Roland's voice was strained with urgency as he tried to persuade King Novia, "But only you can change all this!"

Novia shook his head, his expression weary. "We've already suffered heavy losses. Three thousand years of rebuilding have only allowed us to regain the strength to protect ourselves. Forgive me, but I cannot lead my people into a war we are not prepared for."

Roland's frustration bubbled over. "Your Highness, Novia is not invincible. The enchantment that protects your kingdom has its weaknesses. A powerful enough assault could shatter it. I know Sauron commands a demon dragon and wields Grond, the battering ram of doom. Do you think your enchantment can hold against that? You don’t want your people caught in the flames of war, but you can’t retreat forever. Sooner or later, Sauron will set his sights on you. Do you really believe you can stand alone against his forces?"

The room fell into a heavy silence, Novia's face tightening in thought. Sensing an opening, Roland pressed on. "When your people are the last left standing, you'll be forced to face the full might of the orcs alone. Singhry will be consumed by fire! Is that what you want for your people? To hear their cries as everything burns?"

Peter Gross, Novia's loyal Dragon Knight, slammed his fist on the table, rising to defend his king. "How dare you speak to His Majesty that way!"

Roland met his glare with a calm, almost dismissive look. "Am I wrong, Dragon Knight?"

Peter’s anger flared, but he found himself at a loss for words.

Roland sighed and turned to leave, calling Reynold to follow. "Let’s go. I only hope King Novia is ready to face the orcs alone after we’re all gone."

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"Wait!" Novia's voice, cold and commanding, stopped Roland in his tracks. "Tell me about your plan."

Roland smiled to himself before turning back. "Plan? We have none other than to fight. Unless you think we can somehow take Gambada or TogoEldo by force."

Novia's face betrayed his concern. "Is it really that serious? Surely the kingdoms outside can muster an army of twenty thousand at least."

Roland shook his head, the weight of reality heavy in his voice. "Elub, the Woodland Kingdom, Lagrand, River Valley City, Los Saint-Neal, and Iron Hills combined can barely muster eight thousand soldiers. That’s all we have."

Novia and Peter were both stunned into silence.

"Our chances of winning are slim," Peter finally admitted.

"Exactly," Roland said, stepping closer to Peter, his eyes intense. "But if you do nothing, you have no chance at all."

Iovia sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "How many soldiers does Singhry have now?" Roland asked, sensing a crucial detail.

Peter Gross hesitated before answering, "About three thousand."

Roland’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Three thousand? That's all?"

"But they are all Tier 3 professionals," Peter added, a note of pride in his voice.

Roland's skepticism was apparent. "And what kind of professionals are they?"

"A thousand mid-level rangers, a thousand marksmen, and a thousand elite swordsmen," Iovia answered.

Roland’s brow furrowed as he realized the limitations. "So, no real front-line fighters?"

Peter bristled. "Our forces are effective at range. We don’t need a traditional front line."

Roland sighed, rubbing his temples. "I see. You’re relying on guerrilla tactics, but what happens when the orcs close in? Your rangers and marksmen might be effective at a distance, but without a solid front line, they’ll be overwhelmed."

Novia’s expression softened, a mix of resignation and determination. "We have no choice. We’ll need to leave enough soldiers to protect the enchantment. Even if we go to battle, we can only spare two thousand."

Roland nodded, understanding the difficult position they were in. "I understand."

Novia looked past Roland, his eyes hardening as he made a decision. "Peter, gather all the shooters and rangers. Bring enough supplies. We’ll head to Long Lake and prepare for the orcs."

He then addressed his people. "I will seal Singhry after we leave. If the enchantment breaks and you don’t see me return, then I have joined the stars."

As the doors of the main hall opened, Novia pulled out a blood-stained horn from his cloak. His voice was heavy with emotion. "Father, I will walk your path once more."

He raised the horn to his lips, and the mournful sound echoed throughout Singhry, signaling the beginning of a grim march toward war.