The atmosphere inside the tent was charged like a sword before a strike. Soldiers and commanders stood silently, staring at the burnt maps, the charred tents still letting wisps of smoke drift in from outside. Suddenly, Vagnar's voice roared like the bellow from the heart of a storm.

  Vagnar (slamming the table):

  "8000 men!

  8000 fighters!

  8000 fools... scum!!!"

  He advanced towards them with heavy steps, staring into each face before him with a gaze that could almost kill.

  Vagnar:

  "How did this happen?

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  Who are we besieging, who are supposed to be besieged... how do they turn the tables on us?

  And who did it?

  A cursed bastard... called the Beast!!"

  He picked up the skull that had been found and hurled it onto the center of the table with force, so that it rolled before the commanders as if bearing witness to their shame.

  Vagnar (in a low, dangerous voice, filled with the coldness of revenge):

  "That young lord... Trevor... is using psychological warfare.

  He knows the sword is not in his favor now...

  And that is why he fights us with the mind, with fear... with fire and smoke."

  He paused for a moment, then laughed a short, bitter laugh.

  Vagnar:

  "The tragicomedy... is that he is succeeding.

  A child... arrogant... supposedly besieged...

  And he shames seasoned commanders... the likes of me!"

  He struck the table again, this time with his fingertips, and sparks seemed to fly from his eyes.

  Vagnar:

  "Damn me... and damn all of you!

  No more waiting, no more cowardice.

  Enough stabbing at pride.

  We will attack... tonight, or the night after, but we will attack."

  Silence enveloped the place... the commanders swallowed their fear, and their eyes turned towards blood. The war was about to truly ignite.