The dull march had already gone on for several days. The column heading north maintained an unhurried pace, as if they were not going to relieve a perilous place besieged by a great army, but merely carrying out an ordinary border patrol.
At the center of the column, Karl rode his warhorse alongside his father, Duke Schmidt, half a horse-length behind him, maintaining his respect for his father.
Duke Schmidt seemed to be in a rather talkative mood today. He too rode a magnificent chestnut warhorse, his armor covered by a deep purple cloak embroidered with gold, imposing yet resplendent.
At times he pointed with his riding crop toward the distant mountains, recounting how he had once fought a certain rebel army there. At other times, he shifted the topic to the undercurrents surging through the kingdom's court, analyzing the temperaments, factions, and possible schemes of various figures who held real power.
His voice was steady and powerful, carrying the weathered sharpness of one long accustomed to high position, one who had seen through the ways of the world. Within his words lay an understanding of power, insight into human nature, and veiled hints about the future—all principles he hoped his son would grasp, and be able to use in the struggles to come.
"...So, Karl, much of the time, victory or defeat on the battlefield often does not depend on how many troops you possess, but on whether you understand how to use allies, how to divide enemies, and how to... display or conceal your strength at the proper moment."
"Take this chaos in the Northern Border. Sauron is a wolf, Eisenberg is a fox, the royal family is a sick tiger, and we..." He paused, giving Karl a meaningful glance. "We are the eagle waiting for its chance