"So, how was the response?"
Duke Solar Angelus asked the question without looking up from the documents on his desk.
Sous stood across from him.
Or, more accurately, he was attempting to stand across from him.
His uniform was still immaculate by ordinary standards, but the man wearing it looked as though he had spent the past month being dragged through every road, conference chamber, and noble estate in the kingdom.
His red hair was dishevelled. Dark circles had settled beneath his dazzling blue eyes. Even his posture, usually straight enough to make a royal guardsman jealous, had acquired a slight inclination toward the nearest chair.
"With your pardon for the language," Sous began, "the response has been a mixture of 'To the End' and 'Gods, No.'"
Solar finally raised his eyes.
He looked at his son for several seconds.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you, Father. I was hoping the journey had improved my appearance."
"It has certainly improved your ability to complain."
"I have spent nearly a month listening to nobles explain why their personal tragedies should exempt
them from the responsibilities of their titles. I believe I have earned the privilege."
Solar leaned back in his chair.
"Go on."
Sous exhaled.
"The houses that lost their heads and firstborn heirs during the Red Tide are understandably hesitant about committing themselves fully. Some are still struggling to reorganize their estates. Others have spent the past year arguing over inheritances, appointments, and which surviving relative is most qualified to occupy the vacant seat."
"And the new heads?"
"A mixed bag."
"Meaning?"
"The second and third heirs who have inherited their titles are either too frightened to make decisions
or too eager to prove that they can."
Sous paused.
"The latter group is considerably more troublesome."
"Of course. Incompetence that knows itself to be incompetent can occasionally be managed. Incompetence that mistakes confidence for competence is a more expensive problem."
"I thought you would appreciate that distinction."
"I have paid for it often enough."
Sous pulled a document from beneath his arm and placed it on the desk.
"The numbers remain impressive, at least on paper."
Solar glanced down.
"The Royal Army fields one hundred thousand."
"One hundred thousand from House Angelus," Sous continued.
"The Church of the Holy Sun can provide seventy thousand Auxilia."
Solar nodded for him to proceed.
"The three Margraves command two hundred and eighty thousand between them. The nine Counts
account for another six hundred thousand. The eighteen Barons, along with the knightly houses, can
collectively raise a further couple of hundred thousand."
He let the numbers settle between them.
"Even with the losses suffered during the Red Tide, Gab can still gather an enormous army."
"An enormous army," Solar repeated, "is not necessarily an enormous military."
"I know."
"Then explain the problem."
Sous's expression grew more serious.
"The problem is that the majority of those forces depend on the surviving veteran houses for competent leadership. The Royal Army retains its command structure. House Angelus retains its veterans. The three Margraves have enough experience to coordinate large formations, and the Church still possesses commanders who have survived more than one campaign."
He tapped the document.
"But the remaining Counts and Barons are another matter. Some have capable officers. Others have inherited thousands of soldiers and no reliable idea what to do with them."
"Except march them toward the enemy and hope the enemy dies first."
"That appears to be the prevailing doctrine among several of them."
Solar gave a quiet snort.
Sous continued.
"The houses that survived the Red Tide intact are now being asked to compensate for the losses of those that did not. They are expected to supply officers, coordinate logistics, reinforce borders, and maintain their own territories simultaneously."
"And they are reluctant to do so."
"They are exhausted. Their soldiers are exhausted. Their treasuries are recovering from the disaster, and many of their families are still mourning the dead."
Sous lowered his gaze to the report.
"Some are willing to commit everything. Others want guarantees that they will not be abandoned if the war goes badly. A few have openly suggested that the Royal Family and the Church should shoulder most of the burden."
"Convenient."
"Very."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Outside the manor, the distant sounds of the estate continued as usual. Servants moved through the corridors. Guards changed shifts. Somewhere in the courtyard, a horse protested loudly against being saddled.
The world had not stopped turning simply because the kingdom was in danger.
Solar rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"So, our dependable core consists of the Royal Army, House Angelus, the three Margraves, the Church, and the remaining veteran knightly houses."
"Yes."
"And Prince Adrean, Arch-Prelate Navoc, and you remain among the most destructive warriors we can field."
Sous grimaced.
"I would prefer not to be included in that sentence."
"Why? It is a compliment."
"It sounds more like a description of a natural disaster."
"Those are often the most effective military assets."
"Father."
"What? I am merely observing that you have a talent for making expensive things explode."
Sous stared at him.
Solar smiled faintly.
For a few seconds, the familiar exchange eased the tension in the room.
Then Sous glanced at the casualty figures again.
"Do you still think it was the right decision?"
Solar's smile faded.
"Which decision?"
"Preventing the other noble houses from becoming our equals."
There it was.
Not a question about battlefield tactics. Not a complaint about the council. Not even a challenge to
the Angelus family's authority.
It was a question about the foundation upon which that authority had been built.
Solar looked at the papers scattered across his desk.
For generations, House Angelus had maintained its position through military strength, political influence, and careful management of the kingdom's balance of power. Other houses had been
allowed to prosper, but never enough to rival it. Their armies could grow, their lands could expand, and
their titles could accumulate prestige—provided they never became indispensable enough to
challenge the Angelus family.
It had worked.
Until the kingdom needed more than one or two great houses to carry the burden.
"I would be laughing," Solar said, "if my mind were not currently melting from tension."
Sous did not laugh.
Solar sighed.
"Was it the right decision? At the time, I believed so. A kingdom with several noble houses capable of
challenging the throne can become a kingdom where every succession crisis turns into a civil war."
"You mean what happened in your generation."
"I mean what happened in several generations before mine. My family merely had the misfortune of experiencing it personally."
His fingers drummed against the desk.
"But preventing rivals from becoming our equals also meant preventing them from developing the
resources, institutions, and experienced leadership that might have helped us now."
He looked at Sous.
"Power is not something you can distribute without consequence. Nor can you concentrate it
indefinitely without creating weaknesses elsewhere."
"So we preserved the hierarchy at the cost of making the kingdom more dependent on a handful of
families."
"Precisely."
Solar leaned back again.
"And now those families are expected to be everywhere at once."
Sous considered that.
"Then I suppose my proposal for trapping Talon will have to be discarded."
Solar's eyes sharpened.
"Explain."
"The original plan depended on drawing Talon Archos into a carefully prepared engagement. We
would use a limited force to provoke him, restrict his avenues of retreat, and force him to commit before the larger formations closed around him."
"And now?"
"Now the plan requires experienced commanders in several places simultaneously. If we allocate them to the trap, other sectors become vulnerable. If we divide them, the trap loses its reliability."
Sous shook his head.
"We could still attempt it, but the margin for error has become unacceptable."
"The weak never risk their lives," Solar said.
Sous looked at him.
"Is that another practical lesson?"
"Indeed. The weak rarely risk their lives when the risk is real. They prefer to disguise hesitation as prudence, then explain afterward why someone else should have taken the chance."
"That sounds suspiciously like a description of half the council."
"Only half? You have become generous during your travels."
Sous almost smiled.
Almost.
"But there is a difference between refusing to take a risk and refusing to gamble with lives we cannot
replace," he said.
Solar studied his son.
"Good. You have learned something."
"From you?"
"Don't sound so disappointed."
"I was hoping for a more comfortable lesson."
"Those are generally the least useful."
Sous flipped to the next page.
"As for Faros…"
His expression changed.
Solar noticed immediately.
The earlier exhaustion remained, but the irritation had vanished. In its place was the focused
expression of a young man who had finally reached the part of the report that mattered most.
"What about Faros?"
"Their mobilization has continued despite the losses and instability caused by the Red Tide. Their forces
are not simply gathering along the border. They are reorganizing their command structure and consolidating supplies."
Solar's fingers stopped moving.
"An invasion force?"
"I cannot confirm that. But it is not the behavior of a nation preparing to accept a peaceful settlement
without conditions."
"Have they made any demands?"
"Not yet. They have avoided committing themselves to a clear position."
"Then they are waiting to see how we respond."
"Possibly. Or they are waiting for us to reveal how much the Red Tide weakened us."
Solar's expression hardened.
"Which would make our internal difficulties considerably more dangerous."
"Exactly."
Sous placed the final document on the desk.
"There is another matter. Their interest in the Carine campaign has increased. They have requested
information about the forces deployed there, the commanders involved, and the weapons used to
destroy the intelligent entity."
Solar looked at the report.
"Let me guess. They are particularly interested in Laos."
Sous nodded.
"Twenty thousand of Logos's Banes participated in the campaign. Their artillery, chemical weapons, and
command units were observed by soldiers from several armies. Beleth was also seen on the battlefield."
"And now Faros knows that a small barony can deploy an army equipped with machines capable of
fighting alongside the kingdom's greatest forces."
"More importantly, they know that the barony's master is not particularly interested in asking
permission before improving them."
Solar closed his eyes.
For several seconds, the room remained silent.
Then he opened them again.
"Wonderful."
Sous frowned. "Wonderful?"
"No. Terrible. Entirely terrible. But at least the problem is now sufficiently complicated to justify my
headache."
"Your optimism is inspiring."
"I have spent decades cultivating it."
Solar reached for a fresh sheet of parchment.
"Send the updated assessment to the Royal Court. We need a clear accounting of which houses can
actually field experienced commanders, not merely how many men they can summon. And make
certain the report distinguishes between troops available on paper and troops that can be deployed without crippling their own territories."
"I will."
"As for Talon, do not revive the trap simply because the original plan was elegant. An elegant plan that
depends on commanders we no longer have is merely an expensive way to lose."
Sous nodded.
"And Faros?"
Solar dipped his pen into the ink.
"We prepare for negotiations as though they will fail."
"And hope they succeed?"
Solar glanced at him.
"We prepare for negotiations so that, if they succeed, we can accept peace without having dismantled
our defenses. If they fail, we can survive the consequences."
He began writing.
"Hope is a pleasant companion, Sous. It is a dreadful quartermaster."
For the first time that evening, Sous laughed.
It was brief, tired, and genuine.
Then Solar pushed the document toward him.
"Get some sleep before the next council meeting."
"I thought you wanted the report sent immediately."
"I do."
"Then—"
"You can send it before sleeping. I am not asking you to become incompetent."
Sous picked up the document.
"I see. A father's concern."
"A duke's concern. If you collapse during the negotiations, I will have to explain to the King why my
son has become a diplomatic casualty."
"Of course."
Sous turned toward the door.
"And Sous?"
He paused.
"Do not mistake our present weakness for the end of our strength. We still have capable commanders,
a formidable army, and allies who understand what is at stake."
Solar's gaze returned to the casualty reports.
"But do not mistake those advantages for guarantees, either."
Sous nodded once.
"I understand."
When the door closed behind him, Solar remained at his desk.
The kingdom still possessed hundreds of thousands of soldiers.
It had fortresses, knights, artillery, and enough resources to wage a long war.
Yet the Red Tide had exposed something far more troubling than the destruction of towns and the
deaths of noble families.
Gab had accumulated strength for generations.
It had not ensured that enough people knew how to use it.
And now Faros was approaching at precisely the moment when that distinction mattered most.