Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

"Father, it seems you really are getting old!"

The middle-aged nobleman snorted coldly.

"So what if there are 30,000 troops?! So what if there are 8,000 men?!"

"Eight thousand people have their own way of fighting!"

"My city of Rield is the foremost stronghold in the southern border of the Kingdom of Eredland. Moreover, with our city lord and two elite mages present, why can't we attack?!"

The father and son started arguing on the spot.

Other nobles also joined in, and the pro-peace and pro-war factions argued fiercely.

"We still have the city walls! With our eight thousand defenders on the walls, holding off an army of thirty thousand for half a month shouldn't be a problem!"

"What if their reinforcements arrive in two weeks?!"

"They have reinforcements, and we have reinforcements too!"

"I doubt we can hold out for even half a month!"

"Useless piece of trash!!!"

"You're the one who's useless!"

When the argument got heated, some people even started banging on the table, while others, red-faced and visibly angry, pointed at each other and cursed.

Graham watched all of this with a cold eye, without saying a word.

Pierre-Xenon, standing beside him, couldn't help but ask in a low voice, "Lord City Lord, aren't you going to stop them?"

"It's fine, let them argue," Graham said calmly.

Lance stood aside, watching the group of nobles with a blank expression.

To be honest, he disliked the scene just as much as the stench in the kobold cave.

Just then, a clear, cold female voice rang out.

That's enough.

The sound wasn't loud, but it instantly silenced the entire council chamber.

The moment Arya Silvershine stood up, everyone in the noisy council chamber seemed to have their throats grabbed.

She didn't rush to speak.

She simply stood there, her fiery red hair swaying slightly in the candlelight, her amber eyes coldly sweeping over the group of nobles who had just been arguing heatedly.

Lance leaned back in his chair, twirling a grape he had just pulled from his dimensional pocket, watching the scene with great interest.

"Tsk, that's what you call presence."

He mentally gave Arya a thumbs up.

The old viscount's beard trembled from his son's rebuke. Just as he was about to speak again, Arya's glare made him swallow back the words he was about to say.

The council chamber was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Arya then spoke.

"What's all the noise about? You've been arguing from dusk till dawn, and then from dawn till dusk again. Do you think you can kill the Sassanid army with your noise?"

She paused, a cold smile playing on her lips.

"With 30,000 troops pressing in, all you do is curse each other here?"

She walked around the long table to the center of the council chamber, her fiery red dress trailing an elegant arc on the floor.

"We now face only two paths—war or peace."

She held up one finger.

"Peace is simple. Send men out of the city now, kneel before the Sassanids, and surrender the city and its wealth. Perhaps they'll be in a good mood and spare your lives, making you obedient dogs."

That's too blunt.

Several pro-peace nobles blushed, as if they had been slapped in the face in public.

The old viscount slammed his hand on the table: "Arya! Watch your mouth!"

"What? Did I say something wrong?" Arya turned to him, her amber eyes fixed on him. "Wasn't that what you were saying just now? Begging for peace, surrendering, and saving your life?"

The old viscount choked.

Arya ignored him and raised her second finger.

"The second path—war."

She looked around, her gaze sweeping over everyone's face.

"I know what you're thinking. Eight thousand against thirty thousand, you can't win. You can't hold the city either; the Sassanids definitely have a backup plan. Rather than fighting to the death and ending up with the city falling and everyone dead, it's better to surrender now and at least preserve your property."

No one spoke.

But many people lowered their heads.

Arya smiled.

That smile carried an undisguised mockery.

"Do you think surrendering will protect your family fortune? Or your current status?"

She took a step forward, her voice suddenly rising in pitch.

"Wake up! What are the 30,000 Sassanid troops secretly marching for? Are they here to do business with you? Are they here to invite you for tea?!"

"What they want is this city! They want the wealth of Rield! They want your lands, your titles, and your lives!"

"If we don't take your territories, what will the Sassanid Kingdom use to reward the new nobles of this war?"

"If you surrender now, you won't lose half the battle; you'll only be looked down upon, you'll be the quickest to kneel, and the quickest to die!"

The old viscount finally couldn't hold back any longer, stood up and roared, "Then tell me, what are we going to do?! Eight thousand against thirty thousand, you try and fight me!"

"Fine, let's fight."

Arya turned around to face him, her tone eerily calm.

"Whether it's war or peace, several battles must be fought first. No one will listen to the cries of the weak."

She paused, then said, slowly and deliberately:

"We might not even lose."

The council chamber fell silent once again.

Everyone was looking at her.

Arya continued, "Even if we lose in the end and have to surrender, the more we hurt them, the higher the conditions we can demand."

She held up three fingers.

"What we need to do now is—prepare for war, and go all out!"

"You surrendered without lifting a finger; do you really think you'll get any good treatment or much power in return?"

She gave a cold laugh.

"Power is always earned through fighting!"

There was a moment of silence in the council chamber.

Then, a middle-aged nobleman stood up; he was the one who had just argued with the old viscount.

"Arya is right." He looked at his father with a complicated expression. "Father, you really are getting old."

The old viscount's beard twitched, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he simply sat back heavily in his chair and remained silent.

Another young nobleman stood up as well: "I agree with Lady Arya's opinion. Rather than kneeling and waiting to die, we should stand up and fight."

"Yes! Let's fight! What's there to be afraid of?"

"What's so great about the Sassanids? It's not like we, Rield, haven't fought wars before!"

Several more people stood up.

The momentum of the pro-war faction suddenly surged.

But some people on the peace faction were also unhappy.

A chubby viscount shouted, "You make it sound so easy! Doesn't war cost money? Doesn't it cost provisions? Aren't the dead your family's people?"

"Exactly!" another nobleman chimed in. "What if the city falls if a real war breaks out? Then it'll be too late to surrender!"

The two sides started arguing again.

But this time the argument wasn't as fierce. Arya's words were like a thorn, piercing everyone's heart.

Yes, power is always earned through fighting.

What good things can you get by begging on your knees?

Lord Graham finally spoke.

He stood up from the head of the table, his gray eyes sweeping over everyone present.

"Alright." Graham slammed his hand on the table. "It's settled then. From this moment on, Rield City is under a state of war."

He began to issue orders.

"Pieksson, you are in charge of the city's defenses. Close all city gates and keep a close watch on them. Double the number of soldiers on the city walls, and have them on duty day and night without any slackening."

"Yes!" The city guard commander immediately stood up to accept the order.

"Curry, you're in charge of maintaining order in the city. Starting today, a curfew. After dark, no one is allowed on the streets. Anyone who dares to cause trouble will be arrested on the spot, and those who resist will be killed on the spot."

"Yes, sir!" Police Chief Curry wiped his sweat and answered loudly.