Reincarnated with the Country System

The war room at Fort George was a vast hall, its high vaulted ceilings supported by thick stone pillars carved with intricate runes of strength and protection. The walls were lined with maps of the Elysian Isles. In the center of the room was a huge oak table, its surface cluttered with miniature figurines representing armies, ships, and wyverns. Many people have gathered in the room.

Strom stood at the head of the table. His piercing eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his loyal advisors and commanders. Among them was the Krig Commander, a towering figure of muscle and menace who looked as though he had been carved from the same stone as the fortress itself. His black steel armour gleamed in the firelight, and his face was hidden behind a helmet shaped like the snarling visage of a wolf.

"Our Krig army is ready to go to war at any moment," the Commander said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to reverberate through the room. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, his gauntleted fingers tapping impatiently against his biceps. "The men are restless. They crave battle."

Strom nodded, his expression calm but calculating. "Very well. But I want you to stay here, in the castle. Your primary task will be to ensure the princess doesn't escape. I will lead the fight myself."

The Commander's helmet tilted slightly, a silent question in the gesture. He was a warrior, bred for combat, and the idea of being left behind while others marched to war clearly rankled him. But he knew better than to question Strom's orders. After a moment, he gave a curt nod. "As you command, my lord."

Strom's gaze went to his butler. Butler's gaze stood a little distance from the others, his hands clasped behind his back. He was a man who could blend into the background, unnoticed and unnoticeable, until he decided to strike. Strom trusted him implicitly - not out of loyalty, but because he knew Butler's ambitions were in line with his own.

"And what of our forces?" Strom asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "How many soldiers have we managed to gather?"

The butler stepped forward, his movements precise and deliberate. He unrolled a scroll on the table, its surface covered in neat rows of numbers and names. "The mercenaries are proving... difficult, my lord. They demand ten gold coins per man, and there are approximately 10,000 of them. That would cost us 100,000 gold coins."

Strom's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Mercenaries are always greedy. But they fight well, and we need their numbers. What else?"

The butler's eyes flicked to the scroll. "We have also recruited 7,000 men from the bandit clans and criminal underworld. However, they are even more demanding. They want 15,000 gold coins upfront and thirty percent of the loot after the battle."

A soft murmur of unease filled the room. A general, a thin, stern-faced, and constantly sarcastic man, stepped forward. "Oh my lord, these bandits are incredible scoundrels. They will attack us as soon as the tide of battle turns. We cannot rely on them."

Strom raised a hand, silencing the man with a single gesture. "I am well aware of their nature. But desperate times call for desperate measures. We need every sword we can muster." He turned back to the butler. "Agree to their terms. But make it clear that any betrayal will be met with swift and merciless retribution."

The butler bowed his head. "It will be done, my lord."

"And the nobles?" Strom asked, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Have they agreed to send their troops?" Your journey continues on My Virtual Library Empire

Butler nodded. "Yes, My lord. All the nobles have pledged their support, although the amount of their contribution varies. Some are sending only a token force, while others are sending a significant number of troops. Combined with our own forces, we will have an army of about 50,000 soldiers."

Strom's smile widened a predator's grin that sent a shiver down the spines of those who saw it. "Excellent. And what of our aerial forces?"

The butler's expression remained impassive, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "We have 100 wyverns ready for battle, as well as 50 griffin raiders."

The griffins are particularly valuable—they are faster and more agile than the wyverns, and their riders are among the most skilled in the archipelago.

Strom's mind raced as he considered the possibilities.

"Good," Strom said, his voice tinged with anticipation.

He turned to the map on the table, his fingers tracing the path of the Surma River. "The Royal Army will need to cross here if they hope to reach Lord Harrow's territory. If we can cut them off before they cross, we can crush them before they gain any momentum."

The butler nodded. "I already sent word to the nobles. Their forces will rendezvous with ours near the river."

Strom's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "Good. Now prepare our army to march."

As the room erupted in commotion, Strom remained by the table, his eyes fixed on the map. His mind whirled with strategies and contingencies, each calculated to ensure his victory. If he failed, the Queen would take everything from him and all his plans would be thwarted.

But Strom was not a man who accepted failure. He had imprisoned his own father, slaughtered those who opposed him, and bent the nobles to his will. He had done it all for one purpose: to claim what he believed was rightfully his.

And now, as the drums of war began to beat in the distance, Strom felt a thrill of anticipation. The battle would be fierce, and the cost would be high. But he was ready. He had always been ready.@@novelbin@@

"Let them come," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the din.

With that, he turned and strode from the room, his cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a dark angel.