The Spear lies hidden within Sanasira, protected of course. Legosia must have known this, for he’s surrounded the entire city and I cannot breach his defences. My mind… it isn’t as it should be, I know, but that will not stop me. I will go senile once I’m done with this stupid war.

-From The Recently Deciphered Notes of King Arneshal, 2nd Grouping

In the war room of His Sharpness, Armon Mortici Feranz, stood several ministers and military personnel. They were gathered today for a routine meeting, and though the Armon would not call himself a king, he looked like it observing the proceedings. Misty breaths left the mouths of anyone who spoke, and the cold stone of the room was icy to the touch.

“Scout reports from the frontier show that the Phasgorians are hesitant to move from their position at Latren. Breaches into Sanasira have been unsuccessful and we’ve yet to find an opening to retake the stronghold,” Renolt told His Sharpness.

“But we’re making progress. We captured a few of their scouts. We need only interrogate them for their schedules,” Lieutenant General Amarna countered. The aged woman swept a hand through her wiry grey hair as she spoke.

She looked over to Dolish, who sat on his side of the room, without ever speaking a word. It struck her as odd, as he was always open to give his advice. Yet in his place, it was Yennel who spoke up. He stood up from his chair, gathering the attention of the other soldiers.

“Whatever those scouts tell us will be meaningless by the time we can act on it. What we need is an unplanned act. Something abrupt to catch their soldiers off-guard,” Yennel offered instead.

Armon Mortici sighed a misty breath, taking a moment that seemed to extend for hours.

“That’s suicidal, Lieutenant General.”

“Not if we bait the enemy, sir,” Yennel countered.

“How so?”

Yennel pointed towards the Planars on the board, moving them towards Latren.

“We send a fake battalion to make the Phasgorians believe we’re after them. In the meantime, a chain of Planars extending from the battlefield to Latren’s walls will begin to set themselves up. Once done, we can simply move our army towards the stronghold while their forces are engaged elsewhere!” Yennel told them.

“And their own Planars?” Amarna asked dryly. Yennel scoffed.

“Strike teams will be deployed to take them out.”

“How many resources do you really expect us to commit to this battle, Yennel?” Amarna asked. She looked around for support among the other generals, but they cast their gazes downwards. Tsk, Formless fools.

“I understand you think it’s a lot, Amarna. But think of the benefits. We weaken their Bladeborn, take over Latren and give ourselves the time we need to finally explore those forsaken ruins,” Yennel told them. It seemed to bolster the confidence of the soldiers present, evoking a few nods and hums of agreement.

Amarna grunted, annoyed with the others, with the Armon himself, and even Dolish, for not speaking up against this. Military operations couldn’t be won by devoting your entire army to one mission! They’d be bunching themselves up, leaving their camps defenceless and ripe for razing.

The weather outside seemed to agree with Amarna’s mood, as thunder sounded across the entire room. From across the room, she could see Dolish leafing through notes that she didn’t recognize. Behind him was only a single member of his honour guard. They caught not just her eye, but the eyes of the Armon himself, who fixated on Dolish.

“What are you doing, General?” Armon Mortici asked him. Dolish looked up from his papers and eyed his audience. He placed the papers on the desk, pushing them forward before standing up.

“I don’t agree with Yennel’s plans. I’ve an alternative to propose instead,” Dolish told him, tapping the papers.

“What are they for, General Venastian?” Armon Mortici asked.

“Reports of the grain shipments from the past few months. The rate we’re operating at, we won’t have enough to last the winter. Not unless we send back our Bladeborn to help with the crops,” Dolish explained.

“Grain shipments? That’s your prime argument against taking the stronghold now?” Yennel asked, a bit indignantly. The Armon glared at him and Yennel straightened.

“Sorry, General. What I meant was, I don’t think the issue of food is as severe as you believe. We’d need only send back a few of our Bladeborn to help with production,” Yennel reasoned.

“Which leaves our camp undefended or undermanned. That is simply a course of action we cannot take,” Dolish replied.

“You’re saying that only to save your tail, Venastian,” Renolt piped in.

“I’m saying it for our people,” Dolish intoned, shutting up the annoying General. Yennel turned to the Armon, who was taking a sip of water, before speaking.

“Your Sharpness. If we leave now, all those resources we’ve already cast here will be for naught. All those troops, Bladeborn, some of them not even grown, had their lives taken by those Phasgorian bastards.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“If we want their sacrifice to mean something, Your Sharpness, we cannot quit now!” Yennel passionately spoke, garnering a good audience behind him.

Dolish kept quiet through it all, even as their voices raised against him. It elevated to shouting, whereby the Armon raised a hand and quieted them once more.

“Dolish, your turn,” he spoke, waving his hand towards the room.

“Your inexperience in your position is known, soldier. If we were to do as you suggest, and fail, then there would be no recovering for us. Ravenishtan would fall to Phasgoria, or South Gejsa, in only a matter of time. The only hope we have against either foe is to consolidate our resources for the moment,” Dolish spoke deliberately.

“We wouldn’t be in this position in the first place had you put your best foot forward, General Venastian! Your prowess is famous even at the edges of the country. Had we your knowledge and skills, Latren would already be under our control!” Yennel slammed a fist down on the table.

“You’ve been dragging us down this entire time, Venastian. What do you have to say to that?” Renolt asked him. He held a knife in his hand, shaving away at his nails. Each swipe of the blade dusted away more of his nails, sharpening them.

The room looked towards Dolish, urging a response from the General. Even the Armon sat back, waiting for a reply before he put a stop to the current argument. It seemed either he didn’t care, or he was curious to Dolish’s intentions as well.

“It’s true. Every bit of it!” Dolish told all of them.

“When I came at His Sharpness’ orders, I came for a specific reason. That reason was not the conquest of Sanasira, nor was it the defeat of our enemy. It was the protection of our nation. What man wouldn’t want that for his country?”

“And what of the claim that you’ve held back, Dolish?” the Armon asked, cutting through the tension.

“I have. My men’s lives are important to me, so I refused to engage in battles that may risk them excessively. But from what I know now, I do not regret what I’ve done.”

He picked up the papers once more, throwing the grain shipment reports away.

“These are not simply documents that I’ve procured from Minister Ayshara’s library. These include translations that my expedition was able to translate from the late King Arneshal’s own palace!” Dolish told them. From behind him, Vaness appeared and took the documents, spreading the copies amongst the generals present in the room.

The room retreated into silence, muttering rising from the masses that read those words.

“What does this prove, General Venastian? These are just the writings of a man going mad,” The Armon said.

“The Remont of Elneshe, known as its highest military position, and the king himself, went to war with each other,” Dolish told the room as he moved around it. “They destroyed not only each other, but the land upon which they’d built their nation. A nation known as the greatest military power of its time, and it fell because of just two men!”

“They were a foolish people, yes?” the Armon said, letting Dolish continue.

“They were our ancestors! ‘Remont’, when written in the language of Phasgorians, sounds exactly as your title, Your Sharpness!”

“What?” the Armon asked, looking truly shocked for the first time. His jaw dropped, but Dolish continued.

“I’ve detailed every single comparison between Phasgoria and our country. Every link I could find, noted carefully by the hands of scholars. The kingdom of Elneshe fell because of infighting between its people. They destroyed each other so that our history was forgotten. And now, my fellow men and women, we’re repeating the same mistake.

“So, I ask you this, who will be left to remember Ravenishtan when it is destroyed?” Dolish finished, huffing in air and waiting. But there was nothing to speak of. Not even the Armon, calm and collected as he usually was, uttered a word. Beside him, his son, Merin, sat. He held his father’s hand.

From across the room, Yennel’s nails dug into the table. He stared through Dolish, a bead of sweat running down his face. Soundless words came out of his chattering mouth, but the silence kept him at bay.

Armon Mortici Feranz, ruler of the young nation of Ravenishtan, stood up from his seat with hesitation in his eyes. He let go of his son’s hand, patting him away, then opened his mouth as mist came out.

“In… light of these revelations made by General Venastian, I have decided. We have quarrelled for this accursed Spear for too long, and it ends now.”

“But, Your Sha-”

“Stop! Not another word, Yennel. You will thank me for it later,” the Armon sighed. “We will begin planning our disengagement starting from tomorrow. I expect each and every one of you to be back in this room by then. You are all dismissed.”

The room erupted in buzz. People got off of their chairs and split off into groups to speak amongst themselves. Several of them carried the copies of the research that Dolish had done, bickering and arguing loud enough that Dolish could overhear. The Armon quietly exited instead, guided by some of his guards in the meantime.

Dolish himself let out a breath. A weight of a thousand hours lifted off of his shoulders, and the cold necrotic touch of winter began instead to feel refreshing to him. Outside of the room, the thunder had died down and only drizzle pitter pattered against the roof of the building. He looked at Amarna from across the room, the old woman giving him a sad but satisfied smile.

Seems she’s taking the news well. Dolish placed both hands on the desk, the map spread out all over it to signal the troops.

“Guess we don’t need the old map anymore. Shame, I think the cartographers put their entire being into it,” Merin said from beside the old General, surprising him.

“Didn’t mean to do that, General Venastian. I hope the speech didn’t dry out your tongue enough that you can’t hold a conversation?” Merin asked, pointing towards a seat beside Dolish.

“By all means, General Feranz,” Dolish offered, and the Armon’s son took the chair. He faced Dolish with a gleeful smile, casting aside any respect his position might hold.

“You unhallowed bastard! You actually did it! I never thought for a thousand years that anyone would be able to convince the old man!” Merin said, patting Dolish on the back loudly. Behind him, a group of other soldiers and ministers were gathering, waiting for Dolish to finish talking with Merin. No one wanted to interrupt the son of the Armon, after all.

“What made you explore the old city, anyway? It was amazing that you’d found anything at all there!” Merin asked him. As much as Dolish hated to admit it, it was the work of the King of Thieves that he’d done it at all. If he hadn’t been told that, he’d still be hoping for a way out.

“My Form guided me, General Feranz. I’m just glad it led to somewhere fruitful,” Dolish said. His last repayment to the thief, Dolish would keep his name out of this incident at all costs. Merin looked at him like he’d said something wise, and put a hand to his chin.

“That’s the sort of wisdom old soldiers build, isn’t it? How profound…” Merin muttered to himself. Dolish could see the crowd behind him getting annoyed at waiting, so he stood up himself.

“You helped as well, Merin. Had it not been for you, perhaps I wouldn’t have said anything in the first place,” Dolish said, squeezing the young man’s shoulders. He walked past him and into the awaiting questions, and let himself finally speak freely after all this time.

In the time it took for Dolish to finish answering each one, he never even noticed that Yennel had left. The Lieutenant General left no traces, leaving quietly and alone in the middle of the rain. The only mark indicating his presence being the ripped and frayed edges of the war map near his chair.