Inside the grand hall of the Basharan Empire's royal palace.
The young King Simon sat upon the throne, while below him stood all the marshals of the realm, along with a host of ministers and dukes.
"Your Majesty, the Borgs have begun invading our northern border. They're advancing with great force—we need to prepare a strategy to counter them," a marshal clad in ornate armor stepped forward to say.
"I suggest mobilizing the empire's most elite troops, and having the various lords dispatch their own forces to form a combined army. Otherwise, it will be difficult for us to resist the Borgs' assault."
Only those who commanded significant military power or held great authority could speak in the royal court, with the lowest rank being a duke to participate in the discussion. His proposal drew opposition from many nobles.
"Right now, every region is stockpiling war supplies and must maintain local security. The troops we can spare are already very limited."
"How can that be? There have been no wars in recent years, nor have we heard of any disasters anywhere. The nobles in every region have been developing peacefully for a long time, their pockets full of gold coins and their lands teeming with available men. Now we're just asking you to contribute a portion to support the war effort—saying otherwise suggests you have something to hide," the marshal retorted, glaring at the speaker.
"Don't talk nonsense. I'm just stating the facts. You only see the prosperity of each region, never the expenses. Many lords are living on tight budgets."
"That's just because you spend too much in peacetime!"
"All of you, shut up!"
At the command from the high platform, the quarreling parties fell silent instantly.
Only then did King Simon lift his head.
That morning, he had received a series of military reports from the previous day. The Borgs' vanguard of 120,000 elite troops had launched an attack on the northern border. With intense artillery fire, airships, and the power of their wizards, the outermost wall of the north had been destroyed overnight, leaving tens of thousands of soldiers dead on the battlefield.
The subsequent intelligence was even worse.
Not only the Borgs, but the Cattans had also organized a small force to raid the northeastern border. However, Catta, a nation long subservient to Borg, lacked military strength. Aside from some casualties, no large-scale land occupation had occurred. Moreover, the northeastern region of the Basharan Empire was home to the highest concentration of count families, so their combined forces should be able to hold out for a while.
But requests for reinforcements were likely already on their way to the capital.
Simon looked at the silent crowd below, noting the marshal and duke who had been arguing earlier.
"The Borgs have already breached the northern gate. Once their forces converge, they'll launch a second attack on us. And here you are, squabbling over trivial matters. I need solutions—ways to deal with the Borg invasion!" he thundered at the assembly.
There was one thing Simon hadn't mentioned: some imperial nobles in the north, seeing the dire situation, had surrendered with their entire families. And this was only the first day.
If the enemy pushed straight in, who knew how many more nobles would choose not to resist, leading to the enemy at the gates.
The ministers dared not speak in the face of the king's wrath. It was then that Prince Philip stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, I believe we need not worry excessively."
"Hmm?" Everyone's eyes locked onto the prince, whom the king trusted deeply.
"Speak your mind, Philip."
"Yes. Though the Borgs have come fiercely and destroyed our northern defenses overnight, that's because we haven't fought in years, while Borg has been constantly at war with Catta and even extended its reach westward. They've become adept at warfare over the years. But we are not like the Cattans, so quick to submit. I've heard that imperial troops are already heading north, and the marquises and counts in the northern region are actively forming joint defense forces."
"But that won't drive the Borgs away," a marshal interjected.
"There's no need to drive them away. They'll leave on their own. Winter is coming soon. If we hold our ground and fight them until winter, clearing the area of food supplies, the Borgs, unable to fight in winter, will naturally retreat. Then we can send envoys to Borg to negotiate and end the war," Philip said.
"That's an open declaration of surrender, Your Highness. Why can't we fight the Borgs?"
"The Borgs' combat strength is beyond our ability to match. This is the simplest and most effective method," Philip replied to the objector.
"Haha! That's the funniest surrender speech I've heard all year."
"Marshal, let me remind you: war and destruction can sometimes hinge on a single decision. Would you send a young soldier to fight a brutal magical beast?"
"Are you saying we Basharans are weak?" the opposing marshal said indignantly.
"Only when reason overcomes temper can our nation endure!"
"You—"
"Enough!" King Simon intervened as the two were about to argue again.
"The Borgs are advancing with great force. Our intelligence shows they've deployed a full 500,000 elite troops. Even our empire would struggle to handle such numbers. We cannot face the enemy head-on in battle; we must rely on strategy," Simon said, not explicitly stating his stance but clearly favoring his uncle.
"Your Majesty, we can't do that. It will shatter the soldiers' morale and the people's hope."
"As long as we live, that is the greatest hope," Philip continued, addressing the other side.
King Simon looked toward the marshals' ranks.
"If anyone has a good battle plan, speak up—whether offensive or defensive. We need the wisdom of all our marshals." Perhaps sensing the dejection among the war faction, Simon added an encouraging remark. But what he thought was encouragement sounded weak to the ears of the marshals.
The policy discussed in the palace would likely lean toward Prince Philip's strategy of defense and negotiation.
Meanwhile, not far from the palace, the empire's wizards awaited news of the meeting's outcome.
Freya stood alone at the edge of the wizard tower, staring at the sky, lost in thought.
"Cough, leader."
The sudden voice behind her snapped her out of her reverie.
"Oh, it's Sohana. What is it? Any news from the palace meeting?"
"Not yet, but there's news from elsewhere for you." Sohana's expression was clearly grim, which puzzled Freya.
"What is it?"
"A letter from Count Seanvigor in the southeastern part of the empire."
"Sean?" Freya couldn't hide her delight, but noticing the other wizards around, she dared not say more.
She snatched the letter from Sohana's hand, earning a roll of the eyes.
"Leader, I don't understand. He's just a count. If you keep getting involved with him like this, it could cause trouble. Even the prince won't be easy to explain things to."
"That's my own business. Since when do they need to worry about it?"
She cast a glance at Sohana's helpless expression.
"You wouldn't understand."