It can be seen that Hadrian has his own plan. To be more precise, he had already made his decision to defect the moment he got the news about the war.

It’s just that the Hagen family move faster than him.

Therefore, Hadrian will not wholeheartedly contribute to Van’s plan.

Thus, while the noble keenly listened to Van’s plan, Hadrian was thinking of withdrawing from this crumbling nation.

At the same time, Van did not perceive Hadrian’s change of loyalty and was busy explaining his plan.

"First, we consolidate what remains of our forces. No more scattered battalions guarding every insignificant village. We cannot afford to waste men on meaningless skirmishes. Every soldier we still have must be pulled back to the central line."

He tapped the map where several key towns formed a rough crescent.

"These small towns will serve as our new defensive bulwark. They are strategically located and close enough to supply routes that we can maintain them. If we lose them..." His finger paused over the map. "...then it won’t matter what else we try. The rest will crumble like sand."

Van felt helpless. There isn’t much he can do. His battle arrangement can be said to be the final push.

Either they win or they perish.

"Second, the chain of command will be restructured. Too many officers are dead, missing, or holed up in their estates pretending the war isn’t at their doorstep. That ends today. Every surviving house will contribute officers and men to a unified command under my authority."

"Third," Van continued, "we secure our trade lines with the few ports still under our control. Without steady food and weapon shipments, the army will collapse within a month. I’ve already sent word to the remaining merchants. Any who refuse to cooperate will find their ships seized. Desperate times require desperate measures."

....

While Van Vernau was buried in maps and tirelessly working to devise a counteroffensive that might save what remained of Blande, far to the south, at the bustling Port of Bideford, another story quietly unfolded.

When the horizon was only beginning to blush with the first rays of sunlight, a steel-hulled ship slowly departed from the port, leaving ripples across the glassy surface of the water as it slid northward.

It bore no visible flag, no bright insignia declaring its allegiance.

The ship did not chart a direct course toward Blande.

Instead, once the coast faded behind them, the helmsman turned the wheel east, guiding the vessel into a quieter, less-travelled route that hugged the edges of Barlia’s territorial waters.

To reach the so-called Land of Ice, one must pass through a narrow strait that Barlia half-controlled.

And because the ship needed to go around Barlia, Riz had made his intentions clear before the ship departed: this expedition was to proceed in absolute silence.

After all, Ryntum had been too high profile lately. The relationship between Barlia and Ryntum is not that close either.

It had always been... delicate.

They weren’t outright enemies, but they weren’t allies either.

Trade agreements existed, but mutual trust was thin, as fragile as ice on a thawing river.

Any sudden or unexplained activity near their waters could ignite questions that Riz find troublesome to answer.

By the time the steel ship reached the entrance of the strait, the change in climate was noticeable.

The once brisk sea breeze had turned biting, carrying with it a chill that clung to skin.

The crew pulled their coats tighter around themselves as their breath began to fog in the frigid air.

The waters here were littered with drifting shards of ice. Some are no larger than a fist, while others are the size of small houses.

Each impact of ice against the reinforced hull gave off a low, scraping groan, sending shivers down the crew’s spines.

The captain constantly shouted orders, while the helmsman turned the wheel cautiously, weaving the vessel through the treacherous waters like threading a needle.

No one dared to grow careless. A single misjudgment could wedge the ship against an iceberg.

Yet, for all its danger, the strait was a necessary passage.

To reach the Land of Ice, the vessel had to swing wide around Barlia’s eastern coast.

But before that, the crew had to make a brief stop at Leuphan’s northern coast.

There, the ship would take aboard Commander Sarika Klover, the woman whose insistence had sparked this entire expedition.

Riz throw all the problems on her.

Since she wanted to do it so badly, he let her lead the way. If she succeeds, the glory is hers. If she fails... well, the kingdom hasn’t lost anything irreplaceable.

As the steel vessel continued its slow crawl around the frigid waters north of Barlia, a sudden shout from the bow cut through the icy wind.

"Land ahead!"

The helmsman, who had been gripping the wheel with knuckles white from cold and tension, reacted instantly. He shifted the ship’s course, angling toward the coastline revealed through the haze.

The sea here was shallower and treacherous with hidden rocks, but compared to drifting icebergs, it was a welcome sight.

Gradually, the outlines of a small wooden port came into view. It was nothing like the bustling harbours of Bideford.

Instead, it was modest to the point of insignificance.

The weather-worn piers look like crooked fingers, unevenly extending into the water. The planks were warped in frost, and the pilings blackened by years of seaweed and brine.

This was a fishermen’s port, built for simple necessity. The village nearby relied on these for survival, launching their small boats into the bitter northern seas to haul in whatever the cold waters would yield.

The steel ship’s arrival shattered the monotony of this place.

Ignoring the stares from the fishermen, the crew busied themselves, guiding the ship toward the pier.

On the shore, Commander Sarika Klover was waiting eagerly for them, ready to step aboard and claim command of this voyage.

She turned to her escort and said briskly, "Come."