Chapter 91: Before the War

The heavy frosted-glass doors closed with a soft click. The footsteps of Vance and the three guests faded down the long hallway.

Inside the dining room, the mess cooks finished clearing the empty dishes and hurried out through a side door. Only John and the silver-haired elf remained.

John let out a long, heavy breath and slumped back into his leather chair. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, feeling the tiredness of the last few days catching up to him. Managing an entire military expansion, reviewing logistics, and planning an invasion was exhausting.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him.

Elenore walked up quietly. She placed her slender, warm hands on his shoulders. With firm, practiced fingers, she began kneading the stiff muscles near his neck.

"You let them walk away," Elenore said softly. Her voice was smooth and calm, carrying just a hint of playful teasing. "Two summoned heroes and an imperial officer. You had them right inside your command center, unarmed and surrounded by guards. A single order and they would have vanished into the sea. Why let enemies leave freely?"

John closed his eyes, leaning his head back slightly into her gentle touch.

"Because doing that is just dirty," John answered plainly. "I don’t play like that."

"Dirty?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. Her thumbs pressed into a knot near his shoulder blade. "This is war, John. They threw you down a hole to be eaten by monsters. Mercy to heroes who side with the enemy seems like a foolish risk."

"It’s not about mercy," John said, opening his eyes and looking out the window at the harbor. "It’s about standards. I invited them here under a flag of truce to give them a fair choice. If I invite people to my office, feed them lunch, and then shoot them in the back of the head when they say no, then I’m no better than the corrupt priests in the capital. That’s bush-league garbage. I have principles."

Elenore leaned down slightly, her long silver hair brushing lightly against his cheek. Her sharp amethyst eyes held a mischievous gleam.

"Always so noble," she teased quietly into his ear, her hands moving down to massage his upper arms. "Even when you have enough firepower to blow their continent into tiny pebbles."

"Principles keep an army from turning into a mob of bandits," John replied with a dry chuckle. "Besides, those two aren’t an immediate threat. Miyuki is a healer who hates fighting, and Ayanokoji only cares about keeping himself alive so he can get back to Tokyo. Letting them go doesn’t hurt our plans at all. In fact, sending Captain Daniel back with my exact words will cause panic among their leadership."

Elenore hummed softly, nodding in agreement as she continued rubbing his shoulders. She paused for a second, her expression turning more curious.

"So," she said, leaning over his shoulder to look at his face. "When the forty-eight hours are up and the operation begins... will I be on the assault team? You know, the first wave entering the imperial coastal fortresses?"

John laughed out loud. It was a short, genuine chuckle that made her stop massaging.

"No," John said firmly, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

Elenore pulled her hands back and crossed her arms over her charcoal-gray blazer. Her lips pressed into a small, visible pout.

"Why not?" she asked, clearly annoyed. "You spent months training me. You taught me modern special operations, room clearing, close-quarters combat, and how to use suppressed pistols. My marksmanship scores during live-fire drills were higher than half of your Marine scouts. I can drop a target from two hundred meters in complete darkness without making a sound."

John turned around in his chair to face her, looking up with an amused grin.

"I taught you all those tactics so you could be my personal bodyguard," John explained, pointing a finger at her. "Your job is to protect me from unwanted threats, stealth assassins, and hidden magic. Your job is to stay right next to me and make sure no one slips through the perimeter."

"I can do both," she grumbled, her pointed ears twitching slightly. "I can clear out a palace, take down their high mages, and be back before dinner."

"You don’t need to go in," John said, his voice dropping into a calmer, more practical tone. "I have dedicated units for that kind of work. Navy SEALs, Marine Raiders, and Delta operators. That is literally what they live and breathe for every single day, and they are damn good at it. They have the team training, the radios, and the air support. I’m not sending my personal bodyguard to kick down doors in an imperial city when I have hundreds of professional operators ready to do it."

Elenore held her pout for a moment longer, staring down at him. But seeing his calm, steady expression, she let out a quiet sigh and dropped her arms.

"Fine," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I will stay here and watch you drink coffee and stare at radar screens. How exciting."

"Good girl," John joked, earning a playful glare from her amethyst eyes.

Elenore turned her head toward the wide window, looking past the gray carrier toward the distant green mountains of the western mainland. Her mood shifted, becoming more serious.

"What about the Ironclaw tribe?" she asked. "They lost entire families when that Solarian fleet landed on their shores. They saw their villages burned and their pups put in iron cages. They want blood, John. Are you going to let them join the assault?"

John looked down at the dark mahogany table, his expression hardening. He shook his head slowly.

"No," John replied. "Not for this initial push."

Elenore looked back at him, surprised. "They are fierce fighters. They know how Solarians fight, and their morale is through the roof. Having their warriors alongside our frontline troops would boost their spirits. Don’t you want to give them their revenge?"

"Revenge isn’t a military strategy," John said coldly. "There are phases to everything."

"Phases?" she asked, leaning against the edge of the table. "What kind of phases?"

"Phase one is pure modern air and naval dominance," John answered, keeping his words simple and flat. "We are going to hit their coastal radar, their watchtowers, their docks, and their dragon pens with precision airstrikes and cruise missiles. If I put hundreds of angry beastkin on the beachhead right now, they’ll just get in the way of our close air support and artillery fire. A modern combined-arms assault requires strict coordination. An emotional charge of tribal warriors with axes would just turn into a chaotic mess."

"And after the initial strike?" Elenore pressed.

"Maybe in the future," John said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once we break the empire’s main army, secure the landing zones, and set up proper logistics corridors, we can talk about bringing native units in for stabilization or local defense. But right now, this is a clean, surgical operation run entirely by my forces. Everything has an order, Elenore. We do this step by step."

Elenore looked at him for a long moment, studying the cold confidence in his blue eyes. She knew better than to push him when he spoke in that tone. When John made up his mind about operational timelines, nothing in the world could move him.

"Understood, Commander," she said softly, dropping the playful tone entirely and standing straight like a disciplined soldier.