Vined stood at the front of the tent, facing more than a hundred and twenty captains.

Their armor clinked softly as they shifted in their seats, waiting.

In front of them sat the three newly promoted vice generals, still stiff-backed and serious, doing their best to look worthy of their new positions.

Beside them, Duke Sant rested in a broad wooden chair.

His posture was calm, his eyes steady, but there was a quiet sharpness in the way he watched the room, like a sword wrapped in cloth, still dangerous even when resting.

All of them were looking at Vined.

He didn't speak right away.

His attention stayed fixed on the large map hanging behind him, a clean, detailed layout of the Tramplin estate.

It wasn't a full map of the northern lands; it was just the estate and the land around it, drawn with tight lines and careful precision.

Even so, it felt heavy. The closer he studied the walls, the more questions rose in his mind.

But the weight in his chest wasn't about the war.

It was about his son.

His thoughts kept drifting, like someone tugging him away from the map.

Every time he blinked, he saw his wife's letter in his mind again.

His son's empty eyes. His slow steps. His silence. It pressed on him harder than the cold air outside.

He tried to push it down. Tried to focus.

"Haaa…."

After staring for a while, Vined let out a quiet sigh.

He straightened his back, forcing his voice to stay steady as he finally spoke.

"Everyone," he said, his gaze sweeping across the room, "we'll discuss the attack plan now. I'll explain your roles one by one."

The captains leaned forward. The room fell into complete silence.

For a moment, Vined's eyes returned to the map, sharp walls, the narrow mountain trails leading to the Tramplin estate.

He pushed all his worries into the back of his mind.

The war needed him first. Everything else had to wait.

He lifted his hand and pointed at the map as he began the meeting.

"Our main target is the front gate," Vined said as he pointed at the large iron doors drawn on the map.

"But breaking through it won't be easy. If we simply charge at it with brute force, our losses will be too high. Half our soldiers might fall before we even get close."

The room quieted. Every captain watched him closely.

Vined looked around, then asked, "So what should our attack pattern be?"

Raven stood up from his seat. "We should attack in waves," he said.

"Send forward one group at a time, then pull them back and push the next group. We'll slowly break down their defense."

Eliza rose right after him. "That will take too long," she said.

"In this cold, our men won't last through a long clash. It's better to attack from different directions and force them to split their power."

The two ideas hung in the air, and the tent grew silent again as the captains waited for Vined's decision.

Vined smiled a little. Her argument was clear, and her idea made sense.

"Come here," he said. "Explain."

Eliza nodded. "Yes, General," and stepped toward the map.

Vined moved aside, giving her space to stand in front of everyone.

Eliza pointed at the layout and began, "We will divide groups of twenty thousand, and one group of thirty will attack the gate."

From here, the explanation continued in a calm, steady voice, her words carrying through the tent.

She explained that each group of twenty thousand would have five thousand heavy-armored soldiers at the front, ten thousand archers behind them, and five thousand third-star knights at the back.

The first five thousand would take the enemy arrows, forming a shield wall as they moved forward.

Behind them, the ten thousand archers would fire at the walls without stopping, forcing the defenders to stay low and break their focus.

Once the force reached the base of the wall, the five thousand third-star knights would move ahead.

They would save their strength until that moment.

Then they would climb the walls using ropes, hooks, or anything they could use to gain height.

The remaining fifteen thousand soldiers would stay close, protecting the climbers from enemy attacks and making sure no countercharge broke their formation.

As she spoke, the room grew still.

Her plan wasn't fancy, but it was strong and direct.

It had a rhythm to it, steady pressure, steady advance, steady support.

The captains began to picture it clearly:

heavy soldiers taking the first hits, archers turning the sky dark with arrows, knights pulling themselves up the walls while thousands guarded their backs.

"This way," Eliza said, "their focus will be divided, and our main group of thirty thousand can concentrate on the gates."

"Excellent," Vined said as he stepped forward and lightly patted Eliza's shoulder.

She kept her face calm, but her cheeks turned a faint shade of red at the praise.

She bowed and thanked him softly.

Vined smiled. "Now go sit back in your seat."

Eliza bowed again and returned to her place.

Vined turned his eyes to the captains and the three vice generals. His voice grew firm.

"We will follow Vice General Eliza's plan. The main attack on the gate will be led by Vice General Eliza herself."

"The right side will be led by Vice General Raven, and the left by Vice General Vincen. Is that understood?"

"Understood!" the three vice generals answered at the same time.

Vined stayed silent for a moment, letting the weight of the decision settle in the room. Then he spoke again.

"Rest for the day. We attack tomorrow."

"Dismiss!"

The instant the word left his mouth, every captain and every vice general rose to their feet.

They bowed toward Vined and Duke Sant, then began filing out of the tent one after another.

Outside, the cold air greeted them as they walked away, already whispering to each other, discussing formations, strategies, worries, and orders they needed to give their men.

Inside the tent, the noise faded.

Vined slowly sat down on his chair as the last footsteps left.

The lamps flickered against the canvas walls, and the heavy silence settled around him.

For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe, just breathe, as the weight of command pressed down on his shoulders again.

Vined had just settled into his chair when Duke Sant walked toward him, boots crunching softly over the tent's carpet.

"Is something bothering you?" the old man asked.

Vined looked up, met his father-in-law's eyes, and forced a small smile. "Nothing."

He didn't mention Elena's letter.

He didn't mention their son's strange behavior, the dazed look, the silence, the way he wandered as if he'd forgotten how to live.

He kept it all buried.

Telling Duke Sant would only make him worry, and Vined didn't want that.

The old man cherished his grandson more than anything.

Dragging him into the same dilemma, the same knot of fear Vined carried… it felt wrong.

So he stayed quiet.

Duke Sant nodded slowly.

The calm in his face didn't fully hide the weight in his eyes.

"Be prepared," he said. "That Clown might interfere."

His voice was even, steady, but there was something else under it, something sharp, something almost eager.

He had heard the rumors.

The stories that said the Clown could use abilities unlike normal warriors.

Strange intuitions, strange weapons. Things that didn't follow the usual rules.

And Duke Sant clearly wanted to see it with his own eyes.

Vined nodded quietly as his father-in-law turned to leave.

But even as the general walked away, Vined's thoughts drifted, not to the Clown, not to the war, not to the walls of the Tramplin estate.

They drifted back to his son.

To the letter.

To the fear he hadn't spoken aloud.

Vined let out a long breath.

"I need to finish this war as soon as possible," he murmured.

The words were quiet, but the resolve in his eyes sharpened.

No matter what happened tomorrow, he would push for the gate.

If the Clown didn't interfere, things would be far simpler.

He and Duke Sant could charge together, and breaking through would not be difficult.

Both of them stood at the grandmaster stage, while the enemy only had swordmasters.

The difference in strength was like a wall made of paper.

The emperor had also said that two more swordmasters from their side were already on the way.

Once those two arrived, even if the Clown stepped into the battle, they would still have the upper hand.

"But those four-star scouts…" he murmured, the thought circling back like a shadow he couldn't shake.

Their silence pressed on him, heavier each time he remembered it.

He rubbed his temples, trying to push down the unease, but it stayed exactly where it was.

At this point he had no choice. He could neither chase answers nor change anything.

All that remained was to ready himself, steady the army, and wait for tomorrow, when the truth would stop hiding.

"Haaa…"

A tired breath slipped out of him.

He leaned back in the chair, feeling the weight settle across his shoulders as he whispered, almost too softly to be heard,

"Ravan what exactly are you hiding?"

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