The Lord: In Another World, I Have a Summoning Card !-Chapter 50: Shadows on the Northern Border
Gabriel’s response didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur. After all, Dougril had initially appeared cooperative, clearly stating that his only goal was to understand Gerom’s motives.
However, Arthur wasn’t naïve enough to ignore the possibility of ulterior motives—perhaps Dougril was simply trying to raise his own value to ensure his survival and avoid being easily discarded.
What troubled Arthur more, though, was Dougril’s nature as a warrior and a leader among the orcs, and the potential danger of him leaking tribal secrets while under the influence of an external party—especially if that party posed a direct threat to them.
Of course, his silence could also be an attempt to maintain his current worth, fearing that once his usefulness was exhausted, he would be discarded quickly.
Arthur spoke in a low but decisive tone: "We’ll see how long he can hold onto that."
He then looked at Idran and said, "Alright, you can continue with your tasks. I hope you succeed in what you’ve been asked to do." After that, he left the workshop to attend to the rest of his duties.
......
Far from the "Iron Fortress" guarded by Arthur, along the stretch of the northern border, stood the Northern Heimar Base—the most critical command center along the frontier. There, preparations were in full swing.
In the military conference hall—a place that had become a sanctuary for minds and a stage for crucial decisions—the regional leaders of the northern province had gathered to discuss recent developments.
The hall was spacious, lit by magical lamps resembling crystals, embedded into thick stone walls.
These expensive fixtures cast a brilliant light that threw soft shadows over the hanging maps and the topographic models scattered across black wooden tables—highlighting the most vulnerable regions of the border in meticulous detail.
The commanders sat in their seats, clad in their formal military attire adorned with various crests representing their noble houses.
The tables before them were cluttered with documents and strategic papers, including field reports and intelligence analyses.
The man seated at the head of the table was in his mid-forties, with a weathered face and thick white hair cascading down the sides of his helmet, which was adorned with silver ribbons.
His armor bore the emblem of House Kriman — the Silver Wolf — unmistakably identifying him as the current Duke of Kriman, known across the realm as the "Wolf of the North."
The duke scanned the faces of the gathered nobles with piercing eyes, then spoke in a firm tone as he examined each of them:
"You have all read the confidential reports collected by our spies... There’s something unnatural behind this sudden change in the orc leadership."
A heavy silence settled over the hall, thick with tension. No one needed an explanation — they all knew that what was happening wasn’t just a fleeting shift among the enemy ranks.
The orcs’ behavior had become alarmingly organized, and their combat strategies hinted at the guidance of a military mind — not merely a bloodthirsty tribal warlord.
Worry clouded the eyes of the commanders.
Although the reports indicated that the tide of the small border skirmishes was starting to shift in the kingdom’s favor, the apparent advantage did little to bring comfort — if anything, it deepened their unease.
"It’s true that the kingdom began its preparations weeks ago, enlisting nobles from various provinces to ease the pressure on the North. That allowed us to stabilize the defensive lines and secure a few victories...
But if the orcs’ true goal is to rally more tribes for an all-out assault, then the coming wave of pressure will be far more brutal."
He paused briefly, then turned toward the side wall, where a large map displayed the sharp terrain and narrow passes of the Eastern Province in meticulous detail.
"The Northern Province serves as the kingdom’s frontline base. If this threat continues to escalate, we won’t be able to rely solely on sending provisions and gold... We’ll have to deploy regular troops as well."
He took a deep breath, as if preparing them for the harsh reality ahead, then continued in a firmer voice:
"We must be ready for all possible scenarios. If the kingdom decides to proceed with the previously proposed counteroffensive plan, the number of troops required will range between one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers.And although the mobilization won’t happen all at once, the first wave — the reconnaissance force — will consist of no less than eighty thousand fighters."
A few murmurs rose among the seated officers, but they didn’t faze him. He calmly raised his hand, then continued in a steady tone:
"If early victories are achieved on the frontlines, and tangible signs emerge indicating that the lost territories can realistically be reclaimed, the next mobilization will happen automatically — and recruitment numbers will double without hesitation."
He then ended his statement with a voice heavy with concern:
"During the last full-scale war, after the collapse of the frontlines, the kingdom faced its darkest hour. The treasuries were emptied, severe emergency measures were enforced, and even half of the adult male population was thrown into battle.I don’t want us to relive that nightmare, but we must be prepared for every possibility."
He scanned the room with sharp eyes, then added with intensity:
"Sending in raw recruits — young men who’ve never set foot on a battlefield — is the same as handing the enemy our heads on a silver platter.This is a battle of life and death, and every delay in halting the orc advance comes at a steep price."
He slammed his palm on the table and declared in a commanding tone:
"We must not make the same mistake again!"
Then, raising his voice slightly, he swept his gaze across the room:
Then he raised his voice slightly, sweeping his gaze across the attendees:
"I summoned you today for one reason: I want each of you to expand the scope of armament as much as possible and improve the efficiency of training. We need the largest number of elite soldiers before the war breaks out. The regular army alone is no longer enough. Even former peasants and commoners are now obligated to participate in military training. Prepare for the worst-case scenarios."
After finishing his words, the duke turned his eyes toward the man seated at his right — who had been silent throughout the discussion — with a look that signaled it was now his turn to speak.
This time, it was the Supreme Commander of the Royal Army who rose — the only non-local noble in the room — General Ronald Yavsel.
He stood at the front of the hall, tall and composed, his chin raised, sharp eyes scanning the faces of those present without blinking. He raised his hand in silence, and a hush quickly fell over the room.
He sighed slightly, then pulled a sealed document from inside his coat:
"Following the latest report, His Majesty the King has issued a classified order: from this moment on, the kingdom will fully reinforce its support of the northern battlefield. More citizens will be mobilized to join the ranks of the army, and we must confront the orc invasion with all the strength and resolve we possess."
He then added in a low voice, yet one brimming with authority and gravitas:
"It is not enough to simply prepare for war. You must also urge your subordinate lords and knights — those not present here — to immediately expand their forces and brace for scenarios that may prove disastrous. This order is confidential, and no one is permitted to leak it under any circumstances. I don’t care about the means — what matters to me is the result: when war breaks out, I want an army ready to fight... not just numbers filling out reports."
Duke Krayman paused for a moment, then delivered his final statement in a tone that brooked no argument. A heavy silence fell over the hall, so thick that even the sound of breathing became audible:
"You all know this is an existential war... a clash of races. There is no room here for negotiation or mercy. The relationships between intelligent races are governed by the law of the jungle — and the loser forfeits the right to remain in the hierarchy of power."
His words sank into the room like blades.
Some of those present shuddered involuntarily, their expressions tightening with visible tension. The mood shifted dramatically — what was once casual silence turned into rigid stillness, a mix of shock and steeled resolve.
Even those who had kept their eyes on the ground lifted their heads with unease, as though realizing they now stood before an irreversible decision.
Though it sounded like a mere execution of a classified royal decree, the truth ran far deeper. The very fact that Duke Krayman had been allowed to present this order here, in this particular hall, before the kingdom’s top commanders, was proof that the major powers within the realm had already discussed and agreed on the matter.
This was more than a royal command — it was a clear signal of a shift toward a full-scale national emergency.
Whether this plan would be enacted or not, the mere fact that preparations were being made was terrifying in itself.
It meant that if a major defeat were to occur at the frontlines, the Kingdom of Alon would not hesitate to declare full mobilization.
The young, the strong, even those who had not completed a week of training — they would be armed and sent to the front.
In wars of race, there is no third option... it’s kill or be killed.
One of the attendees, a man in his fifties with a neatly trimmed beard and weary features etched by years of service, took a deliberate step forward.
His dark attire, embroidered with silver threads, marked him as one of the regional rulers — his identity: Earl Biestov.
In a heavy voice and a realistic tone tinged with caution, he said:
"Your Excellency, we will carry out His Majesty’s orders without hesitation. But involving everyone in the training will come at a steep cost. I’m not just talking about money... I mean food, time, and even the additional soldiers needed for supervision and organization."
He hesitated for a moment, then continued with a sharper tone as he glanced at the faces of some of the nobles present:
"Unlike those who were summoned here by conscription from across the kingdom, our families in the northern province do not have the luxury of resources. We’re already on the brink of collapse... We’ve been suffering for years from orc incursions, and our food reserves are scarce. We cannot bear further burdens, even if we grit our teeth through the pain."
A soft cough came from one of the corners, but Earl Biestov ignored it and continued, his blunt honesty thickening the tension in the air:
"The northern province is the first line of defense against the orc army. Our human losses are high every year, and we’re barely able to compensate for them thanks to two things: the high fertility of our people — with each family having an average of six to seven children — and the resettlement policies that encourage people from other regions to move in."
