Messengers were dispatched to the Royal Capital shortly thereafter, carrying the instructions decided upon in the council room.
The orders were clear: cancel the reinforcements slated for the northern fortress. Instead, the capital's forces were to secure the eastern border and maintain a vigilant watch on the movements of the Geisel Empire.
If the Empire was indeed pulling the Foreign Tribes' strings from the shadows, this shift in strategy should avert the worst-case scenario.
"However," Lord Bareia noted, "this does not mean the kingdom is saved. Should we fall to the Foreign Tribes here, we will have allowed the enemy to pour into the heart of our nation."
"…………"
A heavy silence followed his declaration, and a collective grimace washed over the faces of everyone in the room.
They were gathered once again in the conference room deep within the fortress. This intelligence was restricted to the nobility and high-ranking officers; to prevent a collapse in morale, it was kept strictly from the common soldiery.
"With no hope for reinforcements, a prolonged siege will inevitably end in this fortress falling," Bareia continued. "Therefore, we must strike a decisive, game-changing blow before that happens."
"Are you suggesting... we launch a counter-offensive?" Rest asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
If staying purely on the defensive was no longer an option, their only alternative was to attack.
But is such a feat even possible? Rest wondered.
To the north lay the Great Forest—the undisputed territory of the Foreign Tribes. Stepping into that wilderness meant invading unknown terrain to strike at hidden bases without a shred of geographical advantage. It was sheer madness. Even with Rest’s limited grasp of military strategy, he could see that this was little more than a suicide mission.
"Quite. I am well aware of the risks," Lord Bareia replied with cold, stern conviction. "But we no longer have the luxury of choice. The recent raid dealt this fortress a devastating blow. The Foreign Tribes attacked while invisible—a feat of magic likely bestowed upon them by the 'Sorcerer' manipulating their actions."
"If we’re facing mages as well, the difficulty spikes considerably..."
"Precisely as Count Clover says," Bareia agreed. "This fortress was never designed with magical defense in mind."
The structure had been built solely to repel the Foreign Tribes, who historically possessed no magic. As a result, its anti-magic countermeasures were practically nonexistent. They had no idea how many Sorcerers were out there, let alone the extent of their interference or the nature of their spells. To endure a siege while the enemy's capabilities remained unknown was a recipe for disaster.
Damned if we stay, damned if we go, Rest thought. This is a nightmare scenario.
Whether they dug in for a siege or charged out on the attack, the peril was identical.
"If the risks are equal regardless of our choice, then I advocate for the offensive. Are there any objections?"
"I’m in! Let’s give 'em hell!" Toya Catreia, the third son of Marquis Catreia House, was the first to shout his agreement. "Cowering in a shell never did suit my style! If we’re taking the fight to them, count me in!"
"I must object. It is far too reckless," countered the second son, Karyus Catreia. "Infiltrating enemy territory without sufficient intelligence is a gamble we cannot afford. Our efforts would be better spent using earth magic to reinforce the walls. We should focus on bolstering our defenses by digging new moats and pitfalls around the perimeter."
"Brother, you’re being tedious! Half-baked defenses won't mean a thing against mages. Besides, the Foreign Tribes have those bird-men who can just fly over any wall we build!"
"It is still preferable to a suicide run. You’re talking about wandering blindly into a pitch-black forest filled with predators, Toya."
"Are you seriously getting cold feet? For a Catreia, you’re acting pathetic!"
The two brothers descended into a heated argument.
"Lord Bareia has the right of it. To sit idle and wait for death is unthinkable!"
"Wait, wouldn't it be more prudent to press soldiers from the surrounding villages?"
"Conscripts won't do us any good. We should focus on requisitioning weapons and provisions instead."
"If we break the prisoners, we can find their hideout! We should launch a lightning strike on their base!"
Voices clashed across the council table as officers and nobles traded barbs. The debate between 'offense' and 'defense' raged on, both sides presenting logical arguments that made a clear consensus impossible.
"I support the offensive," a flat, emotionless voice cut through the noise. "If blood must be spilled, it’s better we be the ones to spill it first."
The speaker was Wilhelm Lyubase, the 'Woman-hating Sword Saint.' Having voiced his opinion, he turned his sharp gaze toward Rest.
"Rest Clover. What is your assessment?"
"…………"
Rest fell silent for a moment as Lyubase’s question hung in the air.
The question had struck during a brief lull in the shouting match. Suddenly, the Catreia brothers and every other official in the room—men who had been at each other's throats moments ago—shifted their focus entirely to the young Count.
With every eye in the room fixed on him, Rest felt a bead of nervous sweat roll down his spine.
"I believe..."
After a long moment of contemplation, Rest began to speak, his voice soft but steady as he offered his own perspective.