Eloi stepped into the meeting room with measured strides, though every instinct in his body urged him to leave as quickly as possible. The space itself was deceptively simple—a semicircular arrangement of reinforced tables and chairs, illuminated by steady burning candles that cast a pale, unwavering glow. Yet the pressure in the room was immense, as if the air itself had thickened under the presence of the five Marshals. It was not a battlefield, yet Eloi felt more tension here than he ever had while facing a charging horde of goblins. Marshal Herman sat to the left side of the semicircle, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp enough to pin Eloi in place, while the other four Marshals appeared entirely absorbed in their own work—reviewing reports, marking maps, or writing notes—deliberately ignoring him as if his presence held no importance.
Eloi suppressed the urge to swallow and instead snapped into a formal salute. "Good evening, Marshal. I am here to report and request instructions regarding my legion's role in the upcoming push toward the portal." Herman nodded once, as if the exchange had already been decided before Eloi ever entered the room. "Good evening, Eloi. Your legion has been assigned to the second phase of the offensive. Until then, I want you to focus on training your troops in coordinated maneuvers and meditation techniques. They will need every ounce of strength they can muster." As he spoke, Herman reached to his side and handed over a small handbook. The moment Eloi took it, he could feel the cheap stiffness of its pages—a product of the recently deployed printing presses brought to the front, a strange compromise in a world where most materials required craftsmanship to withstand mana decay. Still, no one cared anymore; this war was not meant to last long.
"This contains the formations and exercises we expect you to implement," Herman continued calmly. "Study it carefully." Eloi nodded, though his thoughts lingered on how fragile such tools felt in comparison to the scale of what they were facing. He remained standing, waiting for dismissal, but Herman did not immediately wave him off. Instead, the Marshal leaned back slightly, his expression sharpening as a new thought surfaced. "Karl and his family are still assigned to your legion, correct?" Eloi hesitated for only a fraction of a second before answering. "Yes, sir. They are. Last I heard, he was still… voicing his displeasure about certain matters." Herman's lips curled into a faint, cold smile. "I see. It seems there are still obstacles hindering progress."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Herman began writing swiftly, his pen moving with decisive purpose. Without hesitation, he stamped the document with his seal and slid it toward Eloi. "Deliver this to the special unit known as the Moonhawks. Inform them that they are to advance along the main road, clear a path for the legions, and proceed to eliminate goblin presence in the surrounding forests." This time, the reaction in the room was immediate. The other Marshals, who had ignored Eloi until now, looked up in unison. Eloi felt it instantly—the shift in attention, the weight of their focus pressing down on him like a physical force. "Consider it done, sir," he replied, keeping his voice steady. "Good. You are dismissed." Eloi saluted once more and turned sharply, leaving without delay. Only once he stepped outside, and the tent flaps closed behind him, did he allow himself to breathe freely again; inside that room, even standing still felt like a battle.
The moment the entrance sealed, the silence inside lasted only a heartbeat before it broke. "Well," John said, leaning back slightly, his tone laced with curiosity, "care to explain that last order?" Herman did not answer immediately, instead tapping his fingers lightly against the table, a faint smile forming as if he had expected the question all along. "I assumed you would already have your own ideas." John exhaled through his nose. "We do. But we'd prefer to hear yours." The others said nothing, yet their attention was unmistakable, their earlier indifference completely gone. Herman let the moment stretch before speaking again. "You're all aware of the Moonhawks. I have no doubt some of you have already considered recruiting them." No one denied it, which was answer enough.
"They are valuable," Herman continued, his voice calm but firm. "More than most realize. Many see them only as tools for eliminating evolved goblins, and yes, they excel at that—but that is only the surface." He paused briefly, ensuring they were listening. "They are scouts of the highest caliber. In forest terrain, I would argue there is no one better. Their ability to move unseen, gather intelligence, and strike with precision makes them ideal for advancing ahead of the main force." Xian Mu tilted his head slightly, considering the implication. "So you intend to use them as the spearhead." "Exactly," Herman replied. "If they can clear a path and disrupt enemy formations before the main legions arrive, we can push deeper, faster. That alone could shift the timeline of the entire operation."
John leaned back further, his expression thoughtful but uneasy. "You're accelerating the second phase." "If they succeed," Herman corrected, though there was confidence in his tone. "And I believe they will." A brief silence followed, heavy with unspoken calculations. "I hope you're right," John said eventually. "Because I don't like the current situation. The ones who stayed behind… I don't trust them." Xian Mu let out a quiet chuckle. "You think they're plotting something?" "They always are." "Of course they are," Xian Mu replied calmly. "Power invites ambition. Right now, they believe themselves untouchable." Herman's smile sharpened slightly. "Let them. Power has a way of blinding those who hold it too tightly."
"And you're not concerned?" John pressed. Herman shook his head. "Not particularly. They are from other countries and thus do not concern us, and the governments will not allow the generals to possess that much power." Another Marshal finally spoke, breaking his silence. "And the nobles?" That question lingered longer. Herman's expression shifted into something more measured. "The nobles are pragmatic. They value stability above all else. If the balance shifts too far, they will act—but they won't move prematurely." John narrowed his eyes slightly. "So you're betting on mutual self-interest." "I'm counting on it," Herman replied. "They are just as greedy as we are, and they understand that maintaining the current structure benefits them more than chaos ever could."
A slow grin spread across John's face. "And beyond that?" Herman's eyes gleamed faintly, something deeper surfacing beneath his calm exterior. "Beyond that," he said quietly, "we all know what truly matters." No one asked him to elaborate. They all understood. The stars—the promise beyond this trial, beyond Earth itself, beyond the fragile balance of power they currently maintained. One by one, the Marshals smiled, not out of amusement but out of shared ambition, their earlier concerns momentarily overshadowed by something far greater. In that moment, the war against the goblins no longer felt like the ultimate goal, but merely a necessary step toward something far more vast and unforgiving.