be there, darling." His stiff expression eased as he linked arms with her. "Whatever. We'll see tomorrow—what the so-called High Chieftain has prepared for us."
"What was that?" she asked as something slid down her cheek prompting her to raise her look.
A raindrop.
Friedrich glanced up. "Nothing. Nothing."
Several hours later, at Jouragen Castle, most of its small population—and the host army—slept beneath the steady murmur of rainfall.
Yet in the strategy room, the mood was anything but peaceful. Around twenty officers, including His Lordship, remained awake, gathered around the great oak table as they argued in hushed, urgent voices.
"We cannot fight them in mud, m'lord. It'll be a slaughterhouse."
"We have no choice. We were entrusted with this. We cannot remain at the gates of the central region longer than needed—"
Their discussion halted as the heavy wooden doors opened.
The governess stepped inside, dressed in a lacy white gown, her bare legs catching the lantern light.