Before sunrise, in the heavy silence of the Persian command tent, Kourosh spread the final map on the table for the last time.
He looked at Cambyses and Arash, who stood beside him with worried but resolute faces.
His eleven-year-old face, in the chiaroscuro of the torches, had a maturity and firmness that commanded the silence and respect of veteran commanders.
"The last report from Fariborz has arrived."
His voice was calm but penetrating, and in the silence of the tent, it echoed like a hammer on an anvil.
"They have completely swallowed the deception."
"Azhidahak has issued the command for an all-out attack with all his forces after sunrise. Exactly as we wanted."
He then, with his wooden staff, explained the final stages of the trap on the map.
"After sunrise, we will fight not with the strength of our arms, but with the power of our minds."
"Our apparent defeat this past month has been our greatest weapon."
"We have led them to believe that they are facing a demoralized army on the verge of collapse, and this has made them blind and reckless."
He fixed his gaze on Arash, a gaze full of trust and responsibility.
"Arash, you and the central corps are the beating heart of our plan."
He continued, "You will resist at the foot of the hill to the last breath. You must fight so realistically that the enemy believes in your stubborn resistance."
"But when you receive the signal from me—three quick, short beats of the war drum—you will begin a chaotic and sudden retreat towards the city walls."
"It must look so real that even our own men believe it."
"I want you to scream in terror, throw down your shields, and flee."
Arash, with a pale but determined face, nodded.
This was the hardest command he had ever received in his life: the command to feign cowardice.
Cambyses asked with concern, "But will this not destroy the morale of the entire army?"
Kourosh replied calmly, "For a few moments, yes."
"But this controlled chaos is the very thing that will completely shatter the Medes' military formation."
"Seeing the retreat of our central corps, they will be ecstatic and will charge forward recklessly to achieve the final victory and plunder."
He then turned to Cambyses and pointed to the final, hidden part of the plan.
"And this will be the final signal for Harpak."
He pointed to a spot on the map, near the predicted position of Azhidahak's command post.
"When the chaos reaches its peak and Azhidahak comes forward to watch his final victory, Harpak and his men, who are waiting in the heart of his army, will capture him."
"With the king captured and our surprise attack from the flanks, the headless Median army will collapse like a headless giant."
He slowly rolled up the scroll and held it in his hands.
A deep silence reigned in the tent.
The commanders were thinking about this ruthless and intelligent plan.
A plan that played with human psychology.
This was the art of war; this was the art of deception.
Bagpat, with eyes shining with excitement, whispered under his breath, "A trap within a trap..."
Kourosh rose and looked into the eyes of each of his commanders.
"A hard day will begin at sunrise."
"You will witness the apparent flight of your brothers. You will hear the enemy's mockery."
"But you must keep your faith. You must trust the plan."
"Each of you has a vital role in this grand performance. The slightest mistake will lead us all to annihilation."
He paused and, with eyes that now burned with a cold fire, finished his speech:
"Remember, today is a day when history will be written by those who dared to deceive."