Time: The end of the fifth month of training
Location: The central command tent, Anshan camp
Night, heavy and silent, had cast its shadow over the Anshan camp.
Outside, thirty thousand soldiers rested in the calm before the storm.
But in the central command tent, the war had already begun; a war of wisdom, intelligence, and strategy.
The flickering light of several torches made the long shadows of the key Persian commanders dance on the tent's cloth walls.
Cambyses, with a resolute face, sat at the head of a large table on which detailed maps were spread.
Arash, Bagpat, and the other young Hezarbods stared at the maps in silence, their eyes shining with excitement and anticipation.
They were waiting for two people: the mastermind and the hidden eyes of this army.
Suddenly, the curtain at the tent's entrance was silently pulled aside, and Fariborz entered.
His gaze had the depth and coldness of a man who had lived in the heart of danger and carried the secrets of a kingdom in his chest.
He gave a short, silent bow and stood in a corner.
A few moments later, Kourosh entered.
His presence, despite his ten-and-a-half-year-old frame, had such authority that all the commanders instinctively rose to their feet.
He calmly signaled for them to sit and took his own place beside his father, in the seat that had been prepared for him.
"Welcome, Fariborz." Kourosh's voice was calm but clear.
"What have your eyes seen in the darkness of Ecbatana?"
Fariborz took a step forward.
"My lord, just as you predicted, paranoia has poisoned Azhidahak's mind."
He reported on the chaotic situation at the Median court with precise detail.
"He distrusts even his most loyal generals."
"'Ariobarzanes,' his best infantry commander, is now imprisoned in his home."
"'Fravartish,' his veteran cavalry commander, has been exiled to the eastern borders on the pretext of treason."
"Now, the command of the Median army is in the hands of men whose courage is not on the battlefield, but in sycophancy."
Arash said in disbelief, "He has set aside his best commanders? This is madness!"
Kourosh replied with a cold smile, "This is not madness, Arash. This is fear. Fear blinds reason. Azhidahak is now afraid of his own shadow."
He then turned to Fariborz. "And the morale of his army?"
Fariborz continued, "Your letters have done their work, my lord."
"Among the non-Median soldiers, especially the Scythians and Urartians, whispers of rebellion are heard."
"They see Azhidahak as a tyrant king and you as the 'son of Mandane' and the rightful savior."
"They fight with reluctance. Their hearts are with us, even if their swords are against us."
This information was like fuel on the fire of the Persian commanders' confidence.
Bagpat slammed his clenched fist on the table. "Then their fate is sealed! We will crush this headless and soulless army with a swift charge!"
The other commanders also nodded with excitement.
Cambyses, though pleased with this news, looked at his son cautiously.
He knew that war was never this simple.
Kourosh rose and went to the large map.
With a wooden staff, he pointed to a vast plain on the border between Pars and Media.
"Yes, we will crush them. But not with a blind charge."
His voice was so decisive that it silenced all whispers.
"Fariborz's intelligence has given us a golden opportunity. The Median army is a giant body without a head."
"We will not allow this giant body to crush us with its own weight."
"We will attack its command center directly."
He outlined his initial, offensive battle plan with certainty.
"We will not wait for them in our own land. We will meet them at the border."
"The central corps, under your command, Arash, will repel their first wave of attack. But the main goal is not resistance. The goal is to tire them and disrupt their formation."
"You, Bagpat, with the cavalry corps, will attack from the right flank. But not to break them. To create chaos."
"Our scythed chariots will also target their supply lines from the left flank."
He paused and swept his gaze over all the commanders.
"Our goal in the first battle is not slaughter."
"Our goal is to paralyze their command system and to strike fear into the heart of Azhidahak."
"We will show them that they are facing an army they have never seen before; an army that is fast, orderly, and deadly."
The confidence in his voice was contagious.
Relying on his technological and intelligence superiority, he believed that he could finish the Medes with a single, swift, and precise blow in the very first battle.
Cambyses rose and stood beside his son.
"This is a valiant plan. We will fight just as you command."
Kourosh looked at his father, and for the first time, a smile full of childish pride appeared on his lips.
He believed in his victory.
He believed in the war machine he had built.
He believed in his own mind.
This confidence, though founded on logic, had made him blind to a bitter truth:
War never goes as it is drawn on a map.