Erengard Royal Throne
The report hit the throne room like a stone dropped into still water. The ripples affected the surrounding area more intensely than expected. At the Eisenwald border, the empire swallowed ten thousand of its finest. Not defeated. Not routed. Erased.
Dietrich's fingers tightened around the golden goblet in his hand. His jaw clenched, and for a moment his expression was blank, as if the numbers meant nothing.
Then the rage struck.
He hurled the goblet, wine and metal crashing against the marble pillar beside the throne. Red splashed across the white stone, staining it like blood. The aides nearest to him flinched, though none dared to step back. Even breathing too loudly could be taken as defiance.
"They were the elite! The best of my knights!" Dietrich roared. His voice echoed through the high chamber. "They were trained for border sieges, not some petty noble skirmish! How could they fall so easily?"
No one answered.
