"What? Durnvale has already fallen to the Saintess?" Claude's voice cut through the tent like a blade.
He stood at the head of the war table, surrounded by his generals and lieutenants. The sudden arrival of a panting messenger had silenced the entire compartment, and now murmurs filled the room like buzzing flies.
Claude rubbed his chin, his crimson eyes narrowing as his mind raced through possibilities.
Durnvale. A crucial supply town far behind their main line. Its loss wasn't just an inconvenience—it threatened the very spine of their supply chain.
He could redirect the supply transport from different town, but it takes too much time to do it and the supply won't last long. In war, efficiency and time was crucial.
If they redirected troops or he was the one who go there to retake it, it might be a trap. The enemy could be luring them into retreat while preparing an assault at the front.
But to do nothing? To allow the Saintess to press her advantage unchecked?
