Deus Necros Chapter 734: War Council

"We’ve been put in a tough spot, Damra, how many able bodies do we have?" Ludwig asked.

The words cut through the last remnants of warmth like a blade dragged across stone. A mont ago, Damra had been a host, horn in hand, laughter on his tongue, surrounded by a crowd that pretended tomorrow was optional.

Now the sa bonfire that had felt comforting looked like a war council’s center, and the shadows around the torchline felt closer, as if the mountain itself was leaning in to listen.

Damra hesitated. A second ago, he was drinking, among peers, and now the fog of war was approaching.

It wasn’t fear that made him pause. It was the quick ntal pivot, how fast a leader had to shed comfort and pick up responsibility.

His eyes swept the settlent once, counting without moving his lips: who could lift steel, who could carry, who would freeze when blood spilled. The pause was short, but Ludwig noticed it anyway.

A leader who didn’t pause before a war was a fool.

"I doubt any Ogre is scared enough to have a taste of blood, is that right, Brothers?!"

Damra’s voice rose, not as a shout for drama, but as a bell rung on purpose. He wasn’t asking a question. He was lighting a fuse. His shoulders squared, and the crowd reacted the way crowds always did when a strong voice offered them a role.

"AYE!" the majority of the ogres cheered.

The response ca thick and heavy, dozens of throats answering at once. Even the ogres who had earlier watched Ludwig with folded arms answered now, so loudly, so out of pride, so because refusing in front of their own tribe would brand them more deeply than any slave mark.

"Orc fight! Orc want glory! Orc Fight!" The orcs seed to be quite enthusiastic about this sudden change of events.

The orcs didn’t need persuasion. They needed direction. Their fists hit chests, weapons were lifted, and a few already looked like they wanted to sprint straight out of the safe lands to et the Red King halfway, as if impatience itself was courage.

"We’ll also join," so of the lizardn replied.

Their agreent wasn’t as loud. It ca with stiff backs and wary eyes, but it ca. A few tails twitched with nervous energy, and Ludwig saw Akro’s presence anchoring them; if the champion stood, the rest could stand too.

"I can’t stay here and just do nothing; at least we should repay the debt of being hosted here," a couple of Goblins said.

The goblins’ words carried the sharp honesty of people who knew they weren’t brave. They sounded like they were bargaining with fate: do the right thing now so the world doesn’t crush you later. Ludwig didn’t mock it. Fear could still produce action. Action was what mattered.

"Troll fight! Troll eat!"

The trolls were blissfully uncomplicated. The thought of blood and at braided together in their minds like it was the sa thing. Ludwig filed them under useful, dangerous, and difficult to keep disciplined.

"Good, after doing a quick count of how many we can mobilize, we’ll need to start planning our defenses first, Kaiser. How many can you send our way?" Ludwig said.

He didn’t look at the crowd when he said it; his eyes went distant for a mont, attention flicking inward toward the crystal and the invisible network Kaiser had already woven across the plains. This was the point where being "king" stopped being a title and beca logistics.

"Right now, it’s difficult, but give one day. Survive for one day, and I’ll co assist you."

Kaiser’s voice ca through with that maddening calm, like asking soone to survive a day was the sa as asking them to fetch water. Still, Ludwig knew the constraints: distance, travel ti, tribes needing coercion, undead needing direction. One day was fast, even for Kaiser.

Ludwig couldn’t say much; the lizardn settlent was pretty far from here, so they’ll need ti to gather resources and get here." Good, we’ll hold on until then."

He didn’t argue. Arguing didn’t make hours longer. He simply accepted the tiline and turned it into a requirent. Hold one day. That was manageable. Manageable was a comforting lie, but it was the only kind of lie worth telling in war.

Ludwig turned to Damra, "You have a map of this mountain?"

He asked it like a man already building a killbox in his head. The mountain had already proven one thing: it killed things at night without asking permission. If they could shape where the Red King’s army walked when night fell, they could turn that hostility into a weapon.

"We have everything, Dedal. Please bring in the maps and the logs of the Holy Mountain."

Damra’s authority snapped outward, and Dedal moved imdiately, shoulders tense, grief still hanging in him but shoved aside by urgency. The na "Holy Mountain" landed strangely now. Ludwig watched how so of the ogres touched their horns or chests at the phrase, as if superstition still clung even when war was imminent.

"The logs?" Ludwig asked.

He didn’t like surprises in the middle of planning. Logs ant history, instructions, soone else’s handwriting shaping their options. It could be useful, or it could be another trap.

"You’ll understand once you see them," he said.

Damra’s tone made it clear: these weren’t casual records. They were sothing the ogres treated like inheritance, sothing they didn’t fully understand but respected because it kept them alive.

After a bit of ti, Damra arrived with a bunch of scrolls and papers that he spread on top of the circular table around the bonfire.

The table that had been for feasting beca a war desk. Greasy plates were pushed aside. Half-eaten at was scraped away without ceremony. Damra unrolled the first scroll with careful hands, flattening corners with the weight of his palms. The paper slled old, of smoke, oil, and ti.

"This is the mountain, and this is where we are," Damra said.