Munitions Empire

"This order is completely unacceptable! What does it mean?" A Dornish officer waved the telegram in his hand, frustratedly speaking to his peers, "Our King must have been misled by some villain!"

"Exactly! It’s those scoundrels at the rear that have deceived His Majesty!" Another officer stood up, waving his fist, "We should not carry out such chaotic orders!"

"But we are soldiers of Dorne! A soldier should follow the orders of His Majesty the King!" A young officer standing on the other side spoke with difficulty, as if referring to something unbearable.

"What are you saying? How has General Bolton treated you on normal days? How can you, at a time like this..." The brigadier who had spoken first suddenly stood up, glaring and scolding at the colonel opposite him.

"Of course, I remember the kindness General Bolton has shown me! But... my whole family is in King City, what... what can I do..." The young officer said indignantly.

"My wife and children are in King City too, I… I... I also don’t know what to do." Another brigadier beside the young officer was also struggling.

"It must be the Prime Minister! And that damned Finance Minister!" Clenching his fists, a bearded brigadier then spoke out.

"At this point, what’s the use of saying which scoundrel has misled His Majesty… The orders have been issued; now it’s a matter of whether we execute them or not." The leading general’s face was ashen, as though he had just lost a position.

"Sigh..." A group of officers in the tent let out sighs, many with heads bowed down, seemingly unwilling to make a choice.

"I’m not afraid! I’m damn well on my own!" The bearded officer suddenly raised his head, looking around at everyone, "I’ve always treated General Bolton as my teacher! I don’t care about your choices, I’m telling you! Whoever dares to touch General Bolton will have to step over my dead body!"

He touched the pistol at his waist, watching everyone present with a cold gaze, "When the time comes, you can blame it all on me alone!"

"General!" Just then, a figure parted the curtains and walked into the tent, a man approaching thirty, who walked calmly to the center and found a seat to sit down, then gestured for those standing in a daze to sit as well.

Almost as if obeying muscle memory, those standing slowly took their seats, staring incredulously at the man before them.

The man was dressed in the uniform of an admiral from Dorne Kingdom, not even fastened with a military belt, without wearing his sidearm.

The visitor was none other than Bolton; he spread his hands out and said to everyone, "I know you all have received orders, orders to kill me."

He gave a bitter smile, then seemed to exhale in relief, "I hold affection for you all, for Dorne; now, it’s over, no need to struggle anymore. I’ve served Dorne for three years; that fulfills my duty, doesn’t it?"

With that, he shrugged his shoulders as if to lighten the mood, "Look, even the pistol His Majesty the King of Dorne gave me, I left it in my tent, along with my stars. I wore this uniform for so many battles, leaving in these clothes isn’t too much, is it?"

"General!" The bearded officer’s eyes reddened, ready to stand up and say something, but Bolton stopped him with a hand gesture.

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Everyone present noticed that Bolton had referred to "His Majesty the King of Dorne," not simply "His Majesty the King" as he used to say.

"After tonight, you all will be enemies, not allies to me... If we meet on the battlefield tomorrow, I will not show mercy, and I hope you will not disgrace what you have learned from me." He looked around at everyone, naming each individual.

Those called by name either bowed their heads silently, some wiped away tears, others held a steady gaze, as if responding to Bolton’s words.

"Think it over, if you let me go today, it might be letting the tiger return to the mountain; in the future, it could be me killing all of you present." After Bolton finished speaking, he stood up and walked towards the door, "This might be the only chance you’ll ever get to defeat me."

"Forget it, General! I think when we meet on the battlefield tomorrow, you’re sure to be defeated by me!" A brigadier stood up, saluted Bolton at attention.

"Hahaha! That’s right! That’s all you’ve got, and I’ve completely mastered it!" Another colonel stood up, saluting Bolton at attention as well.

"To hell with it, I’m quitting tomorrow!" The bearded officer clearly did not want to be an enemy of Bolton, bitterly finished speaking, and also saluted Bolton at attention.

One after another, officers stood up; most said nothing, merely raising their hands quietly to their chests, performing a salute of Dorne.

Others stood up without saluting but just stared at Bolton, expressionless, seemingly reluctant to let Bolton go yet also without voicing any objection.

Bolton thus left the camp and entered a small car, leaning on the back seat.

These officers, who had shared life and death with him and whom he had personally trained, would become his enemies after tonight.

Just as he said, from tomorrow they would be enemies, not allies, and the greatest respect they could show each other as soldiers was an honorable defeat on the battlefield.

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