Inside the command tent, the atmosphere was uncomfortably heavy.

  A leather map was spread across a wooden table. Small stones marked the positions of military units, marching routes, and several important defensive points. At a glance, everything still looked orderly—at least on the map.

  But reality rarely resembled a map.

  Armand Valcere stood silently before the table for a long moment. The flickering oil lamp stretched his shadow across the surface of the map.

  A knight had just left the tent after delivering a report.

  The news… was not good.

  Reinforcements from the neighboring lords had still not arrived.

  Armand exhaled slowly. At first he tried to maintain a calm expression. But only a few seconds later, he slammed his hand down on the table.

  “Cowards.”

  A small stone rolled off the map and fell to the ground.

  No one in the tent spoke.

  Everyone present understood why the Count was angry. The summons had been sent out days ago. According to feudal law, the lesser lords were obligated to bring their troops when called upon by their liege.

  In theory, at least.

  In practice… things were a bit more complicated.

  Some families had replied that they were still gathering their soldiers.

  Others claimed the marching routes were difficult.

  And there were also those—this was not difficult to guess—who had not replied at all.

  If one were being charitable, perhaps they were truly preparing.

  But Armand, after many years among the nobility, likely understood the situation better than most people in the tent.

  Many of them were waiting.

  Waiting to see how the first battle would unfold.

  Waiting to see whether he could hold the defensive line.

  Only then would they decide whether to appear… or remain on the sidelines.

  Armand let out a dry laugh.

  “They want to see how long I can survive.”

  An older knight standing near the map coughed lightly.

  “My lord… if I may speak frankly.”

  Armand glanced at him.

  “Speak.”

  “Most of the families around Re-Robel do not have many troops.”

  The knight rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, his voice calm.

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  “If they take their entire force away… their territories would be left almost defenseless.”

  Armand remained silent for a moment.

  He could not say the man was wrong.

  Small territories existed in a fragile state. Bandits, monsters, border disputes… anything could happen if a castle lacked soldiers.

  But there was still a larger issue.

  Armand pointed at the map.

  “Do you think the rebels will stop at my border?”

  No one answered.

  Perhaps because the question did not require one.

  These rebel groups were different from the small uprisings of the past. Reports from the lands already lost suggested a disturbing pattern: the noble families there had not merely been defeated.

  They had been erased.

  Castles burned.

  Families slaughtered.

  Stories like that spread quickly among the nobility.

  If the Valcere line collapsed, it was highly likely that the lords around Re-Robel would suffer the same fate.

  The strange thing was… they still hesitated.

  Another officer stepped forward.

  “My lord… punishing them right now would likely be ineffective.”

  Armand exhaled.

  “I know.”

  That was precisely the problem.

  In theory, he had the authority to punish lords who failed to fulfill their military obligations.

  But feudal authority often depended on real strength.

  If he emerged weakened from this battle, any threat he made afterward would be little more than empty words.

  Silence filled the tent for a few seconds.

  Then the older knight spoke again, slowly.

  “Perhaps… instead of threatening them, we should give them a reason to want to come.”

  Armand frowned.

  “What do you mean?”

  The knight looked down at the map.

  “Many lesser lords are not truly loyal.”

  He spoke quite bluntly.

  “But they are often… very practical.”

  Armand understood immediately.

  “Land?”

  The knight nodded.

  “Land. And honor.”

  In war, fiefs were always rewards capable of stirring a noble’s ambition.

  If the rebels were defeated, their lands would certainly be confiscated. Those territories… would eventually have to be redistributed.

  Armand thought for a few seconds.

  To be honest, the idea was not particularly noble.

  But under the current circumstances, it was far more realistic than appealing to loyalty.

  At last, he nodded.

  “Prepare a letter.”

  A secretary stepped forward immediately.

  Armand spoke slowly.

  “Send it to every lord in the region.”

  “Three days.”

  He paused briefly.

  “Within three days, they are to bring their troops here.”

  The secretary wrote quickly.

  Armand continued.

  “Tell them that I, Armand of House Valcere…”

  He paused before finishing the sentence.

  “…swear upon the honor of Valcere that anyone who earns worthy merit in this war will be granted land.”

  The atmosphere in the tent shifted noticeably.

  This was no longer an ordinary summons.

  It was a formal promise from a Count.

  And among the nobility, such a promise… still carried weight.

  Armand looked down at the map once more.

  If loyalty was not enough…

  Then greed might accomplish the rest.

  …

  Meanwhile, at the rear of the army, events were developing in a slightly different direction.

  Over the past two days of marching, the alliance of minor nobles had begun attracting more people.

  At first there had been only a few families.

  But as the army moved closer to the front line, they began encountering other forces along the road.

  Some lords were already on their way to gather with the army.

  Others still seemed undecided about which side to support.

  Then they heard the news.

  A small alliance of nobles had formed.

  In wartime, that carried considerable persuasive power.

  Not because of any noble ideals.

  Simply because… traveling with a group was usually safer.

  Philip realized this quite clearly that afternoon.

  A new family banner had just been raised near the camp.

  Another lord had joined.

  About thirty soldiers.

  Ordinary equipment.

  Nothing particularly remarkable.

  But under these circumstances, every small unit had its value.

  Philip sat on a rock near the camp and watched.

  The alliance was growing.

  A small force marching alone and encountering rebels first…

  The outcome usually did not require much imagination.

  But if they traveled as part of a larger group, at least their chances of survival were slightly better.

  Philip looked around the camp.

  Several nobles were conversing.

  A few knights were checking their weapons.

  Not far away, the twenty soldiers of Montserrat were setting up their tents in a fairly neat formation.

  Some people were still whispering that Montserrat’s force seemed disciplined.

  Philip did not correct that rumor.

  In truth… he did not see any reason to.

  This alliance had begun as a temporary arrangement.

  But somehow, it was slowly turning into a real force.

  Still rather disorganized.

  And if Philip’s guess was correct…

  The first battle ahead would likely reveal very quickly just how reliable this alliance truly was.