Isaac didn't move. Didn't flinch.
Then he spoke, voice low and flat, calm, but heavy, like a storm on the horizon.
"I buried monsters way much stronger than you. Without a shovel."
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
"If you think class makes a warrior… you haven't bled enough."
The air thinned. The younger commanders exchanged stiff glances. Even Marvik's smirk faltered for half a second, barely, but Isaac saw it.
Then he walked past him, straight to the war table, and looked down at the untouched maps like he already owned the battlefield.
"How many retreated?" he asked, not looking up.
One of the younger commanders cleared his throat. "From the fortress? Less than three thousand. Scattered."
"Then gather them."
He set the wooden piece down and hard, right in the heart of the map.
