Night had cast its heavy, sorrowful cloak over the walls of the border fortress.
The roar of the drums and the cries of war were gone; replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the faint moans of the wounded and the sound of the wind whistling through the battlements of the fortress.
In the large courtyard of the fortress, hundreds of soldiers were silently tending to their own wounds and those of their friends.
The smell of blood, medicinal herbs, and sweat, mingled with the smoke from the fires lit to warm the injured, had created a heavy and mournful atmosphere.
The faces were tired, the gazes empty, and the shoulders were stooped under the heavy burden of the first defeat.
In the command tent, Kourosh stared in absolute silence at a map spread on the table.
The spark of pride and confidence in his eyes was gone.
It was replaced by a shadow of fatigue and a deep pain.
In the past few hours, he had seen the true face of war; a face that none of his books had been able to properly describe.
He looked at his father, who was lying on a temporary bed in the corner of the tent while physicians were dressing his shoulder wound.
Every faint moan from his father was like a dagger in his heart.
This wound was the direct result of his pride.
Arash entered the tent with heavy steps.
His face was covered in soot and fatigue, but in his gaze, his steel-like loyalty still shone.
He placed a paper scroll before Kourosh. "My lord, the final report is ready."
His voice was hoarse and tired.
"We... we have lost five thousand of our best men."
"Four thousand dead, with over a thousand wounded."
This number landed on Kourosh's head like a sledgehammer.
Five thousand men.
Five thousand families who had been harmed because of his plan.
Kourosh closed his eyes for a moment.
But before he could drown in a sea of self-blame, Arash continued.
"But... there is other news as well."
"Astonishing news."
He unrolled another scroll. "This is a report from Fariborz's network in the Median camp. Our spies have counted their casualties."
Arash paused, as if he himself was amazed to say it.
"My lord, they have suffered between twelve to fifteen thousand casualties!"
"Our new weapons, especially the cast-iron spears, have inflicted casualties on them that they have never seen in their history."
This statistic, like a spark in Kourosh's tired but restless mind, ignited a new fire.
Fifteen thousand men! Three times their casualties!
This meant that despite the tactical defeat, his war machine was horrifically efficient.
He was defeated, but he had also wounded the enemy.
Suddenly, all that terror and doubt gave way to a cold, calculating calm.
He was no longer that proud genius; he was a wounded hunter who had caught the scent of the enemy's blood.
He raised his head.
There was no longer a trace of that terrified child in his eyes.
"Arash, prepare a messenger with a white flag."
Cambyses, who was listening to their words in pain, said in disbelief, "A messenger? For what? Do you want to surrender?"
Kourosh went to his father and replied with a tone in which there was no longer any doubt:
"No, Father. I want to buy time."
He continued to Arash, "Send a messenger to Azhidahak's camp. Tell him, on my behalf, that the Persian prince, in accordance with the ancient traditions of war, requests a one-day truce to honorably collect and bury the bodies of both sides."
Arash asked in amazement, "But my lord, will he accept? This might be seen as a sign of our weakness."
Kourosh gave a cold smile.
"A proud king never refuses such a chivalrous request from his defeated enemy."
"It will satisfy his pride. He will accept."
As the messenger was leaving, Kourosh issued another secret command.
He summoned one of his most loyal Sadbods.
"Tonight, under the cover of darkness, take all the non-combatants and the wounded who are unable to fight out of the back gate."
"Lead them towards the safe mountains. Send enough food and a few Dehbods to protect them."
The Sadbad asked with concern, "My lord, are we abandoning the fortress?"
Kourosh replied, "No. We are lightening our wings for a higher flight."
"Our army must be swift and ruthless to execute the next plan."
"The wounded and non-combatants will slow us down."
"Go, and in complete silence, carry out the command."
The Sadbad bowed in complete obedience and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Kourosh was now alone, with a new plan taking shape in his mind.
A plan that was born from the ashes of defeat.