“Prepare the soldiers and equip them with the finest armor. I don’t think this war will be ending soon. Send the alliance papers to every household,” Bolge commanded.
“Yes, sir,” an elderly man rose from his chair and left the room. He wore the armor of a knight and proudly displayed a dragon badge on his chest.
This man was none other than the Second Knight Captain of the Dragon House, known for his unwavering loyalty and unwavering dedication to the cause.
“I shall retrieve my royal armor. The rest of you, prepare yourselves as well. We are going into battle. If anyone objects to my decision, speak now or fight for me,” Bolge declared, his voice resonating with authority. He stood up, emanating a threatening aura that sent shivers down the spines of those present.
In an instant, a man wearing glasses attempted to raise his hand, but Griffith, Bolge’s trusted lieutenant, swiftly intervened, grabbing his hand to prevent him.
“What do you think you’re doing, glasses?” Griffith inquired, his eyes narrowing.
“S-Sir, fighting them is absurd. We will lose. This war is impossible to win. I am objecting to the leader’s decision because he said anyone could object if they wanted,” the bespectacled man expressed his concerns, his voice trembling.
“Oh…? And what do you think he will do when you object to his decision?” Griffith retorted, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and warning.
“L-Listen to my idea of retreat…?” the man with glasses stammered, his confidence waning.
Griffith sighed deeply, contemplating the man’s words. He understood the fear and doubt that clouded the room. The odds were stacked against them, and the enemy they faced was formidable. But retreating now would only spell their doom.
“How long have you been with the house?” Griffith asked, his voice taking on a somber tone.
“Only five days, sir…” the man with glasses admitted, his voice lacking conviction.
“That’s why you don’t understand. If you mention the word ‘retreat’ in front of him, he will dig your grave before killing you. Now, silence yourself before your blood stains this floor,” Griffith warned firmly, his grip on the man’s hand tightening. 𝒃𝒆𝒐𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝙘𝙤𝒎
andasnovel.com The room fell into an uneasy silence. The truth in Griffith’s words lingered, weighing heavily on their minds. They knew that Bolge, their leader, was a force to be reckoned with, his unwavering determination matching the strength of his sword arm.
“In other words, it’s fight or die,” Griffith asserted, releasing the man’s hand.
“Very well, I shall take my leave now,” Bolge announced, his piercing gaze scanning the hall, ensuring that no objections were voiced.
Bolge exited through the gate, and the tension in the room began to dissipate, albeit slightly. The remaining members of the group exchanged nervous glances, their hearts heavy with the weight of the impending battle.
“I understand that what has transpired is unfortunate, and some of you may consider fleeing today. I do not know who you are, nor do I care to know. I will step outside for a smoke, and for those who wish to leave, simply exit the room and vacate the mansion within the hour. If you are found inside this mansion one hour from now, no one will be more dangerous than me. Now, ladies and gentlemen, take your time,” Griffith spoke, his voice filled with a mixture of resignation and determination.
With that, he rose from his chair, leaving the room, cigar in hand. Griffith stood before a large glass window, gazing outside as he lit the cigar and began to smoke. His thoughts were consumed by the gravity of the situation.
“What is happening within this damn kingdom? First, the invasion of the Ogres into the seventh ring, and now these undead creatures. Is this all mere coincidence, or is someone orchestrating it?” Griffith mused sadly, his smile tainted with sorrow.
Suddenly, the man with the glasses approached Griffith from behind, his footsteps hesitant.
“S-Sir Griffith, I am sorry, but-” the man began, his voice wavering.
Before he could utter another word, Griffith raised his hand, gesturing for him to stop. The message was clear – his words were unnecessary.
“Just leave if you want to. Spare me the excuses,” Griffith commanded, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
The man nodded, his face filled with a mixture of relief and disappointment. He understood that further conversation would be futile. With a heavy heart, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
After smoking the entire cigar, Griffith reentered the room, the lingering scent of tobacco clinging to his clothes. He surveyed the scene, noting that five individuals had already left.
“Well, it seems we had some cowards among us, huh?” Griffith remarked, his smile faintly visible amidst the somber atmosphere.
“Madam Aven, too, huh…?” Griffith’s tone turned melancholic as he glanced at one of the vacant seats, memories of battles fought side by side flooding his mind.
“Don’t be foolish, Griffith. We went to retrieve our royal weapons. Do you really think we would leave like cowards?” a woman with purple hair and purple eyes entered the room, her voice filled with determination. She wielded two swords, one in each hand, a testament to her skill and readiness for battle.
Three more elderly men followed her into the room, their faces etched with wrinkles that told tales of past wars and countless victories. They exchanged knowing glances with Griffith, their eyes conveying a silent camaraderie.
“You old bastards dared to play tricks on me. If I survive tomorrow, I will surely have my revenge,” Griffith remarked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he playfully taunted his comrades.
“We should begin strategizing now,” one of the elderly men suggested, his voice filled with authority born of experience.
“Indeed. Please share your thoughts on what we can do in this situation,” Griffith invited, his gaze shifting from one seasoned warrior to another.
“Sir, may i come in ?” The guy wearing glasses spoke.
“Hmmm…? You are back too huh ?” Griffith asked with a smile.
“Sir, what is the benefit of running ? If the kingdom that i pledged to serve doesn’t remains.”