Chapter 164 - 164: Internal Feud
Elder Syra tucked the sealed treaty into her silken robes. Elian turned away from the heavy stone table and marched toward the grand double doors leading to the palace balcony. Gorak and Iron-Scale followed closely behind the Prophet.
The doors swung open to reveal the sprawling central courtyard of the City of Spiral. Fifty thousand Vanguard troops stood in absolute silence below the balcony. The mixed legions of Shell-Kin, Troglodytes, Beast-Kin, and heavily armed humans formed a vast sea of interlocking armor and star-iron weaponry.
Elian stepped up to the stone railing. He unclipped his holy symbol and held it high above his head.
"The world has opened its borders to the Sovereign," Elian bellowed. His magically amplified voice echoed across the massive courtyard. "The Second Continent requires our strength to survive. We will use their shores as our anvil. We will drop the full weight of the Vanguard onto the Fourth Continent and shatter their invading armies to dust. Prepare the fleets for deployment."
The courtyard erupted into an energetic roar.
Usually, the soldiers would be hesitant and reluctant to join a war, but Red's force wasn't like it. They were eager for war and wanted to spread Red's influence across the world. Fifty thousand weapons slammed against heavy shields in perfect unison. The sheer physical force of their war cry vibrated the stone pillars of the palace.
Gorak crossed his massive arms with a satisfied grin. Iron-Scale simply sharpened his bladed claws against each other in eager anticipation of the upcoming slaughter.
Down in the lower levels of the city, Cassian heard the massive war cry echoing through the industrial streets. He quickened his pace along the eastern pier. His Shell-Kin escort stopped at the edge of the docks.
He practically sprinted up the iron ramp of the Arbiter's Grace.
"Retract the ramp immediately," Cassian ordered his crew while collapsing against the brass railing. "Disengage the moorings and get us out of this moat."
The ship's engines hummed to life. The vessel slowly pulled away from the terrifying shadow of the capital city. Cassian's lead tactical advisor rushed to his side to hand him a flask of restorative elixir.
"Envoy," the advisor whispered with trembling lips. "We successfully secured the artillery. We saved the eastern front."
Cassian took a long drink from the flask. He looked back at the towering obsidian walls of the Bastion fading into the misty distance.
"We secured a temporary reprieve," Cassian replied with a hollow voice. "We handed a continent of apex predators a legal bridge into our homeland. They will undoubtedly slaughter the Fourth Continent's heavy cavalry. Then they will consume our empire from the inside out."
The High Envoy gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. He finally understood the true cost of their alliance. They were bringing the apocalypse directly to the Iron Arbiter's doorstep.
Meanwhile, Elian stepped back from the balcony railing while the roars of the Vanguard continued to vibrate through the courtyard.
He turned toward his commanders. They immediately marched back into the central war room to begin organizing the massive mobilization. Elder Syra rapidly updated the naval manifests, ensuring the ironclad transport vessels had enough alchemical grain to sustain fifty thousand troops across the ocean.
Iron-Scale calculated the exact distribution of heavy artillery across the fleet to balance the weight of the massive ships.
Later that evening, Gorak walked down to the armored residential district to bid farewell to his family. Gulag stood waiting near the entrance of their temporary quarters. She wore her own dense bone armor and held their toddler easily in one massive arm.
"The fleet sails at dawn," Gorak stated. He reached out to gently drag his heavy star-iron gauntlet against his son's thick grey skin in a traditional gesture of affection. "I will bring you the skull of a Fourth Continent commander."
"See that you do," Gulag rumbled proudly. She bumped her armored forehead against his chest. "Shatter their front lines and return quickly."
Gorak gave his son a final nod and marched back toward the upper command tiers. He navigated the quiet stone corridors until he reached the primary strategy chamber. He pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped directly inside.
Elian, Iron-Scale, Old-Shell, and Elder Syra were huddled closely around the tactical map. They abruptly stopped speaking the moment Gorak entered the room.
A heavy silence fell over the chamber. Old-Shell slowly pulled his calcified head slightly into his shell. Syra suddenly found a minor detail on her glass slate incredibly fascinating. While Elian actively avoided eye contact and stared rigidly at the map table.
Gorak narrowed his slitted eyes. He crossed his massive arms over his chest.
"Speak," Gorak demanded. "Tell me exactly what you are planning behind my back."
The elders remained completely quiet. Iron-Scale let out a sharp metallic click from his throat and signaled Elian with a subtle nod.
Elian let out a long, heavy sigh. The Prophet finally looked up from the map to face the towering warlord.
"You are staying on the Seventeenth Continent, Gorak," Elian announced directly. "You are commanding the home defense grid. Iron-Scale and I will lead the expeditionary force across the ocean. We are completely sufficient for the invasion."
Gorak froze. The ambient mana in the room spiked violently as the Troglodyte's anger flared. He slammed his fist onto the stone table, cracking the heavy surface down the middle.
"I am the supreme juggernaut of the Vanguard," Gorak roared. "I break the front lines. You cannot sail into a war and leave your heaviest weapon sitting in a domestic garrison."
"We absolutely can," Iron-Scale countered coldly. He placed his clawed hands on the ruined table. "We are emptying the capital of fifty thousand troops. The empire becomes highly vulnerable. We need an apex predator guarding the Sovereign's throne."
"Assign Old-Shell to the garrison," Gorak snarled. He took a threatening step toward the Kobold. "I forged my armor in the deadlands to conquer the world for the Sovereign. I refuse to sit idle while you slaughter the enemy."
"This is a direct strategic mandate," Elian shouted back, matching the warlord's volume. He slammed his own thick fist against his chest armor. "You have a child and a mate residing in this city. You have a reason to fight to the death if the capital is attacked. We require your absolute loyalty anchored right here."
Gorak bared his teeth. The air in the chamber grew suffocatingly dense as the three most powerful physical fighters on the continent stood perfectly rigid, fully prepared to tear the war room apart over the deployment orders.