A general born to rule

the war plan begins

As dusk settled over the Reynard Empire, the horizon brimmed with tension. The skies above held swirling clouds, shadowed by the wings of dragonkin from Empress Valdrianna’s forces, who circled the perimeter in a perpetual watch. Valorcrest's helicopters hovered alongside them, engines a constant thrum against the foreboding silence. The combined forces of the allied kingdoms were on high alert, watching the boundaries as Orisi XV’s legions prepared in the distance, tirelessly building trench lines and fortifications under his command.

Inside the command center, tension ran high. Sam, Valorcrest's top strategist, was seated at his desk, reviewing satellite imagery on his computer for the third time. The images showed endless rows of trenches, rotary guns set up with ruthless precision, and fortified positions, each strategically mapped out in a manner that reflected Orisi's ambition and brutal efficiency.

Sam let out a sigh, his three wives—Alara, Aislin, and Seraphine—by his side, offering silent support. They could feel the weight of his unease, and their quiet presence was a balm to his fraying nerves.

“It’s a fortress,” Sam muttered, zooming in on one of the images. “This isn’t just a show of force. Orisi’s planning to grind us down bit by bit.”

Seraphine looked over his shoulder, her brow furrowed. “So he’s going to use the enslaved tribes as a buffer?”

“Looks that way,” Sam replied grimly. “He's stationed the frontlines with captured soldiers, armed with those heavy rotary guns. They’ll be fodder, but they’ll hit hard. If he’s building like this, he wants us to bleed before we even reach him.”

Aislin placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We need to tell Reynolds. Now.”

Sam nodded, collecting the satellite images and data, and headed out, his wives close behind.

---

Reynolds, Marcus, and their allies were in the grand hall of the Reynard Palace, discussing the preparations for the impending conflict. The laughter and camaraderie of moments ago had lightened the otherwise grave gathering. Marcus, caught in a rare moment of relaxation, was flanked by Empress Valdrianna and Queen Elandra of Lorithra, the dark elf ruler. Both women leaned in close, Valdrianna’s arm draped over his shoulder, while Elandra’s cool smile hinted at her confidence in their forces.

Reynolds, seated with his wife Lira, chuckled at the sight, giving Marcus a knowing look.

“Seems like our general has his hands full,” Reynolds teased, a grin spreading across his face.

Marcus, a little flushed, shot back, “Say what you will, Reynolds, but I’ll take all the morale I can get before we plunge into this.”

Lira shook her head with a smirk. “The two of you and your banter. I hope you still have energy left when it’s needed most.”

Just then, the doors to the grand hall flew open, and Sam burst in, the tension on his face unmistakable. All eyes turned to him as he crossed the room quickly, holding the satellite images out to Reynolds, Marcus, and the rest of the leaders gathered around.

“Everyone, take a look,” Sam said, his tone deadly serious. “Orisi’s building fortified trenches—miles of them—right across the border. His forces are digging in deep, and he’s put his enslaved tribes on the frontlines with those rotary guns.”

Reynolds took the images, his face growing serious as he studied the layout. “So he’s preparing for a siege.”

Sam nodded. “It’s a meat grinder out there. If we don’t break through quickly, we’ll be fighting an uphill battle. He’s prepared to use every inch of land to wear us down.”