Volgograd (4)

Inside the Volgograd Frontline command headquarters, the atmosphere was tense, and the air itself seemed thick with heavy anxiety.

"My lord, the lizardmen's attacks are becoming increasingly frequent. Especially in recent days, pressure from the northwest has begun bearing down on the border defenses. And—"

A noble officer in a gray-blue military uniform paused and glanced around. "The number of lizardman reinforcements is also continuing to grow."

The man seated at the head of the table frowned deeply, but his tone remained as firm and cold as ever. "The Lizardmen Legendary Experts are currently being held back by the Empire's powerhouses. This is the best time to advance the frontline. No matter what methods you use, you must continue pushing west."

A faint rustle spread below. Some coughed, some exchanged glances, while more remained silent.

It was not that they did not want to fight. It was just that taking another step forward truly meant there was "nothing to gain."

Litchfield Plains had now become one of the Empire's most prosperous territories on the Archipelago Plane, yet less than a year had passed since the occupation ended, and the spoils had already been divided.

There had been too many nobles involved in the fighting, leaving each with pitifully small shares. Some had not even received enough land to build a small village.

Worse still, small lizardman units spilling out from the Fett Mountains had recently been harassing the plains' borders with increasing frequency, leaving many nobles frustrated and helpless.

"It took us three years just to clear the lizardmen from Litchfield Plains, and that was with the grand dukes pouring in enormous resources. Now they want us to clear the border again with these exhausted private forces of ours? Isn't that just asking us to die?" an elderly noble muttered.