King Godfrey sat inside the stone-walled war bunker, surrounded by maps, relics, and grim-faced advisors.
The air inside was thick with tension as his generals and advisors murmured among themselves, their faces written with worry.
Then the iron doors flung open with a loud creak, and a young messenger, dirt-streaked and breathless, stumbled inside.
"Your Majesty!" The boy called, dropping on one knee. "The demon king's army—they've been defeated! They're retreating as we speak!"
A stunned silence fell over the room.
One of the generals, an old war veteran leaned forward in shock. "What did you just say, boy?"
"I said... they are fleeing!" the messenger panted, eyes wide. "The battle is over. We've won."
Murmurs erupted among the gathered nobles and military officers.
Advisors turned to one another, eyes wide, mouths agape. One man dropped his quill.
