Ren leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“He doesn’t need a good reason, Ogren,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “There are plenty of nations out there, eager to get their hands on Aropia’s manna grass. A war, especially one that ends with us defeated, would be a perfect excuse for them to come in as ‘liberators.’ ”

Ogren’s eyes blazed with fury, and he took a step forward, fists clenched.

“Then let’s not wait for them to come to us! We should strike first—take the fight to Drakonia while they’re still scrambling. You know they’re just buying time to rally more forces. We can catch them off guard!”

Ren shook his head, his expression firm. “No. We’re not ready. Aropia’s army is too small. We need time to get our weapons industries running, to prepare for a war on our own terms. If we strike now, we’ll be fighting on their ground, playing their game.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Ogren barked, slamming a fist onto the desk.

The force made the wood creak under the pressure.

“The Drakonian army is massive—it’s going to take them weeks to mobilize completely. But our army is smaller, leaner, faster! We can move now while they’re still positioning, and crush them before they can overwhelm us.”

“You’re not thinking about their mages,” Ren shot back, his voice cutting like a blade.

He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Ogren's. “The Drakonians have combat mages—trained soldiers who can wield fire magic. Aropia has no magical defense, Ogren. We rush into this without a plan, and our soldiers will be burned alive before they can even draw their swords.”

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Ogren’s face twisted with frustration, his broad shoulders heaving as he struggled to keep his anger in check.

“Damn the mages!” he snarled. “I’ve seen our soldiers fight. I’ve seen them bleed for Aropia. We have the spirit to win this war—you know that! Are you going to tell me we should just sit here, like cowards, while they get stronger by the day?”

“No,” Ren said, his voice firm but low. “We are going to prepare. We are going to make sure every soldier who steps onto that battlefield has the tools they need to survive. We’ll soon have weapons to arm them with that can match Drakonia’s magic. If we attack now, unprepared, it will be our graves they march over.”

Ogren’s eyes narrowed, his teeth grinding audibly. “So what, we wait? We let them march toward us, take their time to muster every mage and warrior they can throw at us, and just—wait?”

“Yes,” Ren said, unflinching. “We wait. We stall. We make them second-guess every move. And when we’re ready, we will hit them harder than they ever thought possible. But not a moment before.”

Ogren’s nostrils flared, his hands flexing at his sides as if he could barely resist the urge to seize his sword and march to war that very moment.

“You're a fool,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “They’ll know what you’re planning.”

Ogren was stepping out of line , but Ren ignored it , justifying it as an effect of the deep seated desire to protect his homeland. When it came to matters of leadership , petty emotions seldom mattered to Ren . Any other time , Ogren would have learned the hard way to give respect to his king.

Ren’s gaze never wavered. “ Aropia's strength isn’t in rushing into battles we can’t win. It’s in playing the long game—forcing our enemies to make the mistakes.”

Ogren stared at him for a long, tense moment, his breath coming in hard, angry bursts. Then, with a sharp, frustrated curse, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the door.

“Damn it all,” he muttered over his shoulder.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Ren was left alone in the quiet of his office, the tension hanging heavy in the air. He leaned back in his chair, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his face. His expression was unreadable, his eyes distant.

He knew Ogren was right about one thing—time was running out.