The heavy doors of the war chamber creaked open as the generals and key advisors entered swiftly, armor clinking and cloaks trailing behind them. The tension was already thick—none dared to speak before their king.
King Gurdan stood at the head of the war map, his gaze burning.
He raised a hand and pointed directly at the red markers along the Dwarven border.
"You." His voice was sharp as steel.
"You will lead 400,000 troops toward the Dwarven Kingdom."
One of the senior generals stepped forward, his eyes wide.
"Your Majesty, if we divide our army too soon—"
"NO BUTS!" Gurdan's voice thundered across the hall.
"This is an order!"
The war table trembled under the weight of his clenched fist.
"If we move fast—if we mobilize all 400,000 through their mountain pass—we can take the Dwarven border before the day is out."
A moment of silence passed as the generals exchanged glances—none daring to challenge him again. Finally, the leading general lowered his head.
