While Rianor had become the clinical, mathematical heart of the defensive strategy against the Iron Empire in the North, elsewhere, Roland Sudrath was ensnared in a confrontation that was far more silent, yet arguably just as lethal—a war against his own kingdom.
He had exhausted every avenue of diplomacy. He had navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the capital, utilized every ounce of his golden-tongued rhetoric, and exerted immense political pressure, all in a desperate bid to convince the King of Aethelgard to mobilize the royal legions to stall the Iron Empire's encroaching shadow. But the result had been a hollow, echoing nothingness. Too many high-ranking nobles had already turned their backs, their true faces hidden behind the gleaming crests of loyalty while their pockets were lined with the gold of betrayal.
