The Great Hall of Ntsua-Ntu held no glint of gold or soft silk. It was built of raw timber and dark, hammer-chipped stone—austere, cold, and imposing in its sheer simplicity.
Massive pillars of unvarnished oak supported high, exposed rafters, where towering banners dyed in deep slate-grey hung heavy against the draughts. Woven into every banner was the sole emblem of the realm: a stylized, snarling wolf's head embroidered in thick iron-thread. Along the stone floor, the court stood in two disciplined flanks beneath the eyes of the wolf. On one side gathered the ministers, wrapped in thick, unadorned wool coats; on the other stood the retired generals and battle-tested commanders, their scarred faces framed by worn iron rings and heavy sheepskin.
At the far end of the hall, raised on a low, plain stone dais, sat King Bastsaikhan.
The young monarch occupied a broad wooden seat carved from a single trunk, its high back bearing the deep, carved mark of the wolf. He wore the unpretentious dark cloak of his house, his shoulders squared with unyielding resolve.
Beside him, elevated on the same stone platform above the assembled hall, stood Chinua.
She wore her dark, campaign-worn armor, free of ornamental jewelry. Her hair was bound back tight, her boots still dusted grey from the northern trail. She stood with her hand resting on her iron hilt, her sharp gaze sweeping down over former warlords and senior ministers alike. In this plain, rugged court of wolf banners and bare stone, her presence beside the young king anchored the raw power of Hmagol.
Every eye in the Great Hall remained fixed on the lone woman standing atop the royal dais.
They all knew the truth that shadowed the room: she held the highest rank in the empire—a title so heavy and absolute that not even the young King beside her dared eclipse it. She was the architect who had plunged Hmagol into its only civil war, yet she was also the sole force in history who had purged the court and unified the realm from its rotten core.
She was the only general in a century to bring peace to the blood-soaked valley of Nue-Li, tearing two entire cities from their ancient enemies and expanding Hmagol's borders further than any ruler before her.
Her very existence defied every ancient law of the monarchy. Yet, across the stone floor, not a single minister or gray-haired general dared to utter a whisper. They stood frozen under her shadow, bound by the silent, terrifying knowledge that the woman looking down upon them had spilled more blood than every man in that room combined.
As the morning court session dragged on, one minister after another stepped into the center of the grand hall, facing the high throne to deliver routine reports from their respective provinces. They spoke of tax yields, grain harvests, and local trade, their droning voices echoing against the towering oak pillars and bare stone walls.
Just as the session was drawing to a close, a sudden hush fell over the assembly.
Chinua slowly stepped down from the raised dais, her iron-clad boots striking the stone floor with heavy, deliberate rhythm. She strode into the center of the grand hall, stopping directly before the royal throne.
With that single gesture, every minister in the room knew what was about to unfold.
Those who had served the court for decades recognized the solemn custom: when a senior general stepped into the center ring without being summoned, it meant only one thing—a formal request to launch an invasion into foreign lands. Yet a tense silence gripped the assembly. Unsure of which neighboring kingdom the formidable Eastern General intended to strike, the ministers exchanged wary glances and kept their lips sealed, waiting for her first move.
Chinua let the silence linger until the tension in the room grew almost unbearable. Her dark eyes swept across the rows of ministers, lingering on those wrapped in fine wool who had never felt the bite of northern frost.
"For three days," Chinua began, her voice calm yet echoing clearly against the high, dark rafters, "my officers and I rode across frozen tundra to reach this hall. Out on the frontier, soldiers cut their rations in half and sleep in the snow so Hmagol's borders remain secure."
She took two slow steps forward, her iron scabbard clinking against her side.
"Yet when I walk through the gates of Ntsua-Ntu, I see market stalls overflowing with grain and wine flowing without end," she continued, her gaze locking onto the senior minister of finance, Munkh. "You assume I stand before the throne to ask for permission to march on a foreign enemy. But an army cannot march on empty stomachs and broken promises."
A low rustle passed through the ranks of retired generals, several of whom nodded in stern agreement. The ministers, however, shifted uncomfortably, realizing that the Eastern General had not come to request a new war, but to demand full, immediate provisioning for the one already raging.
King Bastsaikhan remained motionless on his wooden throne, his dark cloak draped over his shoulders as he watched Chinua command the room, leaving the ministers to face her unyielding scrutiny.
"They say an army marches on its stomach," Chinua said, her dark gaze locking onto Munkh and the three aides standing trembling behind him. "So tell me, ministers of the court—why should the sons and daughters of Hmagol stand as the first iron wall to protect your peaceful sleep and full bellies, when they themselves are denied that very luxury?"
A suffocating silence fell over the civil side of the court. The ministers shrank back under her glare, their lips pale and sealed. Across the aisle, a low, collective murmur rose from the retired generals and battle-tested commanders. Dark brows furrowed and heavy chests rose and fell in tense, rhythmic breathing; every warrior in that line had lived through the bitter agony of starving on the frontier, and Chinua had just voiced the fury they had swallowed for decades.
Bastsaikhan leaned forward on his broad wooden seat, his dark eyes shifting from Chinua's unyielding figure toward the trembling ministers below.
"The Eastern General has asked a question. Answer her," Bastsaikhan commanded, his voice heavy with royal authority that cut straight through the tense quiet of the hall.
Munkh swallowed hard, his knees visibly shaking beneath his thick coat as he stepped into the light of the iron braziers. "Y-Your Majesty... Eastern General ... the grain requisitions for the northern garrisons were delayed due to early mountain snowfall... the logistical routes—"
"Logistical routes do not freeze when taxation wagons arrive in Ntsua-Ntu on schedule," Chinua interrupted coldly, not even turning her head as her words struck the minister like a physical blow. "You found the roads open enough to bring wine and silk to the capital, yet frozen solid when it came to sending iron and grain to the men bleeding on the border."
A harsh scoff echoed from the row of retired generals, several of them folding their arms in satisfaction as they watched the court bureaucrats sweat under the combined weight of the King and his top commander.
"Minister Munkh, we appointed you as the head of the finance department because we trusted there would be no delay in distributing military provisions or aid to our citizens," Bastsaikhan said, his voice measured yet firm. "We understand that you have served this court for decades, and forgetfulness is surely a common companion to age. If at any point you feel the burden of your duties has grown too heavy, we can grant you an early retirement."
"Your Majesty!" Minister Munkh dropped to his knees before Bastsaikhan, his hands trembling against the cold stone floor. "I am deeply ashamed that I failed to oversee my subordinates properly. I will personally look into this matter and ensure that from this day forward, no aid—whether for our soldiers on the frontier or our citizens in the towns—will ever be delayed again."
"Minister Munkh," Chinua said softly, stepping down toward him. "I am only asking a question; I am not placing the blame solely upon your shoulders."
She glanced up at Bastsaikhan, who had already gestured with an upward wave of his hand for the elder minister to rise. Seeing the King's signal, Chinua reached down to Munkh's side, taking the old man by the arm and helping him gently back to his feet.
"His late majesty always said that a person cannot reach their full potential if they are missing limbs," Chinua continued, turning her gaze back to the assembled court. "A kingdom, as a whole, functions no differently. She requires both—generals, soldiers, ministers, and citizens alike. Yes, soldiers on the battlefield shed blood, but theirs is not the only sacrifice. Ministers governing the court shed sweat and endure sleepless nights to keep the empire standing. Without the ministers working tirelessly behind the scenes, there would be no land for the soldiers to protect; without the soldiers guarding our borders from invasion, there would be no court for the ministers to govern. Therefore, for a kingdom to endure and truly prosper, she needs her citizens, her soldiers, and her ministers all standing together."
Minister Munkh bowed deeply, his relief palpable as he retreated into the ranks of civil officials.
Chinua turned back toward the low stone dais, her iron boots ringing out on the floor as she approached Bastsaikhan. Slowly, deliberately, she dropped to one knee before her monarch, resting her gloved hand against her knee.
"Your Majesty," she spoke, her clear voice carrying across the silent hall before she turned her head slightly to address the rows of ministers and gray-haired generals standing behind her. "And ministers of the court... I did not come before you today merely to discuss military provisions. I come to ask for an invasion down south."
A collective gasp rippled through the Great Hall. The ministers exchanged stunned, wide-eyed glances; her true objective was finally laid bare.
"Which kingdom does Her Highness have her eyes on?" Minister Esen asked, his brow furrowed in anxious disbelief.
Chinua rose slowly to her feet, turning to face the entire assembly with unshakeable resolve. "Tailin. Of the Zasra Kingdom."
"Your Highness," Minister Tarkhan immediately stepped forward, his hands raised in protest. "Everyone in this hall knows that Zasra possesses one of the largest military forces in the known world. Invading Tailin is no small border skirmish—it is an open declaration of total war!"
"And that," Chinua replied coldly, "is precisely my intention."
"We concluded our war with the Payapasa Kingdom not long ago!" another minister chimed in frantically. "As Your Highness noted yourself, we are currently lacking supplies to sustain our frontier troops, let alone our civilian population. If we launch another campaign, the imperial treasury will be completely drained before spring!"
Minister Esen stepped up beside Tarkhan. "Your Highness... this time, I must agree with my colleagues. An invasion right now is far too reckless."
"I never said we are invading them today," Chinua said, her tone silencing the room instantly. "I understand the cost of war better than anyone in this hall. I am telling you now so that you may prepare. When the time comes, I will require your full support—because Tailin must be taken at all costs."
A battle-scarred retired general stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "May I ask why Tailin, General? What makes a single fortress city worth such immense risk?"
"Because Tailin is the only city in the Zasra Kingdom that shares a direct border with Hmagol," Chinua explained.
"Taking Tailin still leaves us sharing a border with Zasra," a retired captain pointed out, crossing his arms.
A faint, knowing smile curved the corner of Chinua's lips. "Which is why, upon capturing Tailin, we will hand the city over to Umusa as a gift."
Disbelief echoed through the military flank. "Your Highness, if our soldiers shed blood to take Tailin, why in the heavens would we give it away?" the old general demanded. "Hmagol does not sacrifice her sons to hand conquered land to outsiders!"
"Because Tailin is a city we cannot afford to keep," Chinua answered calmly.
"Your Highness, please explain yourself," Tarkhan pressed.
"Your Majesty, gifting Tailin to the Umusa Kingdom is not an act of charity—it is an iron shield against future invasions from Zasra," Chinua declared, her eyes flashing with strategic brilliance. "By ceding Tailin to Umusa, Hmagol erases her direct border with Zasra entirely."
The realization hit the room like a physical blow. A sudden hush fell as ministers and seasoned commanders alike began to grasp the brilliance of her web.
"If Zasra seeks retaliation, they must march through Umusa first," Chinua continued, laying out the board. "Umusa will have no choice but to defend their new territory. As their ally, we can reinforce them on our terms without being locked in a direct war with Zasra. Furthermore, as an alliance gift, King Hakim will spill his own kingdom's blood to hold Tailin, even if he must sacrifice his other cities to protect it."
The Great Hall remained utterly motionless. Young officers and venerable statesmen alike stared in awe at the solitary woman standing in the center of the court. As her detailed strategy unfolded—mapping out the months before and years after the war—there was no longer any doubt in their minds. Chinua's vision was never driven by personal glory, but by an absolute, terrifying devotion to the survival and future of Hmagol.