Riley looked directly at Gaben, his eyes steady and unflinching.

"Let's split up," he said calmly, though his voice carried enough weight to silence even the quiet murmurs at the edge of the tent.

"Father-in-law, you take command and handle the smaller clans. Secure them, gather their numbers, and steady the rear. Meanwhile, I and the Rice clan will march straight to the Wheeler clan. Since you're older, it makes sense you take the safer route, while me and my people take on the greater challenge—toppling the Wheeler clan head-on."

For a moment, silence reigned. Then a low murmur broke out among the other leaders.

Some exchanged shocked glances, others whispered to their neighbors.

The idea was reckless, unheard of, and yet… there was a certain audacity in Riley's words that made even the most hardened warriors hesitate to dismiss him outright.

"You're crazy, boy," Gaben finally spat, his face flushing red with anger.

He slammed the butt of his spear against the ground, the echo vibrating through the war tent.

"You don't have any experience yet! All you've done so far is play in safe corners, where nothing real was at stake. You think war is a game? You think your arrogance alone will cut down enemies?"

His voice rose, rough and fierce, until even the fire crackling in the brazier seemed to shrink before him.

"It's different when the arrows are flying above your head and comrades are screaming as they bleed out beside you. When the ground itself turns slick with blood, your weapon slipping in your grasp, and death stares you in the face—then you'll know what true war is. If you can't take this seriously, then you might as well unpack your bags and go home to your mother!"

Several warriors from both clans nodded grimly at Gaben's words.

They had lived through battles, seen friends and family die, and they understood what the old man was saying.

But their eyes drifted back to Riley, curious to see how the young man would answer.

Riley didn't flinch.

He didn't raise his voice in anger or show any sign of being shaken by Gaben's outburst.

Instead, he stepped forward, placing his hands on the table where the war maps were spread out.

"You speak of blood, fear, and death as though I don't understand their weight," Riley said evenly, his gaze sweeping across the tent.

"But I know more than you think. I know more than you can imagine." The council quieted, listening closely.

"I don't want to waste time pecking at ants while the lion sits on its throne," Riley continued, his tone hardening.

"The Wheeler clan is the backbone of this region. Cut them down, and every lesser clan will bow before us without a fight. If we waste a year fighting the small clans, the Wheeler clan will have time to prepare, fortify, and gather allies. By then, they will be untouchable. But if we strike now, while they still look down on us, while they still underestimate us—we can break their spine in a single blow."

He leaned closer, his eyes locking with Gaben's.

"This isn't arrogance. It's strategy. Sometimes the shortest road is the most dangerous one, but it's also the one that leads to victory the fastest. You can call me reckless, but I'll tell you this—if we hesitate, if we play it safe, we will bleed for years before seeing the end of this war. And I don't intend to watch my wife, or my unborn child, live through such misery."

The words hung in the air like a drawn blade.

Some leaders were visibly moved, others looked torn, and even Gaben, for all his anger, found himself hesitating at the sheer conviction in Riley's voice.

"…" Alexander narrowed his eyes in thought, the deep lines on his face casting shadows beneath the dim light of the war hall.

The murmurs quieted instantly. Everyone looked to him, waiting for his decision.

Though Riley was destined to inherit leadership one day, that day had not yet arrived.

Alexander still held the reins of power, and his word remained law within the Rice clan.

"How sure are you of your victory, Riley?" Alexander finally asked, his voice heavy but calm.

His son could be proud, even arrogant at times, but Alexander knew one truth about him—Riley never lied.

If he said he could do something, he meant it.

"A hundred and one percent, Father," Riley replied without a moment's pause. His gaze was steady, his tone unwavering.

"There's no doubt in my mind that I will conquer the Wheeler clan."

Alexander's eyes narrowed further. "And how many casualties would we suffer in your campaign?"

"None," Riley said with conviction. "If my plan is followed—even to just sixty percent—I can guarantee that not a single man will be lost."

The boldness of his words struck the tent like a thunderclap.

A few men scoffed under their breath, others shifted uneasily.

But Riley stood as if his answer was carved in stone.

Alexander did not speak right away.

He sat in silence, his hand resting on the map before him, the flickering torchlight reflecting off his stern features.

The weight of his contemplation stretched on for two long minutes, each second building unbearable tension in the room.

Then, finally, he nodded.

"You have my blessing, Riley," Alexander declared. His voice was firm, carrying the authority of a clan patriarch.

"Go, and conquer the Wheeler clan—for me, and for the Rice clan."

Gasps rippled through the tent.

Some leaders exchanged startled glances, others leaned forward in disbelief.

The decision was made, yet it felt almost impossible to accept.

"I can't believe this!" Gaben roared, his voice cracking with fury.

He slammed his palm onto the table so hard that the ink pots rattled and spilled.

His face was red with outrage, veins bulging at his temples.

"You're both insane! Madness runs in your blood if you think charging headlong into the Wheeler clan is anything but suicide!"

His voice grew louder, echoing off the walls of the tent.

"I've seen men die by the thousands in wars far smaller than this, and you sit here grinning like children with wooden swords! Have you lost your minds, both of you?!"

The rest of the leaders shifted uncomfortably, caught between their respect for Alexander's authority and their shock at his decision.

Whispers broke out, low and tense, filling the silence left in the wake of Gaben's rage.

But Riley only smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with a confidence that seemed almost unnatural.

***

One week later, the Rice and Osprey clans set forth on their campaign.

Their combined force stretched far across the open road—a river of men, steel, and banners that moved like a tide of destiny.

In total, they numbered eight thousand strong. Of these, six thousand were hardened warriors: three thousand from the Osprey clan and three thousand from the Rice clan.

The remaining two thousand were the indispensable backbone of any army—cooks, servants, and laborers who carried the supplies, tended the horses, sharpened the weapons, and kept the warriors fed and ready for battle.

The sound of marching boots thundered in rhythm, broken only by the occasional neigh of horses or the clatter of wagons.

Banners whipped in the wind, the sigils of the Rice and Osprey clans fluttering side by side, though the men beneath them marched with tension heavy in their hearts.

Whispers ran through the ranks—of war, of conquest, and of Riley's audacious claim that he would bring down the Wheeler clan with only three thousand men, without losing a single life.

"Oh?" Riley's voice broke through the din as he rode forward on his black stallion, a confident smile tugging at his lips.

His eyes swept toward the Osprey side of the column.

"I thought the Osprey clan would have taken another road by now, Father-in-law."

Gaben spat to the side, his face dark as stone.

"Bahhh…" he grumbled, gripping the reins of his horse tighter. His voice rose so the nearby men could hear.

"If you truly believe you can bring down the Wheeler clan with just three thousand warriors, and if you promise no casualties, then I'll see it with my own eyes before I die. But mark my words, boy—if you fail, if you fall and leave my daughter a widow, I'll kill you myself in the afterlife for your arrogance."

His words were laced with both fury and a reluctant thread of concern, but Riley only laughed in reply.

It was not the laugh of a fool, nor the nervous chuckle of a man bluffing his way forward.

It was the laugh of someone who already saw victory as certain, as if the war was nothing but a play he had already written the ending to.

"Then prepare yourself, Father-in-law," Riley said, his voice carrying like a trumpet call.

"Because what you are about to witness will be a memory etched into your soul. A memory of how wars should be won—not by numbers, nor by hesitation, but by vision and certainty. You will see for yourself that history favors those who dare."

Around them, the men listened, some with admiration, others with doubt.

But none could deny the fire in Riley's words.

The march continued, and with every step closer to Wheeler lands, the anticipation thickened like a storm on the horizon.