Chapter 177: The Council

A loud wave of angry whispers broke out among the ten commanders.

"A goddess who runs away like a beaten dog," Keith spat onto the floor, his heavy fist gripping his sword handle. "She left two hundred thousand soldiers to die, threw away her strongest monster, and now she comes begging at our gates. We should chop off her head, take her mana core, and throw her body into the snow."

"Don’t be stupid, Keith," Grand Inquisitor Morzan said, his skull mask turning toward the big man. "A beaten dog still remembers where the hunter set his traps. Viona fought them directly. She knows how their weapons work. She knows what their machines look like before they shoot. Her divine core is damaged, but her knowledge is worth ten legions."

"She has nothing left," shield-general Boran rumbled, his deep voice heavy. "If these Americans have metal birds that fly above the clouds and weapons that blow through heavy armor from miles away, what good is her magic? She proved that old spells can’t stop their machines."

"Magic is never useless, Boran," Lady Seraphina said, smiling with her black-painted lips. "The Solarians were just stupid. They marched in giant, shiny lines under the open sky, practically begging to be bombed. They did not hide. They did not dig into the earth."

"Silence," Emperor Varos said.

The single word cut through the room. Every commander immediately shut their mouth and stood up straight.

Varos stood up from his bone throne. He was a massive man, and when he moved, the air in the room grew noticeably colder. A layer of thin frost spread across the stone floor around his boots. He walked down the stairs, his heavy black cape dragging behind him, and stopped in front of the floating blue picture.

He looked down at the dead dragon. He looked closely at the torn neck, the broken wings, and the neat, clean holes blown into the rock.

"This is not a peasant riot," Varos said, his voice cold and steady. "And this is not a wild barbarian horde. Look at the way they hit the target. Look at how straight the metal entered the flesh. These Americans do not fight with anger or rage. They fight like scientists. They measure the distance, they calculate the force, and they kill with total efficiency."

He looked up at Arch-Magus Jarek.

"Jarek. You have studied the summoned heroes from the Otherworld for twenty years. What is this ’United States’?"

Jarek bowed low, adjusting his thick glasses.

"Sire, the heroes that Viona summoned from that other world always talked about their home with great respect. They talked about giant cities made of glass and steel, carriages that moved without horses, and metal boats that could travel deep underwater. We thought they were just children making up tall tales to sound important."

Jarek pointed a finger at a drawing of an American soldier on the scroll.

"We were completely wrong, Sire," Jarek said, his voice shaking slightly. "The world they come from does not lack magic because it is weak. It lacks magic because its people figured out how the physical world works through machines. They do not bend the world with mana; they control fire, lightning, and steel using factories and engines. In their world, there are no kings or archmages. There are only massive industrial states that can build millions of identical weapons every single year."

"A whole world of engineers and factories," Varos murmured, a dark smile touching his lips. "Very interesting."

"Interesting, Sire?!" Keith yelled, unable to keep his anger in. "They are sitting right on our southern border! If they cross the mountains, their iron birds will be flying over our city within three days! We should gather our armies, call up the mountain clans, and build heavy defensive walls at the Devil’s Throat!"

"And what happens when their iron birds drop fire on your mountain clans, Keith?" Varos asked, turning his cold red eyes toward the big warrior. "Will your sword stop a heavy metal rod falling from high in the clouds? Can you cut down a machine that flies faster than sound?"

Keith ground his teeth, but he kept his mouth shut. He had no answer for that.

"We do not fight them on their terms," Varos said firmly. "The Solarians lost because they were arrogant, soft, and dumb. They thought their holy blood made them unbeatable. But Wallachia has never claimed to be holy. We are survivors. We are wolves that hunt in the dark."

He turned to look at all ten commanders.

"Hear my orders," the Emperor commanded.

The Ten Iron Fangs immediately dropped to one knee, bowing their heads before their lord.

"First," Varos said, "bring Viona and her mercenary, Leon, into the fortress. Do not treat them like royals. Take all their weapons, check their bodies for tracking spells, and lock them in the inner guest rooms. We will pull every piece of information out of their heads about these Americans—their officers, their supplies, their food, and their weaknesses."

"It will be done, Sire," Grand Inquisitor Morzan replied.

"Second," Varos continued, looking at beast-master Fenris and Lady Seraphina. "The sky belongs to their machines. Therefore, we will give up the sky. Pull all our guards back from the mountain peaks. No campfires on the ridges. No banners in the high passes. Everything moves underground."

"The deep tunnels, Sire?" Fenris asked, looking up.

"The Great Deep," Varos nodded slowly. "Wallachia’s true strength has never been in tall towers. It lives in the deep caves, the volcanic tunnels, and the underground cities. Start breeding the tunneling war-beasts. Prepare the underground paths. If the Americans want to fight us, they will have to crawl into pitch-black tunnels where their flying machines cannot see anything."

"And the open passes, Sire?" Harkon Stonebreaker asked. "What about the roads leading into the southern plains?"

"Leave them totally empty," Varos said, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Let their scouts fly over the mountains. Let their flying scry take image of empty dirt and abandoned wooden walls. Let General John Smith think the whole continent has given up."

The Emperor walked back up the stone steps to his bone throne. He turned around to face his commanders.

"The biggest mistake a conqueror can make," Varos said quietly, "is thinking that silence means victory. John Smith sits in Port Solis right now, telling his men how great they are for killing a single overgrown lizard. He thinks the war is finished."

Varos pulled a dark star-metal dagger from his belt. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he slammed the blade deep into the wooden planning map on the table, stabbing it straight through the southern coast.

"He doesn’t realize he just cleared the weak garbage out of our way," the Emperor said, his voice cold and hard. "Let the Americans celebrate. Let them get fat and lazy in their warm tents. And when the deep winter snows block the high mountain passes, we will drag them down into the dark."

The Ten Iron Fangs slammed their right fists against their metal chest plates at the exact same time.

"For the Iron Throne! Blood and stone!" they roared.