The heavy, suffocating silence inside the Golden Throne Hall of Payapasa was broken only by the ragged, terrified breathing of its ministers.
The air in the cavernous room felt thick, tasting of stale incense and the cold, creeping panic of total defeat. Row after row of high-ranking officials stood frozen in place, their faces darkened by the looming shadows of the towering pillars and the grim reality of the military report they had just witnessed. None dared to speak. None dared to look up. They kept their eyes glued to the polished floors, their collective breath held as the fury at the front of the room mounted to a boiling point.
Then came the strike.
"Useless!"
The roar tore through the silence like a sudden thunderclap. King Es Ke didn't just speak the word; he hurled it with the weight of an executioner's axe.
The exquisite jade cup he held slammed violently against the pristine white marble floor of the throne room. It shattered on impact with a sharp, echoing crack, exploding into jagged shards of green stone that sliced wildly through the air. A few of the tiny, razor-sharp fragments cut across the face and bounced harmlessly off the iron armor of the messenger still kneeling in the dust. The soldier didn't even flinch, remaining perfectly still as a thin line of fresh blood began to well upon his cheek.
"Completely useless!" Es Ke shouted, his voice vibrating violently off the golden walls. He stood tall before his grand throne, towering over his trembling court in a state of pure, unbridled fury. "How do you still dare to call yourselves men? How do you call yourselves soldiers of the great nation of Payapasa, if you lose our strategic city to a mere woman?!"
The ministers remained frozen, silently waiting to see what course of action their monarch would propose. They deeply feared that if they offered an opinion King Es Ke did not care to hear, it would cost them their lives. In truth, for the majority of the court, the time had come to initiate peace talks and offer a treaty, desperate to prevent any further territory from being swallowed by the Hmagol advance.
"Your Majesty," Minister Enfan spoke up, bravely stepping forward from the ranks. "At this critical juncture, instead of wasting resources to send aid to Kark City, our absolute focus must be to fortify Ngabo. If Ngabo falls, we will completely lose our land border with Hmagol. Should we ever wish to reclaim our lost territories in the future, doing so across the waters will be infinitely more difficult."
"Minister Enfan, are you suggesting we simply abandon General Leej and the citizens of Kark City to their fates at the hands of the Magoli?" Minister Baxue countered, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and panic. He had good reason to be terrified—half of his own family members were currently trapped within Kark's walls.
"Minister Baxue, as we speak, Kark City has already fallen," Enfan replied coldly, refusing to back down. "There is no logical reason to send reinforcements to a city that is already lost. We must reinforce the bastions that still stand."
"If that is the course we take, then we must be prepared to handle thousands of fleeing civilians," Minister Tontue interjected, adjusting his silk robes nervously. "I suggest we formulate a plan to manage the refugees before the masses begin to migrate. If we manage the flow properly, we can prevent the catastrophic spread of disease."
"Your Majesty," Baxue spoke again, turning his eyes directly to the throne, his tone turning dangerously calculating. "Looking closely at the situation, I believe the Magoli will use our own civilians against us as part of their strategy. The Hmagol Eastern General is known to spare civilians. If my instincts are correct, she will use the massive wave of fleeing refugees to intentionally overcrowd our next major cities. If Ngabo or the capital become choked with refugees, the resulting food shortages and the spread of disease will become a greater obstacle to us than the Magoli spears themselves."
"Minister Enfan," the King commanded, his voice cutting cleanly through the tense, trembling quiet of the hall. "Take a detachment of city officers to the left bridge. If civilians are fleeing from that direction, divert them immediately. Force them to erect temporary shelters along the lower ridges of the Goronto Tips."
"Minister Laize," Es Ke turned his cold, unforgiving gaze toward the center of the room. "You and your officers will take the center bridge and seal it completely. Do not allow a single civilian to cross over. Not one.
"As for the right bridge," Es Ke continued, his tone devoid of any mercy, "your men will drive the fleeing masses thirty miles away from the capital walls. Have them pitch their camps out in the open wastes. During this crisis, the main gates of the capital will remain entirely closed to all civilians. This is the only way we prevent their starvation and sickness from rotting our city from the inside out."
The King leaned forward over the gilded armrest, his eyes locking intently onto his top minister. "Minister Baxue, dispatch a rider to General Yia immediately. Tell him he is to intercept the Hmagol vanguard in the Mopia Valley. He must hold the choke points. He must do everything in his power to ensure the enemy does not exit that valley—at all costs."
"Next, send an urgent message to Phia," the King ordered, a dangerous, mocking smirk slowly spreading across his cruel features. "Tell him to begin evacuating the civilians from Ngabo City immediately. If the Hmagol want to fight us so badly, and if their precious general wishes to use our own people as a weapon against us... then let them have the city. But let them march into a city filled with nothing but our finest, hidden soldiers."
He settled back into the iron shadows of his throne, letting out a long, slow exhale.
"Now," Es Ke murmured, a calculating glint in his eyes, "we await the reply of Emperor Xin. Hopefully, the Empress will not let us down."
As the distant winds carried the suffocating weight of the Far Eastern wars across to the West Sea, Emperor Xin Jian slowly massaged his right temple, his brow furrowed as his ministers desperately debated a new crisis.
"Hmagol has already dispatched an official decree stating that anyone who grants refuge to the fleeing prince will be held strictly accountable," one minister's voice rang out, echoing off the high, lacquered walls of the Tanggolian court. "Since King Es Ke chose to invade Pojin and harbor the exiled Prince Dzhambul, this conflict remains solely between those two nations. Tanggolia should absolutely not get involved."
"That is correct," another minister chimed in quickly. "The exact moment we entangle ourselves in this affair, we violate our signed peace treaty. That will give the Hmagol Southern General the perfect excuse to invade our eastern territories. Prince Jianping and his sons are formidable generals, yes, but when it comes to fighting across the brutal expanse of the Scorched Grave Desert, Prince Jianping still ranks second to the Hmagol Southern General."
Emperor Xin Jian knew the dangerous reality all too well. If he sent military aid to Payapasa, he would save face for his wife, Empress Yan—but in doing so, he would entirely burn his bridges with Hmagol, placing his empire in a lethal stranglehold.
The emperor cleared his throat, a low sound that instantly caused the murmuring ministers to drop their voices into a dead silence.
"What do you think of this situation, Crown Prince?" Xin Jian asked, his sharp eyes shifting across the dais to land on Geming. "Are you going to help your mother's people, or your wife's?"
The entire courtroom fell completely still. Every politician inside the hall knew that Crown Prince Geming had just been backed into the most agonizing corner imaginable. If he backed King Es Ke to fight against Chinua's vanguard, he would be betraying his wife. But if he aided Chinua and fought against Payapasa, he would be committing treason against his own mother's bloodline.
With the intense, unblinking eyes of every minister locked onto him, Geming slowly stood up.
"Father," Geming spoke, his voice steady and resonant. "We will help neither. Who in their right mind would willingly cut off their own hand? Besides, our royal uncle knew exactly what kind of fire he was walking into. While the rest of the world stood back and watched the internal civil war within Hmagol, our royal uncle deliberately chose to step on the tail of the wolf. If we step in to aid either side now, we will be dragged into the center of an endless, un-winnable war—especially since Royal Uncle Jianping already harbors a long, bitter grievance against the Southern General of Hmagol."
He paused for a brief moment, letting his logic settle over the court, before continuing with absolute conviction.
"If we send soldiers to Payapasa, then we must send soldiers to Hmagol. If we send supplies to Payapasa, then we must send supplies to Hmagol. At the end of the day, it is our empire that will lose the most. Therefore, let us act as the bridge. Let us host a formal peace summit between both Hmagol and Payapasa, held within Taegye City of the Kosanz Kingdom."
"Your Majesty, the Crown Prince is entirely correct," an elder minister spoke up, bowing deeply in agreement. "Kosanz is a strictly neutral kingdom, making it the ideal ground to host such a summit. Furthermore, Taegye City sits directly on the border interface of both Hmagol and Payapasa. Acting as the anchor of negotiations between the two warring kingdoms is the absolute best course we can pursue at this moment."
"Crown Prince, arrange this meeting," Xin Jian commanded. A deep sense of pride swelled within his chest, thoroughly satisfied that leaving his kingdom in Geming's hands was the right choice.
Geming offered a graceful, reverent bow before his father's throne. "Father, I will do my absolute best for the good of our kingdoms."