163. War For Jola’s Honor Part 7

Ravenna turned to face him, her eyes sharp. “We need to identify the commanding officer of their lead ship,” she said, voice measured but firm. “Everything hinges on who’s making the decisions over there.”

“If it’s a high-ranking official,” she continued, walking slowly toward the center of the map table, “we need to know.”

Hughes, standing to her right, nodded and picked up where she left off. “In that case, we board the ship directly and try to find Edward Jola, we either kidnap him… or kill him.” His voice was blunt, the weight of war leaving little room for diplomacy.

He paused briefly, eyeing the room, then added, “But if the fleet is under the command of a low-ranking officer, things change. They’ll likely fight to the bitter end, because they’re hungry for recognition. But if we remove Edward Jola, it removes their official justification for attacking Kim City.”

“That’s right,” Ravenna said, a rare smile touching her lips as she leaned over the map. The faint sunlight flickered against the contours of her face, casting her features in soft gold. Around her, the others nodded, Alice, John, and Hughes, each experienced enough to understand the unspoken nuance of court politics and military structure.

But toward the back of the room, Sarah and Nillie looked uncertain.

“W-why is that?” Sarah asked, clutching her notebook. Her voice was small but curious. “Shouldn’t a high-ranking official be more likely to push forward? I mean… wouldn’t they want to recover Edward Jola even more desperately?”

“Not necessarily,” John replied, folding his arms as he stepped forward. “If the commander is someone high up the imperial chain, they’re probably already frustrated that they’ve been assigned here in the first place.”

Hughes nodded. “Think about it. Right now, the Empire is bracing for war with Conley. Every general and knight worth their salt wants to be on that front. It’s where glory and advancement lie. But instead, our mystery commander has been sent to this far-flung, sea-locked dukedom to fight a battle over some absurd claim about ‘ancestral honor.’”

He tapped the map for emphasis. “No one in the imperial court truly cares about Edward Jola’s bruised ego. They all know this pretext is manufactured, thin justification for a military move by Prince Nolan.”

John added, “A high-ranking officer will see through it. They’ll want this assignment wrapped up quickly so they can request a transfer to the real battlefield. If we eliminate Edward Jola, and the reason for war collapses, they’ll have the excuse they need to disengage without risking their reputation.”

“But,” Hughes said, pointing to a different scenario on the map, “if the commanding officer is low-ranking, a captain or junior commander—they’ll likely see this battle as their one shot at glory. If they were sent to the Canley front, they’d just be another name buried in the reserves. Here, they have a chance to command ships, issue orders, and maybe even take a city.”

John stepped in again. “So even if we take out Jola and destroy the legal cause for the war, they might keep fighting, not for duty, but for their career.”

Sarah and Nillie nodded slowly, the pieces clicking into place. “I… I understand now,” Sarah said.

Ravenna moved back to the table, placing a figurine representing their strike force beside the enemy fleet markers. “We’ll deploy our fog barrier, unmanned ships, and flamethrowers. While their main force is held at sea at all three fronts, a small team will breach the fog under cover and board the leading vessel. Their objective is simple: confirm the commanding officer’s identity, and if possible, capture or neutralize Edward Jola.”

“The official justification for this war,” she continued, “is the renaming of the dukedom—from ‘Jola’ to ‘Kim.’ The official claim is that I damaged the historical and ancestral honor of House Jola. Once Edward is removed from the equation, their legal standing crumbles.”

“But,” John interjected, “if it’s a low-ranking officer, they might still push forward. Not out of obligation, but for ambition. They’ll claim they’re rescuing or avenging Edward Jola to secure a victory on their record.”

“And that’s where timing matters,” Alice said, her tone firm. “Once our hired mercenary fleet arrives—they’ll become witnesses to the conflict. The moment they set eyes on Edward Jola’s absence and the broken justification for war, the imperial side will lose its right to continue fighting. Even an ambitious officer can’t keep going once he fears that mercenary testimony might reach the court.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, they nodded.

A rough outline of the plan was now in place.

Ravenna stepped back, eyes flicking across the table—battlefield pieces glinting under the sunlight, the sea routes traced in delicate ink, and the weight of lives balanced on decisions yet to be made.

Then, the silence shattered.

The heavy door swung open with force.

“Master! Master!” came a familiar voice, breathless and sharp.

Marie burst into the room, her brown curls slightly disheveled from the run. Behind her followed Dame Aisha, stoic but quick, her armored boots echoing across the stone floor.

Ravenna turned instantly. “What is it?”

Marie stepped forward and held out a scroll bearing the imperial seal of Ancorna, the wax freshly cracked. Her voice quivered with restrained urgency.

“An official Declaration of Territorial War has arrived. It bears the Empire’s seal—this is real. The countdown has begun.”

Then Ravenna nodded, her expression like carved granite. “So they’ve made their move.”

Imperial Palace, Ancorna Capital City, Ancorna Empire

In a shaded corner of the Verdant Terrace Garden, nestled within the inner palace walls, Princess Serena Solarius satalone beneath the gentle sway of flowering silk trees. Rain had passed earlier, leaving the air thick with petrichor and the scent of blooming jasmine. The garden was designed for privacy—screened off from the main wings of the palace by curved glass and climbing vines, a hidden jewel for imperial solitude.

A small table of white marble stood before her, delicate writing tools laid out in order. Serena, poised and regal in a deep indigo gown with silver embroidery, dipped her quill into the inkpot and signed her name on the bottom of a handwritten letter. Her eyes were tired—sharp, but dimmed with disappointment.

Across from her stood a middle-aged man in traveling clothes, his posture respectful, his eyes lowered as he waited.

Without looking up, Serena folded the parchment with care, sealing it with her personal sigil—a crescent sun intertwined with a wand. She handed the letter to the man.

“Deliver this to King Julian of Hilde” she said, her voice smooth, clipped, and heavy with unspoken resentment. “Tell him I can no longer keep watch over Prince Nolan.”

The man accepted the letter with both hands. “Your Highness?”

Serena’s gaze flicked toward the distant courtyard, where the morning breeze danced through polished stone corridors and the faint laughter of courtiers drifted like ghosts.

“I did everything I could,” she said. “I tried to keep him near, where I could steer his ambition quietly as King Julian asked me.”

She stood slowly, her expression one of quiet betrayal. “But he just… left.”

She stepped past the servant and paused.

“Tell King Julian,” she said, her voice like the first breath of a storm, “I have honored my half of the bargain. If he values our accord, he will do the same.”

The man bowed deeply. “It will be done, Your Highness.”

And with that, he turned and departed through the vine-covered archway, leaving Serena alone among the scent of rain and silent trees.

Read 12+ Advance Chapter by becoming a Patron: 164. Kim City’s First War Part 1: Ships on The Horizon