The war tent buzzed with tension as Gaius Antonine stood at the center, his golden hair gleaming under the torchlight. His scarred chestplate bore the wear of countless battles. Before him, a map sprawled across the table, markers indicating enemy positions. His commanders exchanged uneasy glances, hesitant to speak.

“Cowards,” Gaius said, his voice calm but laced with steel. “You think hesitation wins wars?”

One knight stepped forward. “The eastern flank—if we advance, we risk heavy losses.”

Gaius smirked, leaning forward. “Risk? Victory demands sacrifice. They’ll expect us to hold back. Instead, we’ll feint west, draw their forces, then strike where they least expect—here.” He slammed a gauntleted fist onto the map.

“But sire, the men—”

“The men will obey, or they’ll die alongside the enemy,” Gaius snapped, his eyes narrowing. “I want perfection, not excuses. We march at dawn.”

As the commanders nodded and dispersed, Gaius smiled, a predator savoring his hunt.