Chapitre 62: When all is divided, what remains?

Inside the war tent, there was a lingering tension, thick it was, mingling with the scent of burning oil from the dimly lit lanterns.

At the center of the room, a map of the northern territories was spread across the dark wooden table, its edges weighed down by daggers, small stones, and empty mugs. Aric stood over it, his eyes tracing the lines of the settlements he had marked, his mask casting a cold shadow over his face.

Across from him stood Yrsa, the Legion commander. Her imposing frame was wrapped in thick furs, her violet eyes gleaming with both curiosity and wariness. The weight of her two-handed axe seemed almost irrelevant against her slender form.

Behind her, a handful of Northrender warriors stood, each of them radiating quiet, deadly confidence. Their presence brought clear intimidation, but beneath it was a sense of assurance—perhaps more significant than slight—that at any moment, without hesitation, they were more than prepared for battle.