"Take a look for yourselves."
Rose and Standelda read the scroll in silence. When they finished, both wore grim expressions.
After the western campaign along the second branch of the Black Iron River and the Valoran Plains, most of Noxus's standing army had been deployed north of the Dalmo Plains—between the Gorril Mountains and the Paglus Peaks—to guard against the northern Mostak and Upor barbarian tribes.
Counting carefully, they had only fifty-three light cavalry and a little over a hundred crossbowmen. Together with roughly four hundred spearmen and ax-bearing infantry clad in light iron and leather, and the ten mages of the Black Rose, the total force barely reached six hundred.
By contrast, the Mostak and Upor were large tribes of about four hundred each—near-total mobilization meant they could field almost ninety percent of their population as warriors. Including the enslaved villagers and captives pressed into their ranks, the force threatening Tano Village could easily reach eight or nine hundred.
Even with favorable terrain and the aid of magic, Noxian soldiers—lacking sufficient ranged support—stood little chance against such overwhelming numbers. The coming battle at Tano Village would be nothing short of brutal.
And yet, despite the odds, victory was not impossible. With superior arms, iron discipline, and sacrifice, Noxus had turned hopeless wars before.
But worse news loomed. The raiders had split their forces—another group had broken off from the Gorril Mountains.
This second band, some two hundred strong, was reinforced by forced villagers; their numbers could swell to three or even four hundred. And within the Bastion's territory, aside from fifty aging or crippled militiamen on patrol, Noxus had no reserve forces left.
If those raiders broke through, three hundred men would be enough to crush the exhausted defenses and doom the Immortal Bastion itself—dragging all of Noxus down with it.
Every man, woman, and child inside the fortress would be enslaved by the Mostak and Upor. Their faces would be branded, their lives owned.
It was as if the entire war room could already see the flames and blood engulfing the fortress. The air grew suffocating.
Nadalz pressed his fingers to his brow, his voice heavy.
"We're at the brink. Tell me—what do you both think?"
Standelda was first to speak, his tone like iron.
"Population is our most precious resource. We must ride out and meet the raiders. If we let them ravage the villages near the Bastion, even a victory later will be meaningless. The Valoran Plains to the west are our granary—our future. This autumn's harvest is all we have. Without it, the fortress alone can't sustain us. If those villages fall, recovery will take decades. We don't have that kind of time."
Lady Rose nodded.
"Lord Standelda is right. Even if we seal ourselves behind the Bastion's walls, we lose the nation's future. The Black Rose needs a strong, thriving Noxus—a steel citadel that commands fear and respect, not a coward's refuge that hides while its people are slaughtered."
Nadalz sighed and nodded slowly.
"I agree. Then it's decided—we fight outside the walls. We stop the raiders before they reach the Valoran Plains."
He straightened, gripping the centurion's letter once more, his voice sharp and deliberate.
"Next issue: troop mobilization. The Noxii Tribe will take the lead. All able-bodied men and women over fifteen are to march. Add the fifty disabled veterans—we can raise about two hundred fighters."
"The Black Rose will provide five mages to support the campaign," Rose said coolly. "They answer to no one. If you want our aid, prove you deserve the Bastion you occupy."
It was a cold, measured statement. The Black Rose and the Pale Lady cared little who ruled the Bastion—only that their influence remained untouched.
Five mages wasn't many, but it wasn't nothing either. The army at Nota Village had only ten.
Nadalz nodded and turned to Standelda.
Standelda's face darkened. "After this meeting, I'll gather what soldiers I can…"
"At least two hundred," Nadalz cut in sharply. "No fewer! After this battle, the Noxii will have no elders left to care for—the honor of Noxus must be borne by all of us!"
Gritting his teeth, Standelda forced out a reply. "Most survivors have already joined the army. Another two hundred is impossible! I can guarantee a hundred, no more. If we push harder, the smaller tribes will flee the Bastion before they ever fight for Noxus!"
The image of the elderly and barely-grown being forced to take up spears made Nadalz's temper snap. He slammed a fist on the table, the echo shaking the chamber.
"One hundred!? Do you plan to let the Noxii bleed alone!? At least one hundred fifty!"
Standelda shot to his feet, shouting back.
"The raiders have a hundred cavalry! We have fifty—and they're already at the front! You solve that problem, and I'll give you one hundred fifty! Can you stop their horsemen? With what, your bare hands!?
Or do you want to start a rebellion before the war even begins? If we send everyone out, who protects the Bastion when the south attacks? Who defends the hundreds of children and women who can't even lift a sword!?"
Nadalz froze. His trembling hand lowered. After a long silence, he sank back into his seat.
"…Boss…"
Dault, his loyal lieutenant, wiped at his damp eyes.
"Let's leave it at that. We're not barbarians anymore. We're Noxians."
Nadalz stood, shoulders squared, and turned toward the door.
"Noxians never retreat."