Vined let the silence settle.

The officers stood still, as everyone focused on him.

When no one spoke, he nodded once and continued.

"Our first priority is the bridge," he said.

"It must be finished within the next fifteen days. No delays. The army cannot move until that path is ready."

A few officers exchanged quick glances, but no one spoke.

They all knew the river was wide, the water was freezing, and the work would be hard.

Still, they also knew it had to be done.

"After the bridge is done," Vined went on, "we march toward Ravan Tramplin's territory. The march will take around ten days if the weather stays steady."

He paused, letting the weight of the numbers sink in.

Fifteen days of building. Ten days of marching. Twenty-five days before they even reached their real enemy.

"But do not let your guard down," he added, voice steady but sharp at the same time.

"You might not expect it, and the chances are low, but they could try to attack us while the bridge is being built. The cold makes people careless. Do not be careless. Stay alert."

His words slid across the room like the wind outside, cold, direct, meant to keep people awake.

"Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the officers answered in one strong voice.

The sound filled the whole tent, firm and solid.

Vined lowered the pointer and looked across the lines of captains, faces hard, ready, and waiting.

Vined stayed silent for a few moments longer, as if measuring the air itself.

Then he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

A soft pulse of mana rippled outward, and a round orb, about the size of his fist, appeared in his palm.

He didn't look at the officers. He didn't need to.

His focus stayed on the orb as he pressed his thumb against it and sent a steady flow of mana inside.

The orb lit up at once, glowing bright white, and a thin line of light rose from it like smoke.

A moment later, the projection formed in front of him.

It hovered in the air, clear, bright, and shaped like a scene pulled straight out of someone's memory.

The officers watched it appear, but none of them reacted.

Not a single whisper, not a single gasp.

They all knew exactly what it was.

A memory projection.

A tool that could store a single image for years, holding it as clean as the moment it was captured.

The image hanging in the air showed walls.

Endless walls.

Wherever someone looked, the view stretched on, huge stone walls rising high above the ground, thick enough to stop an army and tall enough to hide the sky.

Beside those walls were mountains covered in snow and ice.

Cold peaks leaned over the stone like silent guards.

The whole scene looked frozen, heavy, and impossible to ignore. The kind of place that swallowed warmth and sent it running.

Vined lifted the pointer and aimed it straight at the towering stone walls in the projection.

"We need to get past these," he said.

"But wall-breakers won't work here. These walls are made of granite. Our tools can crack normal stones, not this."

He let that sink in for a second, his eyes still on the floating image.

"So how do we break inside?" he asked, almost casually.

He didn't wait for anyone to speak. He already had the answer.

"We break through the gate."

His pointer shifted to the massive iron gate shown in the projection, a structure so huge it looked like a giant's door dropped into the middle of a mountain pass.

Thick beams, layered iron, and heavy locks reinforced it.

A natural choke point for any invading army.

"To get here," Vined said, tapping the gate again, "we need to focus most of our strength at this spot."

The officers held their breath.

Concentrating power at a single point was standard strategy, but everyone knew there was a problem waiting right behind it.

"But we cannot," Vined said, lowering the pointer.

"If we pull every soldier on our side of the walls toward the gate, then the enemy inside the territory will also gather their forces there."

His voice stayed steady, but the meaning hit hard.

"And if they gather everyone at this narrow point, our losses will be unimaginable."

The projection glowed cold above them, showing the iron gate, silent, frozen, waiting like the mouth of a beast that wanted them to walk straight in.

Vined let the tension settle for a moment, then spoke clearly.

"To avoid a bloody fight at the gate, we will split into groups of three."

A faint shift went through the officers. No one spoke, but they listened harder.

"These three groups," Vined continued, "will each be led by a vice general."

That caused confusion.

A few captains exchanged quick looks.

The Indrath army had generals and captains, but no vice generals. The rank didn't even exist.

But Vined didn't rush. He let their questions hang in the air.

"And these vice general seats," he said calmly, "will be filled right now."

Silence deepened. Even the river outside seemed to stop flowing for a moment.

He looked around the room, his gaze steady, sharp, already knowing his choices.

"The three vice generals will be…" He paused only to breathe, not for effect.

"Captain Eliza River. Head Captain Vincen Meck. And Head Captain Raven."

A quiet ripple moved through the lines of officers.

Three names, three different reactions, surprise from some, approval from others, and a bit of envy from their peers.

Eliza River, a woman in her mid-thirties with white armor and a calm, firm expression, stepped forward first.

The two men followed, Vincen, middle-aged with a scar along his jaw, and Raven, young but already known for his talent.

All three of them knelt before Vined.

Vined glanced at General Sant, his father-in-law.

The older man met his eyes and nodded once, slow and certain.

That was the final permission.

Vined turned back to the three kneeling captains.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

At the same moment, he reached into his subspace and pulled out his sword.

The blade gleamed as he unsheathed it, the metal catching the glow from the memory projection.

He stepped toward Eliza first.

With steady hands, he placed the flat side of the sword gently on her right shoulder.

Vined kept the sword resting lightly on Eliza's shoulder as he spoke, his voice steady and clear.

"Eliza River," he said, "for years you have served the empire without hesitation. You stand at the peak of the fifth star, only one step away from breaking through."

"Your record, your discipline, and your strength place you among the finest soldiers in our ranks."

Eliza didn't move. She stayed perfectly still, eyes focused forward, breath steady.

Vined raised the sword, holding it just above her shoulder.

"I, Vined D. Zenithara, duke of the Indrath Empire and general of this expedition, grant you the position of vice general."

His tone stayed formal, the weight of command wrapped around each word. "Do you accept this rank?"

"I accept it, General Vined," Eliza said.

Her voice was respectful, almost strict, but the faint joy in it couldn't be hidden.

"Stand," Vined said.

He snapped his fingers, and a round medal appeared from his subspace.

The metal was dark silver, and engraved at the center was the symbol of the Indrath Empire, an elephant raising its trunk, strong and unyielding.

Eliza rose to her feet, posture straight, eyes forward.

Vined stepped closer and fixed the medal to the front of her chest plate. The metal clicked softly into place.

"From today onward," he said, "you are a vice general of this expedition. And after this war ends, you will carry this rank permanently. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." She saluted sharply, the armor on her arm whispering against itself.

Vined nodded once, then turned away, his cloak shifting behind him as he walked toward Vincen Meck.

The sword in his hand gleamed again, ready for the next name.

Vined placed the sword gently on Vincen's shoulder, his gaze steady.

"Vincen," he said, "you are the longest-serving member of this army. Your experience speaks for itself, and you stand at the mid-stage of the fifth star. You have held the line more times than anyone here."

The man stayed kneeling, back straight, jaw set.

His face didn't show much, but everyone knew how heavy his years of service were.

"I wish you luck," Vined continued, "and I command you to accept the rank of vice general. Do you accept it?"

"Yes, General Vined." His tone was sharp, clipped, a soldier's voice, but underneath it was a deep respect built over years of battle and loyalty.

"Stand," Vined said.

Vincen rose. Vined snapped his fingers again, and another medal appeared from his subspace.

This one also carried the elephant symbol of Indrath, clean, polished, and heavy with duty.

"I, Vined D. Zenithara, duke of the Indrath Empire, grant you the title of vice general," he said. "I hope you lead well."

Vincen nodded once.

His expression stayed firm and unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him, they gleamed with joy he couldn't hide.

Vined stepped close, fixing the medal onto the man's chest plate.

The metal settled with a soft click.

Vined then gave a firm pat on Vincen's shoulder, a rare gesture from a general to a soldier who had fought for decades.

Without wasting a moment, he turned toward the last person kneeling.

The young man named Raven waited, the cold glow from the memory projection reflecting in his eyes.

He looked nervous and proud all at once, a soldier standing at the edge of the greatest step in his life.

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