The fire in the hall's fireplace burned brightly, casting Paul and Duke Bradley's shadows onto the walls.
A huge map lay spread across the long table, the mountains and passes of the northern frontier rising and falling between wax contour lines.
Paul leaned over, his fingertip tracing the treacherous ravines.
"Even without Crystal Radiance's support, we in the Northwest Bay have decided to continue fighting the orcs until the threat of the royal encampment is completely eliminated."
"Marquis Greiman!" Hall Duke looked at Paul with both admiration and shame.
"Haha, don't make me out to be so noble!" Paul waved his hands repeatedly, taking the initiative to explain the real reason he intended to keep fighting—the orcs' power had already seriously threatened the Northwest Bay's economic interests.
Duke Bradley remained silent for a long time. As the commander of the Watchers Legion, resisting the orcs was his destiny, the mission bestowed upon him by the kingdom.
Yet now, Paul, far away in the northwest, had shouldered the burden of this war alone.
He felt a deep shame, as though a cold blade had pierced his chest.
After a moment, he slowly removed the sword from his waist and gently placed it on the table. Damaged leather still wound around its hilt.
"Marquis Greiman!" he said in a low, resolute voice. "Resisting the orcs is the Watchers' oath. It is our duty. Now that you have stepped forward, if we continue hiding within the kingdom's borders, we would be insulting that oath."
He looked up at Paul, his gaze like a blazing torch. "I am willing to dispatch an elite force from the Watchers Legion to campaign alongside you. They will follow your commands and arrangements. Also, if provisions run short, Yellow Earth Land will provide assistance."
Paul looked at him,