Sitting on the high-back chair with mahogany silk cushions at Holy Grail Heights, Serafe propped her right hand against her cheek but remained silent.
After midnight, the wind rose. Though it cleared much of the smoke, it also parted the clouds that veiled the moonlight.
The moonlight poured onto the earth like a floodgate unleashed.
"Your Majesty," the clan elder beside her was still uneasy, "this Konyaz, constantly defeated against the Holy Alliance, this decisive battle is of great significance, can he really..."
"The more defeats in battle, the more sophisticated the strategy." Serafe waved her hand, "Trust those you use, and do not use those you distrust."
"But the previous attack on Narran's army resulted in failures..."
"Fallen soldiers lament, lamenting soldiers conquer—no more persuasion. When I say I trust him, I mean complete trust."
"But here we are indeed suffering heavy losses."
Serafe said nothing further.
