The Villainess is my fiance: But she is gentle towards me-Chapter 225 -: There is no plan.

Inside the large tent, the air felt heavy. About a hundred high-ranking soldiers stood or sat in neat rows.

Most were captains, and at least five of them were swordmasters, men and women whose skill with the blade made others whisper their names with respect.

In front, four vice-generals sat on sturdy wooden chairs.

Eliza and Vincen were already well-known to everyone.

The other two were new faces, but their calm eyes and straight backs showed they belonged here.

All four had reached the middle stage of swordmaster.

Higher up on a raised platform stood three important men.

Duke Vined D. Zenithara sat in the center, tall and serious.

Next to him was his son, Vivian D. Zenithara.

On the other side sat Duke Kamesh Sant. The soldiers could see the family clearly, Vivian had his father Vined’s sharp eyes and straight nose, but his strong jaw and wide forehead came from his mother Elena, which made him look so much like his grandfather, Duke Sant.

Every soldier in the tent looked at the three men with deep respect. No one dared speak.

The only sounds were soft breathing and the faint rustle of armor.

After a long, quiet moment, Duke Kamesh Sant slowly stood up.

He cleared his throat once. All eyes turned to him.

"Everyone," he began in a deep, steady voice, "it has been seven long years since this war started."

He paused and looked slowly around the tent.

He saw tired eyes, scarred faces, and shoulders that carried too much weight for too long.

"I know you are all exhausted. Many of you have lost friends, family, sleep, and hope at times. The battles never seem to end."

His voice grew a little stronger.

"But listen to me carefully. Just because we have not taken the north in these seven years does not mean we never will."

"It only means the price has been high... and the enemy is strong. That is all."

He let the words sink in. Some captains nodded slowly.

A few swordmasters tightened their grips on their sword hilts.

"This coming battle," Duke Sant continued, "will be our greatest test yet. The hardest one. But I believe, truly believe, that this time we will break through. This time we will finish this war."

He took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling.

Then he turned his head toward his grandson.

"Vivian," he said gently but firmly, "you should explain the plan from here."

Duke Sant gave a small nod and sat back down.

His face stayed calm, but the lines around his eyes showed both pride and worry as he looked at Vivian.

The whole tent stayed silent again.

Every soldier waited, eyes fixed on the young man who now stood up slowly.

Vivian gave his grandfather a short, respectful nod.

He stood up slowly, his boots making a soft thud on the wooden platform.

For a moment, he just stood there, letting his eyes move across the tent.

He didn’t know most of these faces personally.

But his father had prepared him well.

Duke Vined had sat with him yesterday, describing the important people one by one, their strengths, their habits etc.

Because of that, Vivian could now match names to faces without asking.

His gaze stopped first on the woman sitting in the front row of vice-generals.

She had short-cropped hair, a long scar running down her left cheek, and shoulders that looked strong enough to break shields.

Her fierce eyes stared straight ahead, sharp and unblinking.

That was Vice General Eliza. Everyone knew her story.

She had been here from the very first day of the war, refusing to leave even when wounds should have sent her home.

She led like a storm, fast, fierce, and never afraid to charge first.

Many said she was the strongest swordmaster still fighting on this front.

Next to her sat a tall man with gray streaks in his beard and calm, steady hands resting on the pommel of his sword.

Vice General Vincen. His reputation was different from Eliza’s.

He didn’t shout or rush into battle. Instead, he waited, watched, then struck exactly where the enemy was weakest.

Over the years, he had cut down more Tramplin soldiers than anyone could count.

His battalion had turned losing fights into victories more times than people could remember.

Soldiers called him "the silent blade" behind his back.

Vivian’s eyes moved further back.

He picked out other faces his father had told him about.

The captain with the missing two fingers always fought better with one hand than most men did with two.

The older swordmaster’s laugh could fill a tent, but his sword never missed.

The young captain’s unit had fought alone for three full days.

He knew their strengths.

He knew their tempers.

He knew who argued too much and who followed orders without question.

And with all that knowledge sitting in his mind, he had built a plan.

A plan to finally break the great wall the Tramplins had held for seven years.

Vivian took one deep breath.

The tent stayed completely quiet.

Every captain, every swordmaster, every vice-general waited for him to speak.

He stepped forward half a step and raised his voice just enough to reach the back of the tent.

"Everyone," he began, clear and steady,

"Duke Sant is right. This battle will decide everything. But we are not going to charge the wall the same way we always have. That time is over."

He paused, letting the words settle.

Vivian took a sharp breath. His voice came out clear and firm.

"The plan is... we won’t have one this time."

The words dropped like a stone into still water.

In an instant, every face in the tent changed.

Eyes widened. Mouths tightened. Some captains leaned back in surprise.

Others leaned forward, frowning. Vice General Vincen’s calm expression cracked just a little, one eyebrow lifted.

Eliza’s cheek twitched again, but this time it wasn’t the start of a smile.

A low murmur started at the back of the tent, then died quickly. No one dared speak out loud yet.

Vice General Eliza raised her hand.

Her arm moved slow and steady, like she was giving him a chance to take the words back.

"Yes, Vice General Eliza," Vivian said right away.

His voice stayed polite, almost gentle. He had no rank here, not captain, not general, nothing.

He only had his strength and his name.

But even without that, he would have spoken to her the same way.

This woman had earned every bit of respect in the room. "Do you have a question?"

"Yes," Eliza said. Her voice was strong but careful, the way a sword stays sharp without cutting the air.

"From what you just said, about not having any plan, do we just... rush in?"

She didn’t sound angry. She sounded worried.

And Vivian understood why.

You couldn’t tell thousands of tired, battle-worn soldiers to charge a wall with no orders, no formation, no signals.

That wasn’t bravery. That was slaughter.

Chaos on the field meant bodies piled high and no one left to win.

The captains and vice-generals exchanged quick, unsure glances.

A few shook their heads slightly, as if waiting for Vivian to explain that he didn’t mean it that way.

Vivian met Eliza’s eyes straight on. He didn’t look away.

"We will rush in," he said simply.

He paused. The tent went dead quiet again. Someone in the back let out a short, nervous breath.

"But this time," Vivian continued, "all of you will be led by... Duke Vined."

He almost said "father." The word sat on his tongue for half a second before he swallowed it.

Instead, he used the title everyone else used. It felt safer in this room full of soldiers.

He turned his head slightly toward the platform where his father sat.

Duke Vined D. Zenithara hadn’t moved.

His face stayed calm, but his fingers rested lightly on the arm of his chair.

Vivian looked back at the room.

"Duke Vined will give the real orders once the fight begins. He knows every one of you. He knows how you fight, how your units move, what you can do when things turn bad." He let the words hang for a moment.

Eliza lowered her hand slowly. Her eyes narrowed, thinking.

Vincen gave a small, almost invisible nod, like he was starting to see it.

Vivian took one more breath.

"That’s why there is no plan from me. Because the moment we step onto that field, the plan ends.

This plan was not made by him.

Yesterday, the three men had sat together and talked about what they should do next. The Tramplins had five Grandmasters. Five.

The plan they made was strong and clear. His father and grandfather had come up with it long ago.

However they lacked two Grandmasters for this plan.

But now, today, things were different.

This time, they would not hesitate.

"We will make sure to end this."