In the city of Velmoth, men prepared for battle, while women and children hid inside the secure, barricaded city hall.
Men adorned in leather armour and iron swords stood in formation.
Archers lined the tops of the city walls.
Suddenly, war drums echoed across the fields.
Men readied themselves.
Archers launched a barrage of arrows, filling the sky with death.
Many fell, but the barbarians seemed to gain new vigor.
They screamed with pleasure and hurled their axes toward the walls.
Most axes struck stone, but some reached the archers, killing them instantly.
The archers continued their assault.
Volley after volley darkened the sky, leaving the enemy no chance to retaliate.
By the time the barbarians reached the main gate, their numbers had been reduced by half.
Still, the assault continued.
Heavy stones rained down upon them from above.
Soon enough, the gate shattered—but their numbers were reduced to a third of what they once were.
The city's men advanced in formation.
Spearmen took the front, their massive shields forming an impenetrable wall.
Like true savages, the barbarians charged headlong into it.
The spearmen held, crushing bodies beneath their shields and spears, but the sheer ferocity of the assault overwhelmed them, shattering the formation.
The city's soldiers—already prepared—counterattacked with full force.
Many lives were lost, but nothing compared to the enemy's casualties.
Soon, the barbarians were eradicated.
The battle was etched into history as one of the most effective war tactics ever used against barbarians.
---
"So," said the man adorned in a black overcoat, his aura commanding authority over the students seated before him.
"Lord Brenden Volkreck, ruler of the city, defended Velmoth against wave after wave of these uncivilized Medrins.
You can see his statue standing tall at the entrance of our prestigious university."
He glanced at his pocket watch.
"Class, that's it for today. Prepare for the test next week.
And John—next time you forget your notebook, you'll stand outside the classroom."
The professor left.
All eyes turned to John.
Some laughed.
Some pitied him.
Most sneered at his weakness.
Suddenly, a thin but well-dressed boy approached him.
"I will be keeping this notebook."
"No, that is my notebook. Kindly return it."
"You dare speak to me in such a manner?"
The two men behind the boy attacked without hesitation.
John's clothes were torn away, and he was left broken and naked on the floor.
"That is the fate of the weak," Zamean thought.
The thin boy turned toward him.
"You—I like your pen. Surely you wouldn't mind if I kept it."
"Ramre," Zamean said calmly, "I don't like your head."
In an instant, he lunged forward, seized Ramre's skull, and drove it into his rising knee.
Bone cracked.
Blood sprayed.
Ramre collapsed, clutching his shattered nose and screaming.
The two men behind him rushed forward—then froze.
One look from Zamean was enough.
"Caution and strategy are for the weak," Zamean thought as he walked away.
"The barbarians lost because they were weak and stupid—not because Brenden was wise.
He lost fifteen battles and won three, yet people still praise him as a strategic genius. What a joke."
---
"My lord, Decron has lost his position as Martial Arts professor," Sclara informed calmly.
Clave smiled.
Smerin stood frozen in shock.
"Smerin," Clave asked, "why does this surprise you?"
"My lord… how did you accomplish this?" Smerin asked.
"That is none of your concern," Clave replied.
"Of course, my lord," Smerin said, awestruck. "But may I say—you are truly brilliant."
"And my lord," Sclara added, "there is a letter from Sir Zamean."
"What shamelessness," Smerin sneered. "He dares not report directly to his lord."
Clave ignored him and read the letter aloud:
> Your enemy is my enemy. Prepare for war.
"So that's it," Clave murmured, finally understanding.
But how did he do it?
"One more thing, my lord," Sclara continued.
"Yesterday, Sir Zamean beat the son of a knight. It has also been confirmed that executioners were sent after him."
Smerin clenched his fists.
"My lord, this Zamean creates problems at every turn. Why do you tolerate him?"
"Because I have no servant as powerful as him," Clave replied—his words clearly aimed at Smerin.
Smerin understood.
I must become stronger, he thought.
Stronger than Decron. Stronger even than Zamean.
One must not only use his cards—but strengthen them.
Now it was clear.
Zamean beat a knight's son.
An enforcer was sent.
That enforcer was Decron.
Zamean defeated him.
The university deemed Decron unfit—and stripped him of his position.
But one thing still troubled Clave.
Sclara understood all of this—and guided events toward this outcome.
Which meant—
She is far smarter than she pretended to be.