In the heart of the Ogres' Nation, within the stark, brutalist hall of the royal castle, King Chad sat on his throne. His immense, muscular frame seemed to shrink under the weight of his crown. His expression was heavy, a thick mixture of anxiety and calculated self-preservation. The impending war with Eldoria was a tangible pressure.
"My King!" The Advisor rushed forward, his breath ragged. "The troops are ready. They await your command."
Chad remained silent. His brother's parting instruction: 'wait for me, don't do anything rash—' felt useless now.
That was yesterday, a lifetime ago. He let out a deep, rattling sigh. 'We have no control over this issue anymore. Kings have to make difficult decisions in hard times,' he rationalized, conveniently forgetting that his own corruption had created the crisis. His priority was survival, not the fate of his race.
He finally looked up at the Advisor. "Get them lined up... At the military ground."
