Bernhardt took a sip of his tea, the warm tea making him feel all over. He said slowly:
"His Majesty will announce the new year's campaign in Salibia at noon today, but he will not receive the message we sent out yet."
Dingle sighed almost imperceptibly.
"To regard the Yan Kingdom as a target for conquest, this should be our..."
Before he could finish speaking, Bernhardt turned to him and interrupted, "Alright, we're all sober now, it's time to go back."
"Yes, sir."
Dingle turned and pushed open the door, standing in the doorway waiting for Bernhardt to go in.
Bernhardt walked into the room with his teacup in his hand, but hurried and heavy footsteps came from the steps leading to the corridor, along with panicked shouts.
"Urgent report!!!"
Bernhardt stopped in his tracks, turned to look down the corridor, and Dingle, who was standing in front of the door, also looked up. The officer near the window opened the window and poked his head out.
The messenger, pale-faced, slipped on the thin layer of snow as he ran, falling heavily to the ground. Before he could even get up, he raised his bloodied, bruised face and shouted:
"Foster Harbor under attack! Enemy forces have launched a fierce assault, and the defending forces are insufficient in number. Requesting reinforcements!!!"
A crisp "snap" sound.
The teacup slipped from Bernhardt's hand, its metal body hitting the ground, spilling warm tea that gradually melted the thin layer of snow in his footprints.
"Wh...when did this happen?" Dingle asked stiffly.
The soldier was scrambling to his feet, wiping the blood streaming into his eyes, but still responded:
"Before midnight!"
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