Moscow, the city now bore the semblance of a proper Prince's stronghold; its once-dry moat was now filled with water from the Moscow River, and its wooden walls stood ever taller and sturdier.
Behind the wooden walls, people's houses and farmlands were neatly arranged, and plank-paved roads extended in all directions, creating a sense of orderly beauty, while towering churches had also taken shape.
The docks were laden with goods, and the piers were crowded with ships, with sailors and laborers bustling ceaselessly.
The saint george slaying the dragon banner overlooked it all, soaring above everything, demonstrating the Prince's authority, leaving no doubt that this was a Prince's city.
However, the city was currently filled with the atmosphere of war; armed pedestrians were seen everywhere on the streets, either bidding farewell to their families or forming queues under the guidance of their district managers, while weapon merchants were always surrounded by the most people.
Even with constantly rising prices, people were still buying armor and weapons, as these were crucial for survival on the battlefield and could not be taken lightly.
Cavalry galloped through the streets, relaying orders from the Prince's palace; upon seeing the Rurik banners hanging from their saddles, everyone quickly moved aside, as colliding with the Prince's messengers was a grave offense.
Yet, despite the pervasive atmosphere of war, there was little panic on people's faces; warfare was simply a part of their lives, and many had experienced mustering for expeditions countless times.
Large contingents of soldiers assembled at their designated rallying points, forming neat formations under the constant urging and scolding of the Prince's personal guards.
That sense of orderly beauty momentarily captivated Rostislav on the palace's observation deck, but only for a moment, as he still had work to do.
Upon receiving news of the Bulgar invasion, the Prince immediately returned to Moscow; after all, this was where his power converged, and he felt secure only here.
Upon his return to Moscow, he immediately convened this meeting, needing to understand the situation.
Inside the Prince's hall, his chieftains and city nobles were gathered, along with his relatives from outside Rus'; all were clad in armor and helmets, seated on long benches, looking as if they would step onto the battlefield at any moment.
Rostislav's hall adopted the style of the imperial capital; bright fireplaces illuminated the entire hall, simultaneously bringing warmth to the room, and imperial decorations and bookshelves filled with books lined the walls, showcasing the Moscow Prince's yearning for civilization.
"Nestor, please brief everyone on the current situation."
Rostislav called out to the future author of "The Primary Chronicle"; this monk had also followed the Prince to Northeast Rus', as the Moscow Prince was his super patron, so he naturally followed him.
Upon arriving in Northeast Rus', he took on the role of court record keeper; all information sent to Moscow from various parties recently had been handled by him, so briefing on the situation was naturally his task.
"Yes, Prince."
The record keeper bowed humbly, a blush on his face, as it was his first time facing so many important figures, but he quickly composed himself and began to elaborate on the matters he had memorized perfectly.
"Two weeks have passed since the Persian merchant named Abdul informed us of the Bulgar's military deployment; our scouts have indeed discovered Bulgar fleet and troop movements on the Kama River, so it can now be confirmed that the news of the Bulgar invasion is unequivocally true."
The record keeper's words caused a small stir among the assembled, but only a small one; everyone was already aware of the Bulgar invasion, and this was merely a confirmation.
"Do we know their scale then?"
The question came from young Meshko, Rostislav's unmentionable "relative"; the young man's expression was grave and unsmiling.
"The scouts estimate at least ten thousand."
This answer caused the stir to become more pronounced, and Rostislav couldn't help but rub his head in distress; ten thousand men, Volga Bulgaria was truly willing to go all out this time.
However, the young man from Poland showed no change in expression; on the contrary, the Prince even saw... fighting spirit?
"How many people can I mobilize at present?"
With no time to dwell on his "relative's" expression, the Prince's words silenced the discussions below; the record keeper's face, which had been somewhat flustered by this unprecedented situation, calmed down a little, and he continued speaking.
"Including the troops stationed in Kashin and various reinforcements, we currently have approximately four thousand at our disposal, my Lord."
Facing such a number, Rostislav was not pleased; against the Bulgar Army, this number was severely insufficient.
"Four thousand, the enemy's numbers are at least more than double ours, what a headache. What do the various towns say? Are they willing to send troops now?"
"The towns stated that they must guard their own gates to prevent Bulgar invasion, so they can only... send a portion of their forces."
"Tsk, although I knew this would happen, it still feels very unpleasant."
Rostislav had known this news for a long time; asking again was merely to let everyone present understand the gravity of the situation.
And merely not sending troops was still acceptable; there were even those secretly causing trouble... If not for this, he wouldn't have sent Yang to deal with these matters, otherwise, if the standard-bearer were still here, he should be the one reporting now.
"Alright, I presume everyone understands the situation, so do any of you have any proposed solutions?"
Signaling the record keeper to step down, Rostislav looked at the room full of military lords; he needed to hear everyone's opinions first.
"Prince, I suggest we launch a direct surprise attack. Currently, we are outnumbered, and only a surprise attack can turn the tide. We can ambush the enemy on their inevitable path."
The speaker was Auri; the Prince's uncle Harald had recently sent him. He commanded two hundred Norse elites, all seasoned veterans of the Baltic Sea wars. Harald's assistance was undeniably powerful.
Auri was like a carbon copy of Harald, tall and robust, always wearing a chainmail shirt, exuding the aura of a warrior from head to toe.
Upon seeing him, the Prince was not surprised why Harald chose him as his son-in-law; after all, he was practically carved out in Harald's image, a true elite warrior, and his uncle's favorite kind of person.
Auri's proposal met with approval; these people saw it as the only way to turn the tide. The Bulgar Army's destination could only be Kashin, so they only needed to set an ambush on the road leading to Kashin.
"I think this is very inappropriate."
Just then, an opposing voice emerged; it was none other than the young Polish Meshko, who had just inquired about the Bulgar Army's numbers.
Young Meshko also wore a chainmail, but over it was a tunic embroidered with hills and dense red leaves, a standard knightly appearance, though he still gave off a sense of youthful impulsiveness.
"I believe we should take the initiative and confront the Bulgars in battle; Christian will surely favor us with victory."
Rostislav, who had expected some brilliant insight from this relative, immediately felt several black lines appear on his forehead; this fellow, knowing the vast disparity in numbers, still advocated for a direct confrontation—wasn't that seeking death?
Everyone present shared the Prince's view, believing this was indeed seeking death, so few people agreed with young Meshko's opinion.
This made the young man's face flush visibly, but his stubbornness was clearly still there, and he just held it in.
However, Rostislav's thought was not wrong; his relative was indeed "seeking death."
"Get lost, you inexperienced youngster. Don't babble nonsense here; warfare is an adult's business."
"Are you questioning the authority of the Lord? Under the Lord's protection, we will surely achieve victory; we only need to advance bravely!"
The Prince merely felt black lines, while the short-tempered Auri directly retorted. In his view, this clearly inexperienced youngster was provoking him. And young Meshko on the other side was not to be outdone, directly using the name of Christian to curse back, which happened to alleviate the previous awkwardness. For a moment, the entire hall was filled with the sound of their mutual insults.