CHAPTER 42: THE WAR COUNCIL AND THE DAWN

The heat of sex still lingered in the air, heavy, mixed with the smell of leather and dried blood.

On the ground, a few steps from the war table, Liora Veyra still lay unconscious, a fur blanket thrown over her naked body. Her slow breathing barely lifted the hide, but each movement betrayed that she was still alive. Her pale hair was scattered around her face like a halo soiled with sweat.

Around her, the tent had changed function. In the center stood a large table of raw wood, covered with hastily scribbled maps, colored stones serving as markers, and a few blades laid down as if they were part of the plan. The torches planted in the ground diffused a red, trembling light, casting hard shadows on their faces.

They were all there. My lieutenants, my captains, the clan chiefs who had survived the last charge. Some stood with arms crossed, others sat with their gaze fixed on the map. No one dared comment on the presence of the White General, collapsed a few feet away. But all knew what she represented: a trophy, a message, a political weapon.

I took my place at the end of the table. The leather of my cloak creaked as I leaned, my fingers pressing against the blood-stained parchment. A heavy silence settled. Even the candles seemed hesitant to burn too brightly.

I swept the assembly with my gaze. Kaelira, upright, cold-eyed, hand on the hilt of her sword. Nyss, leaning on her elbow, wings folded but her gaze shining with carnivorous impatience. Sae, further back, motionless, her fingers brushing a stiletto as if she could kill doubt with a single gesture. Syra and Varkash, each camped on one flank, their physical presence enough to remind everyone who really held this tent.

Outside, the breath of the snow-laden wind could still be heard, but here... it was another cold that froze the bones. The cold of decision.

My voice cut through that silence:

— Good. The game changes. Let’s talk.

I straightened slightly, both hands flat on the table. The flames of the torches trembled, casting angular shadows on their faces.

— First... each of you will give me a report. Brief. Clear. I want to hear everything.

A brief silence, then Nyss was the first to rise. Her pale silhouette, her wings folded behind her back, still imposed that mixture of beauty and menace.

— I have taken care of the prisoners of war, she announced in a low, firm voice. They are under control. I also supervised the positioning of our troops on the newly conquered territory. The army advances without notable resistance.

I nodded.

— Very good. You will keep me informed of the political developments... and the movements of the remaining army of the Eastern Confederation.

Her black eyes locked on mine.

— As you wish.

Kaelira spoke next. She didn’t need to raise her voice: her stature and her gaze gave enough weight to her words.

— According to our sources, the capital of the Scarlet Forge City, in the center of the region... will remain neutral in this conflict. General Kaenira is still holed up there, but she will not raise a single banner against us.

A collective breath passed through the tent. I let a thin smile escape.— Perfect. We had anticipated it, but having confirmation strengthens us. Keep me informed of the slightest change.

— Understood.

Sae, more discreet until then, stepped forward slightly. Her white hair caught the glow of the fire, and her tone, calm and measured, contrasted with the hardness of Nyss and Kaelira.

— The extraction of abyssium continues at a good pace. The best blacksmiths take turns day and night. More and more raw ingots come out of the forges, and new weapons are forged each week. The scholars, on their side, efficiently manage the territory in your absence.

She paused briefly, her eyes gliding over the unfolded map.

— No movement reported to the West, in the Obsidian High Peaks. Nothing in the South either, except rumors: it seems the East is seeking to negotiate an alliance with the clans of the Desert of Bones.

I let out a short growl, then nodded.

— Very good work, Sae. I leave central administration to you with the scholars and the seven clan chiefs. If a problem arises, you will inform me immediately.

— Yes, they all replied in the same voice, grave and unanimous.

Silence returned, heavy, and I felt the air vibrate with tension. The war had just changed its face.

I let my fingers run over the map, slowly tracing a circle around the capital of the East. The torches threw red gleams on my features, and I felt impatience grow around the table.

— We have a bonus, I finally said. They thought to crush us with their numerical superiority, but from the very beginning they made a mistake: they sent a key piece.

I turned my head toward the ground of the tent. Under the fur blanket, Liora Veyra was still breathing.

— The White General, I whispered. She is mine. Ours. She will become our trump card. With her, we will rally the prisoners of war.

A murmur crossed the tent, but I raised my hand.

— What matters... is that she is the twin sister of the Demonic Saint, the enemy leader. We have struck true. She is now under my control. And everything should go smoothly.

I struck my finger on the center of the map.

— In five days, we will march on the capital of the East. Either they surrender, or we exterminate them to the last. No mercy.

My gaze turned to Varkash.

— And you? What I asked of you?

A carnivorous smile split his massive face.— Very well, my lord. The Hell’s Arch is under construction. It will be finished well before our attack.

I smiled, darkly.

— Perfect.

A tense silence settled, broken by a deep voice. A lieutenant stepped forward, straight as a lance. His eyes did not tremble.

— Lord, reporting. Some soldiers are assaulting the prisoners... and speak of capturing the women for their own use. A rumor circulates: that you will keep them all for yourself.

A murmur of discomfort spread through the tent. I did not move. My gaze slid slowly over the assembly... then a twisted, deformed smile tore my face.

— Very well. I understand.

I straightened sharply, my voice cracking like a death sentence.

— Nyss.

She advanced immediately.

— Tomorrow, I want everyone before the scaffold. Everyone. Including you.

I slammed my fist on the table, the map trembled.

— Find me guilty ones, no matter who. An example must be made. At dawn, I want men before me so that I can set that example. Bring me war dogs as well!

A shiver ran through the tent.

— Now, out!

— YES! they all roared in unison, their voices rolling like muffled thunder.

The canvas flapped behind them, and only I remained... and the slow breathing of the White General.

~

Dawn had bitten into the valley with a biting cold. The snow fell in thin veils, sweeping the packed silhouettes of the warriors. Hundreds, thousands of demons were there, lined up in a wall of black bodies and bristling horns, frozen in silence. No shout, no laughter, not even the hoarse breath of provocation: only that animal muteness, the kind a pack keeps when it knows the slightest movement can doom it.

In front of them, the scaffold stood, crude planks covered with red frost, stained with yesterday’s dried blood. The ropes still hung, swaying in the wind like the tongues of impatient hanged men. The air smelled of soaked leather, acid sweat, and concentrated fear — a stench stronger than iron or sperm. A stench that clung to the throat and suffocated breath.

On the platform, five soldiers were kneeling. Five males, their armor still covered with the mud and remains of cum from their excesses of the day before. Their wrists tied behind their backs, their necks offered to the rope. None dared raise their heads. Their horns trembled in spasms, their eyes darted left and right like cornered beasts. One was literally pissing in the snow, a hot stream steaming in the cold and drawing muffled murmurs from the ranks. Another sobbed, shoulders shaking, snot dripping from his nostrils onto his bare chest.

And at the center... I sat. On a crude seat, more throne than it should have been. Three iron chains passed through my hand, connected to three war dogs, monstrous mastiffs, gaping jaws, lips dripping with drool and dried blood. Their heavy breathing filled the air with white vapor, each breath resonating like a groan from the underworld. The beasts tugged at their leashes, hungry for flesh, their eyes gleaming with bestial impatience.

I felt the gazes on me. Thousands of eyes. Thousands of tight chests, petrified. No demon dared speak. Even the wind seemed hesitant to blow too hard, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath. That silence was a weapon. A blade I held against their collective throat.

The five condemned trembled enough to make the platform quiver. One of them had closed his eyes, surely praying for a quick death. But the snow did not pray. The snow clung to their knees, bit their bare skin, made their lips turn blue. Their fear had a texture, a filthy warmth, a metallic taste in the air.

I let that moment stretch. I savored the weight of that assembly, that silence saturated with sweat and expectation. Then my fingers loosened on the chains, and the three mastiffs lunged forward a few inches, ripping strangled screams from the condemned. The crowd shuddered, a chill racing through the ranks like an icy wave.

I rose. Slowly. And the snow itself seemed to stop falling.