As the silence stretched on, one of the generals finally broke it. He was taller than the rest, though still several heads shorter than Malach. Even so, the intensity in his eyes and the aura he carried spoke of his formidable strength.
This was Gordon Sarakhel, the second strongest cadet in the entire northern house, respected by all and second only to Malach himself.
The moment he spoke, the others instinctively turned toward him, listening attentively.
"My lord… I believe we overestimated the Lightning Prince. There's no need to waste any more time. You must allow me to move. I'll cripple their fortress within the hour."
He lifted his chin slightly, as though to lend more weight to his words.
Slowly, Malach finally looked away from the war table and settled his gaze on Gordon.
The second strongest cadet immediately went rigid.
"I must?"
Malach's voice was gentle, almost benevolent in the silent room, yet those who heard it felt a chill crawl down their spines.
