“Everyone, the Greystone Alliance’s legions have mobilized, and the patriarch has also led our troops to the front line,” the Third Elder said coldly.
“Ultimately, the failure of the negotiations was caused by not involving the Council of Elders!” the Fifth Elder’s voice carried clear displeasure.
“Indeed, the patriarch’s decision has made an otherwise avoidable war inevitable,” the Fourth Elder sighed.
In the meeting hall of the Council of Elders, the light from ore lanterns cast flickering shadows on the stone walls. Seven elders sat around a round table, upon which the war reports sent back from the front lines were spread out.
The Sixth Elder raised his eyelids from the war report, his voice neither high nor low. “Gorn’s forces not only repelled the Alliance’s midnight raid but also captured two mine shaft outposts on the western side of the Greystone Alliance.”
“So what? The patriarch won’t allow the dragon clan to take action. How can we possibly deal with seven tribes?” the Second Elder spoke with considerable dissatisfaction.
The Third Elder also tapped the table, making a dull thudding sound. “The Second Elder is right. Gorn won’t let us interfere in military decisions, nor will he let the dragon clan fight. He has sharp claws and wings at his disposal, yet he insists on competing with the Greystone Alliance to see whose pickaxes are sharper.”
“Oh? Then quickly go invite Lord Blake. I certainly can’t wait,” the Sixth Elder retorted, refusing to back down.
“Enough.”
The First Elder finally spoke. He sat at the head of the round table, his eyes closed this entire time.
He opened his eyes, his murky gray-green gaze sweeping across the six faces present.
“The Council of Elders is a place to serve the tribe. Each elder should be resolving the patriarch’s troubles, not fighting among ourselves here!”
“The Grand Elder is right. Naturally, we should resolve the tribe’s troubles,” the Fifth Elder spoke up before anyone else could. “Our Council of Elders should handle the logistics to provide supply security for the war. I can take charge of this task.”
The Sixth Elder was the first to sneer. “Logistics? Fifth Elder, since when did you care so much about supply allocation?”
“I have always cared,” the Fifth Elder said, his expression unchanging. “It is just that Patriarch Gorn never gave the Council of Elders a chance to interfere. Now that he has gone to the front line, someone has to manage the rear.”
“Um... I can help with...” The Seventh Elder, sitting in the furthest corner, weakly raised their hand. However, the elders in the room were too busy arguing among themselves, and no one paid any attention to this newly appointed elder.
“Elder Minnie, you had better just sit tight,” the subordinate official next to the Seventh Elder said, adjusting his glasses.
“Silence!”
The Grand Elder’s gaze slowly swept across everyone present, finally stopping on the Fifth Elder.
“Fifth Elder, since you have volunteered, I will leave the logistics and allocation to you,” the Grand Elder’s voice was devoid of emotion. “Inventory checks, provisions distribution—you shall have full authority over these matters. You only need to report to the Council of Elders once a month.”
The Fifth Elder bowed slightly, a brief smirk flashing across the corner of his mouth. “Rest assured, Grand Elder. I will not fail your trust.”
The Sixth Elder leaned back in his chair, hands crossed over his stomach. He stared at the Fifth Elder with a faint, knowing smile, remaining silent.
“Now, for the second matter.” The Grand Elder pushed a piece of parchment to the center of the round table. “The front-line war reports state that Krag, the Third Legion Commander of the Greystone Alliance, has been dismissed from his post.”
“Krag?” The Third Elder frowned. “He is the most capable commander the Greystone Alliance has. Dismissing him? Has the Greystone Alliance’s leadership lost their minds?”
“Who replaced him?”
“It is unclear. We only know it is someone directly appointed and sent down by the Greystone Alliance’s council.”
The Second Elder snorted coldly. “The more chaotic the Greystone Alliance is, the easier it will be for Gorn to win on the front line—provided, of course, that he is willing to let the dragon clan take action.”
“Second Elder,” the Grand Elder calmly interrupted him, “the patriarch has his own considerations. We only need to do our duty.”
The Sixth Elder suddenly stood up. “Since our duties have been discussed, I shall take my leave first.” He adjusted his cuffs. “The wounded soldiers at the front are still waiting for me to arrange personnel.”
“Thank you for your hard work, Sixth Elder.” The Grand Elder nodded, making no move to keep him.
The Sixth Elder turned and walked toward the door. As he passed the Fifth Elder, his steps paused for a brief second. “Fifth Elder, logistics is a grueling chore. You are hale and hearty for your age, but make sure you don’t throw your back out.”
The Fifth Elder’s expression remained unchanged. “Thank you for your concern, Sixth Elder.”
The Sixth Elder did not linger any longer, pushing the door open and walking out.
Inside a mine shaft on the outskirts of the tribe, Gorn was leading a twelve-man squad, preparing to launch a surprise attack from the enemy’s flank.
The lead scout retreated from the corner ahead and lowered his voice. “Patriarch, the Greystone Alliance’s supply transit station is just ahead. Three wooden sheds, with about twenty guards.”
“Have you figured out where their main force is?”
The scout squatted by his side, quickly scratching a simple diagram on the dirt floor with his fingernail. “The main force is resting about two miles to the northeast.”
“We’ll take out the supply point ahead first,” Gorn made his decision.
“Patriarch, just tell us plainly. How do we fight?” a veteran behind him asked in a hushed voice.
He raised his hand and tapped his fingertip just above the simple diagram on the dirt. “Yune, you just said their main force is resting two miles to the northeast, right?”
The scout nodded.
“How many pathways are there between the supply station and the main force?”
“Two. One is the main mine shaft, wide enough for a handcart. The other is...” Yune paused. “An old ventilation shaft. It’s extremely narrow and partially collapsed.”
“The competence of the opposing general is truly shockingly poor,” Gorn couldn’t help but sigh. “Messenger, have the main force ambush the main mine shaft, and send a squad to block off the old ventilation shaft.”
“We’ll besiege the point to strike their reinforcements!”
Gorn ran his finger across the dirt, drawing a dotted line from the supply station to the main mine shaft.
“Yune, take two men and sneak over to the ventilation opening on the south side of the supply station. Make some noise—don’t actually attack, just make the guards think someone is trying to break in from that direction.”
Yune nodded without asking any questions, turning around to pick two of his comrades.
Gorn turned to the remaining nine men. “The rest of you follow me. We’ll attack from the north and take them by surprise.”
Gorn led the nine men as they crept along the northern rock wall of the mine shaft. Soon, the supply station came into view at the end of their line of sight.
Three wooden sheds stood in a neat row. In the middle of the clearing, over a dozen wooden crates and several bundles of sacks were piled up. The guards were scattered in small groups of twos and threes between the sheds. Some leaned against the wooden pillars, dozing off, while others huddled around a tin stove to warm themselves.
“Two on the north side, one by the fire on the west, three chatting at the entrance of the eastern shed, and on the south...” He lowered his voice and turned his head. “Is there any movement on the south side yet?”
Just as Gorn finished speaking, a sudden commotion echoed from the darkness on the south side of the supply station, followed by a clatter of falling pebbles mixed with a few short shouts.
The guards instantly became alert. The ones warming themselves by the fire stood up, tightly gripping the spears resting by their feet.
“Go check it out!” a voice that sounded like a squad leader shouted. “There’s movement over by the southern ventilation opening!”
About ten people remained at the supply station, but their attention had clearly been drawn toward the south.
Gorn was in no hurry to move. He stared at the remaining guards and counted them.
“Eleven,” a veteran whispered. “Three at the entrance of the eastern wooden shed, five by the fire in the middle, two checking supplies in the northern shed, and one more...”
Gorn narrowed his eyes, spotting a goblin in leather armor squatting behind a wooden crate, sorting through some items.
“That one is mine,” Gorn said softly.
“Of course, Patriarch,” the veteran behind him grinned.
“Wait until those three get a bit closer.” Gorn raised his hand. After five breaths had passed, Gorn raised three fingers, then two, then one—
“Go!”
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