Salma stood upon the table.
His black and brown feathers gleamed darkly under the light of the mana lamps. The plumage covering his neck and chest was a deep, dusky brown-black, growing ever darker toward the tips of her wings. Atop his head rested a helmet crafted from layered metal plates, shaped to fit the contours of a Muwa's skull, enveloping even the back of his head. Flaps extended down on either side to shield her ear tufts. At the front of the helmet, a small sun emblem was etched. Only the upper part of her beak was exposed, and his yellow eyes gleamed from beneath the visor.
His chest and back were wrapped in leather armor. It was fashioned from multiple layers of thin hides, with rivets studded across the surface here and there. The shoulder sections were cut short to avoid hindering the movement of his wings. Draped across his back was a red cloak, fastened at the neck with a metal ring. The entire fabric was embroidered with a large sun motif in gold thread—a radiant sun with rays extending in all directions. Gold tassels adorned the edges of the cloak, swaying with every movement Salma made.
His talons were sheathed in bronze claw guards. Each guard enveloped an individual talon, sharpened to a keen point at the tip. Fine grooves were etched into the surface, and within them, delicate patterns were inscribed with silver wire. When light struck them, the silver threads sparkled.
Salma was the Warlord of the Yakra Winged Legion. As one who carried the blood of the Mosrow Clan, she was also the central figure in the legion's formation and operations. The Yakra Winged Legion had not originated as a regular army under the Council; rather, it stemmed from a private force organized by the Mosrow Clan through their own wealth and influence.
The clan had poured immense funds and arms into building the legion without restraint, and in return, the legion moved solely at the clan's command. Even the Council could not interfere with their troop deployments, and the legion's notorious brutality on the battlefield was well-known throughout Damu.
The Yakra Winged Legion, sworn blades and talons of the Mosrow Clan, carried its will into battle. Unlike other armies in Daumu, they followed the will of the Mosrow Clan over the Council's orders. All soldiers wore red cloaks and bore sun-emblazoned badges on their chests.
They were renowned as the most bellicose group in Damu. They frequently ventured into the Badlands wasteland to raid orc and minotaur villages. Even without the Council's permission, they would mobilize westward at the mere decision of the Mosrow Clan. They did not fear battle; rather, they sought it out.
Salma's talons scraped the table once more. A sharp sound rang out.
Gardon spoke up.
"Salma, I trust you'll handle it well, but there's no need for you to lead the reconnaissance personally."
His voice was heavy and low.
A Muwa warlord seated beside the round table chimed in.
"Reconnaissance like this could be left to Dersahl without issue."
Salma's eyes narrowed. His beak parted.
"As they say, a commander leads by example, charging ahead to face the enemy first, Grand Warlord."
Salma's voice was rough and solid, with a sharp edge to his words.
Gardon's gaze darkened. He looked at Salma. An invisible tension hung between them.
The other warlords in the council chamber sensed it. Some shrank in their seats. Others glanced back and forth between the two.
Salma spread his wings once and folded them again. A gust of wind stirred. His cloak fluttered. The gold tassels swayed.
"Five hundred from the Mosrow Winged Legion should suffice, so leave the reconnaissance to me."
Gardon lifted the hand that had been resting on the table. His fingers paused in mid-air.
"Five hundred is excessive. Is that much force needed for reconnaissance?"
Salma's beak snapped shut with a click.
"Because I have no intention of ending it with mere reconnaissance."
The room stirred. A Dawi warlord leaped to his feet.
"What do you mean by that, Salma!"
Salma didn't even glance at him. His gaze was fixed solely on Gardon.
"What do we gain from simply counting the enemy's numbers? We should lead the troops out right now and exterminate them. We cannot allow those orc scum to pillage and burn our villages as they advance on Daumu."
Gardon's eyes sharpened.
"We cannot march out without knowing their numbers precisely."
"What difference does knowing the numbers make!"
Salma's voice rose. His wings flapped. His feathers bristled.
"Even if those orc bastards and their hulking minotaur allies band together, what is there to fear that we must meticulously scout their count, Grand Warlord!"
A Dawi warlord slammed his fist on the table.
"There's no harm in being cautious! Victory comes from knowing your enemy!"
"Those are the words of cowards!"
Salma shouted. His talons raked the table fiercely. Gouges appeared in the wood surface.
Another Muwa warlord rose from his seat.
"Salma's point has merit. While we hesitate, villages are burning...!"
"But we can't charge out recklessly!"
Another Dawi warlord countered.
"You fail to distinguish recklessness from courage!"
Salma spread his wings wide. His shadow loomed large over the table.
"Just as the fangs of the Dawi and the beaks of the Muwa, the claws and wings, will forever remain distinct, Grand Warlord."
He paused for a moment. The room fell silent. All eyes were on Salma.
"That is our inherent superiority over them. No matter how many orcs and minotaurs unite, they are nothing but barbaric hordes. Devoid of wisdom, lacking tactics, mere beasts that overwhelm with sheer numbers."
His words carried conviction. It was not mere disdain for orcs and minotaurs. Just as Dawi and Muwa differed, an insurmountable chasm existed between them and us—the divide between civilization and savagery, order and chaos. That was what he conveyed.
"If we had followed my advice last year and launched a large-scale purge into the Badlands, we wouldn't be facing this today."
Gardon's jaw tightened. He placed both hands back on the table. His fingers pressed down.
"Scouting their numbers, positions, and overall scale first won't make us too late, Salma."
"Not too late, you say?"
Salma's voice grew sharper.
"Even now, the people of Udaba and Wirowi, Fhalba and Dwina are dying! Their homes are burning, their families fleeing! And here we sit, counting heads!"
A Dawi warlord sprang to his feet.
"Then are you suggesting we march out with the entire force? What if the enemy is far greater than we anticipate? What if another horde invades while Damu is empty?"
"That won't happen!"
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I'll confirm it myself!"
Salma's wings slammed down forcefully. A wind rose. The edges of the map fluttered.
Rilbeur spoke quietly.
"Salma, calm yourself. We all share the same goal."
"The same goal? I want to wipe those bastards out right now, yet here we're talking about counting!"
Gardon drew in a deep breath. He spoke slowly.
"Salma. I want to act as swiftly as you do. But as Grand Warlord, I bear responsibility for all of Damu. I cannot deploy troops haphazardly."
"You're hesitating under the guise of responsibility, Grand Warlord!"
Salma's words echoed through the chamber. Several warlords held their breath.
Gardon's face hardened. His eyes turned cold.
"Watch yourself, Salma. You're crossing a line."
"The ones crossing lines are those orc scum! They're trampling our lands! Those stinking, uncivilized, filthy orcs!"
Another Muwa warlord rose.
"Salma is right. If we stand idle, the enemy will penetrate deeper!"
"Yet reckless action invites ruin!"
A Dawi warlord rebutted.
The council chamber erupted into clamor. Warlords raised their voices, each to their own. Some sided with Salma, others supported Gardon's caution. The sounds of pounding tables, scraping chairs, and flapping wings mingled.
A Dawi warlord seated at the end of the round table stood and stepped forward. Brown fur draped down to his shoulders, and iron plates reinforced his leather armor. He leaned over the table, hands planted firmly.
"Grand Warlord, how long will it take to assess the scale? In that time, the orcs will keep advancing!"
Gardon looked at him.
"Two days should suffice. One day for the scouts to go and return, one to muster the troops."
"Two days!"
Salma cried out.
"In two days, another village will burn!"
"But charging out unprepared could lead to our annihilation!"
Gardon's voice rose as well.
Salma turned on the table. His talons scraped as she pivoted. His wings fluttered.
"The Mosrow Clan has never waited for the Council's decisions. We judge and act on our own. That's how we've protected Damu until now!"
A Muwa warlord spread his wings in agreement.
"That's true! The Mosrow Clan has guarded the borders of Tharn Forest!"
"But moving without the Council's approval shatters the order!"
A Dawi warlord countered.
"The safety of Damu matters more than order!"
Salma shouted. Fierce emotion burned in his eyes.
"While we quibble over order, the orcs couldn't care less and are burning villages!"
Rilbeur raised a wing. A faint blue glow shimmered.
"Everyone, calm down. The enemy we must fight is out there."
But no one heeded his words.
Salma leaped into the air from the table. She circled once mid-flight before landing back down—this time right in front of Gardon. Their distance closed. Salma's yellow eyes met Gardon's black ones.
"Grand Warlord. Allow me to ask."
Salma's voice lowered.
"Suppose we scout the scale. Suppose we learn the orcs number around ten thousand. What then, Grand Warlord?"
Gardon replied.
"We muster the troops, form ranks, and advance."
"Twenty thousand?"
"The same."
"Thirty thousand?"
"..."
"Forty thousand? Fifty thousand?"
Salma's voice grew louder with each question.
"No matter the number, we must fight eventually. So what meaning is there in scouting? Wouldn't it be better to march out now and crush them before they near Damu!"
Gardon's fist slammed the table. Boom! The sound filled the chamber. Everyone fell silent. The mana lamps' light flickered.
"Enough."
Gardon's voice was low and weighted.
"Salma. Lead the reconnaissance party. But five hundred is too many. Take only two hundred."
Salma's beak gaped.
"Two hundred is insufficient!"
"It's enough for reconnaissance. And no engagements. Scout only their numbers and return immediately. This is an order."
"No engagements?"
Salma's voice trembled, laced with fury.
"Correct. Ascertain the enemy's scale and position, then return at once. That's a command."
Salma glared at Gardon. Discontent blazed in her eyes. His wingtips quivered. But she said no more.
A brief silence ensued.
Salma spread his wings. She rose from the table. Lifting into the air, his wings beat powerfully. She veered away from the round table, flying toward the council chamber's exit. His red cloak billowed behind.
Reaching the door, Salma turned. He cast one final glance at Gardon.
"On the way back, I'll bring a few orc eyeballs as proof of the reconnaissance!"
The door opened. Salma flew out. It slammed shut with a bang. The council chamber fell silent once more.
Gardon gazed down at the map on the table. His fingers slowly traced the western regions.
Rilbeur spoke quietly.
"Will this be alright?"
Gardon did not reply. He merely stared at the map. The mana lamps' light cast dark shadows across his face.
A Dawi warlord sank into his chair. He sighed.
"Will Salma be fine going out like that?"
Another warlord shook his head.
"Salma has experience. Reckless, but capable."
"But... will he obey the no-engagement order?"
None in the council chamber spoke.