Her Graceful War Song novel Chapter 1294

At the Southern Frontier, Oliver could scarcely sit still. He hadn't expected Sandoria's army to really arrive, yet here they were. The letter from the Spencer family had been true.

300,000 soldiers were marching in, their advance relentless. Over the past few days, Oliver had been discussing strategy with Timothy and the others. They didn't seem overly concerned.

"Let them come. We'll fight," they said, their confidence bolstering Oliver, though it didn't ease his mind entirely.

However, the battle ahead would be brutal. Once the fighting became fierce, Oliver knew he wouldn't be able to stay in Redstone Manor, issuing orders from a safe distance.

And even more troubling: Did Timothy and the others truly have the strength to win? The Sinclair Army and Hell Monarch Army had long been unruly and difficult to control. On top of that, they had spent the past two years focused more on farming than military drills. If it came down to an actual fight, he believed their chances of victory weren't very high.

Oliver ran his hand over his leg, lingering on his knee that ached every time it rained. A jagged scar ran down his thigh—a reminder of how close he had come to losing that leg on the battlefield. After spending months recovering in the capital, he could now walk without limping, but it still wasn't easy.

He still remembered the feeling of being close to death on the battlefield. Everyone was blinded by bloodlust, exhausted in body and mind. Lifting the heavy saber felt like an impossible task, and his arms ached as if they weren't even his own.

His armor had been too heavy for him to escape from an enemy ambush. If not for the intervention of others, his neck would have been cut by the enemy's sword.

Of course, Oliver was a marshal now; he didn't have to lead the charge anymore. But at the Southern Frontier, there was a tradition: even marshals had to lead their troops on the battlefield, not hide away in the marshal's residence giving orders.

That was one of the bad rules Hector and Rafael had set.

Louis and the others had absurd explanations for this. They claimed that during the Southern Frontier battle to reclaim the lands, the marshals had gone to the front lines to inspire the troops. That was why they could take back the cities that had been plundered.

The door creaked open, and Celeste entered with a cup of coffee.

Oliver quickly masked his worry, turning toward her. As his gaze fell on her, he noticed her reddened eyes, the faintest hint of tears still clinging to her lashes. Her delicate face was troubled, and he immediately knew she had been crying.

"What's wrong?" he asked, rising and speaking gently. "Are you worried about the battle?"

Oliver was so shocked his eyes nearly popped out. He was a man who believed deeply in these things. When he first came to the Southern Frontier, he had sought out fortune tellers, asking whether his journey would bring him fortune or disaster.

As he thought back on it, he realized he had definitely obtained fortune—he had pocketed a fair share of the military funds and gained a beautiful wife.

But as the saying went, fortune came with misfortune. Now, disaster was finally upon him.

At the time, Oliver had promised Celeste he wouldn't fight in a moment of tenderness. But later, he realized it was impossible. The world belonged to the king—if he fled in the heat of battle, where could he go?

Now, hearing her say that she had dreamed of those horrors night after night, he realized she was trying to warn him through her visions.

As cold sweat broke out across his skin, he suddenly stood, urgently saying, "Where is the witch? Send for her at once!"