Etharell's situation was truly dire.
Forming an alliance now was nearly impossible. Not only did he rule a small and weak kingdom, but he also had no siblings he could offer to any noble house. In truth, he had some female cousins, and a few of his aunts were still young and unmarried. He even had an older sister — though their relationship was strained. No, "strained" wasn't strong enough. It was downright hostile.
All the men in Etharell's family had been killed, leaving only his mother and sister behind.
His mother had been forced to flee to her homeland after the war, and he likely wouldn't see her for some time. The other remaining women from his family were concubines of his father — the original Etharell's father. These concubines were considered royal property and therefore could not leave the capital. They now resided in their secluded quarters within the palace. But Etharell had never been particularly close with them. In the end, there wasn't much left of his family at all.
Given that this world bore some resemblance to the medieval era, it was entirely possible for Etharell to have aunts who were roughly his age. One of them had even taught him how to wield a sword. His relationship with them wasn't bad, but they lived in neighboring kingdoms.
In short, he was utterly alone now, and he had very little to offer in a political marriage alliance.
And yet, even if an alliance could somehow be forged, placing hope in such a fragile solution would only lead to inevitable disappointment.
As everyone sank into heavy silence, Sir Caelen, the High Knight — one of the few who had remained quiet until now — stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," he said with his deep voice, "I am a soldier, just like Valren. I do not fear dying in battle. But I do fear watching our people be erased from existence. So whether we draw our swords against the enemy or summon allies with ink and seal, whatever must be done—should be done now."
Etharell looked up at Sir Caelen. His powerful voice had pierced through the stillness of the room. His words came from the heart, and they echoed in the minds of all present. Valren gave a subtle nod, clearly in agreement. But the decision still rested with Etharell.
The young king let his eyes scan the table, then drew a deep breath and spoke.
"To delay now is to walk in step with the enemy," he declared. His voice, for the first time, was firm and resolute. "We will either die, or carve our names into history. But we will never be forgotten."
The air in the room shifted. Everyone stood a little taller, breathed a little deeper.
"Valren," Etharell continued, "initiate every possible defense measure. Reinforce the city gates with secondary fortifications. Train the citizens to defend themselves—man or woman, it doesn't matter. If they are part of this kingdom, they will be part of this war."
Valren stepped forward and struck his chest with his fist. "At once, Your Majesty!"
"Lirya," said Etharell, turning to her, "establish contact with the Principality of Belmora and the Blackpine Tribes. We need them—but don't show weakness. Show resolve. They must know this kingdom still has a soul. Send gifts if necessary. If not gold, then knowledge. If not people, then hope."
Lirya bowed her head. "I will attend to it immediately, Your Majesty."
Then Etharell turned his gaze to Morell. "And you, my advisor... If this war can be won through diplomacy, then I'm willing to strengthen the royal line through marriage.If it can be arranged that I marry someone strong, let's start negotiations. But know this:
Whoever dares to claim someone from this palace must first fear our sword—then seek our friendship."
Morell nodded slowly. "Those are not the words of a king, Your Majesty. They are the words of a true leader."
Just then, the door to the council chamber opened quietly. A young guard stepped in, his face pale, his voice laced with unease.
"Your Majesty… News from the watchmen. Imperial banners have been sighted in the northeastern valley. Estimated to be ten days away."
The room froze again. This was the final warning. War was now at the gates.
Etharell closed his eyes for a few seconds, lost in thought. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. He looked each person in the eye, then spoke a single sentence:
"We have ten days. In ten days, we will either perform a miracle—or give them corpses to build their towers with."
And thus began what could very well be the final ten days of the Kingdom of Tannurad.
Lord Reginald and Lord Matthias, however, did not look at all pleased with the outcome of the meeting.
------
After leaving the chamber, Etharell took a deep breath and walked toward his room as calmly as he could.
Being a king—especially the king of such a weak nation—was far more difficult than he had imagined. A few times, he even feared he had nearly exposed the fact that he wasn't truly the original Etharell. But luckily, there had been no problems so far.
Acting like a king was more stressful than he had expected.
When Etharell reached his room, he slowly closed the door behind him. He pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall, letting a bit of his tension slip out. In the silence, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing.
He couldn't help but wonder:
*Why had he been reincarnated into this world?*
Had he earned a second chance, or was there another reason?
Or perhaps some unseen rule—something even modern science in his previous world couldn't predict—had pulled him here.
Maybe it had all been a coincidence. Maybe some god had pitied his miserable old life and granted him another shot.
Or maybe none of those things were true. Perhaps there was a completely different reason behind it all.
But if there was a more important question, it was this:
*Why this body in particular?*
Why had he been reborn as the new king of a small and fragile kingdom?
Was there some purpose or mission meant for him?
Etharell shook his head sharply and decided to push these thoughts away—for now.
He lifted his gaze and walked to the window.
Beyond the stone walls, the darkness of night stretched endlessly. One of the high palace towers glowed faintly in the distance.
Even the stars tonight seemed colder, more distant.
He knew little about this world, but he was certain of one thing: in the final ten days of the Kingdom of Tannurad, he would need to become something more than just a king.
He might not know the reason behind his reincarnation—but he wasn't going to waste this life.
Suddenly, a soft knock came at the door.
Etharell narrowed his eyes, listening closely. He drew in a breath, straightened his posture, and steadied his voice.
"Come "
The door opened quietly, and Lirya stepped inside.
Her dark chestnut hair spilled over her shoulders, like a shadow belonging to the night itself.
She held a bundle of papers in her hand, but her eyes searched for his.
"Your Majesty," she said in a quiet yet resolute tone. "All necessary envoys have been dispatched. The Principality of Belmora may be willing to respond, but hearing from the Blackpine Tribes will take longer."
Etharell nodded. "Understood. Time is short, but we can still change things."
"Do you have any other orders, Your Majesty?" she asked, bowing her head slightly.
"No… only that by tomorrow, I want a full report on this city. Soldier count, supply levels, wall conditions, trade activity, population status—everything you can think of."
Lirya bowed respectfully. "As you command, Your Majesty. I'll deliver everything to your chambers at first light."
For a moment, her eyes lingered on Etharell's. Then she offered a graceful bow, stepped back, and quietly closed the door behind her.
Silence returned to the room.
Etharell stood at the window for a while longer.
Below, the palace courtyard was cloaked in darkness. Only a few flickering lanterns cast trembling lights onto the stone walls. He felt a subtle ache inside him—a quiet melancholy.
He had never looked at a view like this in his past life. He had no palace, no war... just a past filled with loneliness, regret, and mediocrity.
But now… now he had a kingdom in his hands.
Fragile, perhaps. On the brink of collapse, maybe. But still standing.
And he… he was its king.
"Acting like a king isn't easy... But chance did not bring into this world to me. Maybe it's time I stop acting like one—and start learning what it means to truly be a king."
That quiet whisper to himself reignited the fire of determination within him.
He took a deep breath, stepped away from the window, and sat at his desk.
He unrolled an old map that lay there.
The parchment's edges were worn, but the borders were still clear.
The direction from which the enemy would come was obvious.
But Etharell wasn't just reading the borders—he was reading the possibilities.
Belmora might not leave a plea unanswered. It had always looked upon Tannurad with a degree of sympathy, though it was a principality driven by its interests.
If they showed resolve and offered something valuable in return, they might provide support.
But nothing was certain.
The Blackpine Tribes were a different challenge altogether.
They lived far away, on the island of Bor beyond the sea—a warrior people bound tightly to their traditions.
Diplomacy did not easily sway them, but if they became allies in battle, they would be loyal to the death.
Still, to secure alliances with either of them, Etharell first had to successfully defend his own city.
His eyes turned to a large, precisely drawn city map hanging on the wall behind him—one nearly to scale.
Etharell studied it carefully.
The castle walls, the four main gates, the inner fortifications, the supply depots, the strategic towers…
Everything lay before him. And yet, the plan was still unclear.
The enemy was vast. They were few.
But being few didn't always mean defeat.
Especially not when a plan was beginning to form in Etharell's mind.