"Master, that is the situation as I saw it," Alger said in a deep voice, kneeling on the ground.
"Very good. I understand."
Cassius lay coiled at the highest perch, leisurely grooming his scales, showing not the slightest urgency in the face of impending war.
Within Dragon Valley, the chieftains and commanders of Cinder Nest's various factions were assembled in full.
The ogre mage Langpu, the hobgoblin commander Duoluo, the wyvern pack-leader Smaug, the chimera, the lizardfolk chieftain Ak and shaman Keda, the kobold sorcerer Jinya...
There were also representatives of the various factions brought under their banner during the expansion—orcs, satyrs, and yuan-ti purebloods. Essentially every figure of prominence in Cinder Nest had gathered in the valley, standing in strict battle readiness.
"It has been a long time since Anzeta saw a war of this scale. The last was the Battle of the Lion Coalition thirty years ago," Delenna added.
She was temporarily serving as a staff advisor. Though she held no real decision-making authority, she discharged her duties with diligence.
"According to Lord Alger's intelligence, the coalition army has reached the fringes of the Storm Heights, around the Telfer Hills. That is the only terrain suitable for an army of their size to march through."
"And here—"
She unrolled a parchment map, a slender finger pointing to a specific location—a flat, open valley blocked to the north by layered mountain ranges, with only a single mountain pass leading to the Storm Heights, and surrounded to the south by rolling hills.
"Trier Valley is their only viable route to Dragon Valley."
"All we need to do is hold this defensible pass—the Throat of Trier—and we can firmly secure the Storm Heights and bar the coalition from entering."
Cassius gave no immediate reaction, his calm gaze merely sweeping across the assembled thralls below.
Langpu pushed up his gold-rimmed spectacles and said in a deep voice, "I think this is an excellent idea. We can lay spell traps there in advance, sowing disorder in their ranks and breaking their will to fight."
Cassius offered no reply, continuing only to look down upon his thralls.
Silence fell over the valley, most of the thralls adopting a wait-and-see attitude.
Seeing this, Duoluo's eyes darted around. He snorted a puff of white smoke from his nostrils in dissatisfaction and launched into a tirade against Langpu: "Langpu, I think you've studied yourself stupid poring over human spells all day, turning into a cowardly, overthinking weakling just like human wizards!
"Is Cinder Nest going to pull its head into its shell and turtle behind walls against a mere rabble of humans?"
The hobgoblin brandished the spear in his hand and roared at the top of his lungs, "We are the thralls of the great red dragon, and the blood of destruction and conquest runs through our veins!
"We should take the offensive and crush them completely with fire and might! Shatter their pathetic courage and bring them blood and death!"
This impassioned speech struck a chord with many of the thralls. After all, most of them weren't particularly bright and placed supreme faith in brute force; Duoluo's words were music to their ears.
Langpu sneered, dripping with disdain. "Ignoring a natural barrier just to throw yourself into a meat grinder—is your skull filled with goblin dung?
"Pathetic fool."
"Exactly, Lord Langpu. Goblins truly are greedy, cowardly, and stupid..." the kobold sorcerer Jinya chimed in right on cue.
Though he spoke of goblins, every word made the hobgoblin chieftain tremble with rage, his already reddish, ugly face flushing an even deeper crimson.
Duoluo stepped forward, glaring down at him, and snarled fiercely, "Jinya! Get lost!
"You have no right to speak here!"
Yet standing beside the much taller Langpu gave Jinya the courage to stand up to Duoluo. Since bad blood already existed between them, he figured he might as well disgust the hobgoblin a little more.
The kobold sorcerer flared his wings belligerently at Duoluo, declaring with smug pride, "Look closely—who carries our master's purer blood?
"Who is the true dragon-blooded?"
Duoluo was so furious he let out a venomous laugh. "You—"
"Enough."
The red dragon's voice rang out, and an invisible dragon fear blanketed the valley, exerting tremendous pressure over every thrall.
The gathering fell instantly into dead silence. Ogre, hobgoblin, or kobold—all stood obediently at attention, not daring to breathe too loudly.
"We will indeed take the offensive."
Hearing this, Duoluo beamed with delight, casting a provocative glance at Langpu.
Cassius paused.
"However..."
"I intend to prepare a grand gift for them."
The red dragon propped up his massive body with his forelimbs, slowly rising and spreading his wide wings.
*Wuuu—*
The horns of Dragon Valley sounded.
Carved from behir horns, the instruments produced a heavy, low resonance like rolling thunder.
Hobgoblins drove massive land drakes forward, rumbling across the ground with thunderous tremors. Tiefling and lizardfolk warriors marched in orderly ranks, fully armed and armored. And from the countless mine shafts and warrens across the Storm Heights, kobolds and goblins surged forth like a tide.
Cinder Nest, a terrifying beast dormant for years, was finally baring its fearsome fangs and claws.
...
In the camp of the Northern Coalition, a white-gloved hand tapped against a map scroll.
"Right here: Trier Valley.
"Our primary choice for an encampment. Advancing, we can push straight toward the Storm Heights; retreating, we can dig into the Throat of Trier to prevent pursuit from Cinder Nest. Everything is ideal."
The speaker appeared to be in his forties, clad in ornately decorated knightly plate armor, sporting a meticulously groomed mustache above his lip, his demeanor brimming with authority.
His name was Robert Dudley, the youngest earl of the Principality of Lakeman, Duke Brad Lakeman's trusted son-in-law, supreme commander of the three-nation coalition, and a battle-hardened noble knight.
Inside the tent, a blond youth in his early twenties voiced a concern: "What if they attack us from behind and bottle us up inside the valley?"
"Hahahaha!"
The noble lords inside the command tent erupted into laughter once more.
The speaker was Andre Bosque, the third son of House Bosque, the "Lion of the North," and a promising young paladin who had sworn the Oath of Glory.
Yet apart from his martial prowess, his naivety and rashness often amused those around him, earning him the private moniker of "the Little Lion."
Robert stroked his mustache and smiled. "Andre, war is no simple game. In a clash of tens of thousands, maneuvering troops isn't as effortless as moving pieces across a chessboard."
He pointed to the map.
"Look here. Blocked by the Lect Mountains at the edge of the Storm Heights, there is no way they could appear behind us without warning."
Andre pondered this for a moment before replying softly:
"I understand, Lord Robert."
Chapter 105