WAR OF EMPİRES: ANCİENT REQUİEM

Balamir suddenly rose to his feet, slamming his fist lightly on the table, his voice echoing with such fury that it nearly shook the room's walls.

"Enough with the wordplay! Say what you came here for, so we may understand!"

Enkidu slowly turned his head toward him. In his eyes was a calm so cold it could slice through Balamir's fury. He spoke with measured grace.

"Calm yourself, my khagan... We wouldn't want the Gate of Tamun to open, would we?"

The name "Gate of Tamun" pierced the room like a thorn, instantly flooding the air with tension. Then Enkidu continued.

"As I said... I come in peace. I was sent by Gılgamısh. He says he will stand with you in your war against Caesar."

A sudden chill swept through the chamber. Everyone's eyes drifted from one to another. Shock, suspicion, and caution were etched into every face. No one had expected such a move from Gılgamısh—and no one could quite tell how much truth Enkidu's words really held.

Enkidu tilted his head slightly, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips. He let his gaze drift over each face in the room before he spoke.

"As for Attila... He's on his way to Miroma. Safe, I suppose. Though considering the circumstances, I'm not entirely sure what 'safe' really means... for now."

His voice was so calm that no one could tell if his words carried a hidden threat or merely a warning.

"Anyway," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and turning away,

"That's all from me. I've delivered my message. If you'll excuse me."

Ilterish stepped forward. "Wait—" he began to say, but...

Enkidu vanished in an instant. No flash of light, no sound— it was as if he'd never been there at all. Only half an apple on the table

and faint flower-sprouting footprints on the stone floor remained to prove he had been there.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The room was thick with silence. No one could guess what the next move might be.

Ilterish slammed his fist on the table, hard enough to make the glasses jump. He was shouting now, his voice echoing through the stone walls of the palace.

"You say he's going to help, but how, you fool?! You didn't tell us a damn thing!"

His face had turned crimson, eyes blazing with fury and confusion. Everyone around the table froze. Then, Mukan slowly stood up. He walked over to Ilterish with heavy, deliberate steps. He said nothing.

Suddenly, with the side of his hand, he struck the back of his brother's neck—soft but precise. Ilterish let out a muffled sound and collapsed on the spot, unconscious. The entire chamber froze in stunned silence.

All eyes turned to Mukan. He raised his arms slightly and shrugged, a faint, careless smirk on his face.

"What? You all know how he gets when he's pissed off."

The remark brought a strange breeze of humor into the room, but no one quite had the courage to breathe it in just yet.

Almila rose to her feet, her face a storm of anger and worry. She turned sharply to her father.

"I told you not to send Attila to that dog!" she snapped.

Her voice echoed like a tremor through the hall. Then she went on.

"Who knows what happened to lead him all the way to Miroma… I just hope nothing's happened to him."

Before her words had fully left her lips, Balamir shot to his feet, his eyes blazing. His deep voice boomed across the room.

"Do you even realize who you're speaking to? How dare you raise your voice at me?!"

Those around the table instinctively took a step back. Almila trembled under her father's glare. She lowered her gaze, her voice soft and remorseful.

"I'm sorry, father…"

She slowly sank back into her seat. Silence fell over the room like a heavy curtain. Anger, worry, and shame lingered in the very stones of the palace walls.

Balamir let out a deep sigh as he returned to his chair. He leaned his fist against the edge of the table, his eyes distant. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer.

"…But you're right. I made a mistake."

Everyone was hanging on his words. After a brief pause, he continued, as if confessing something buried.

"I thought he might be able to kill Caesar there."

At those words, Mukan snapped his head toward his brother, his face twisted in disbelief and fury.

"That's why you specifically sent Attila there?" he asked, almost unable to believe it.

Balamir looked straight into his brother's eyes. His answer was blunt and unflinching.

"Exactly. Attila is strong. And Caesar's pride is legendary… I knew something would happen between them. I hoped—maybe—Attila would end him right then and there."

The air in the room grew heavier still. Neither Ilterish, nor Almila, nor any of the other commanders said a word. Balamir's words were both bold and reckless. They revealed a secret game—a deadly gamble. But now that gamble had failed, and the consequences had opened the door to chaos yet to come.

Balamir straightened in his chair and spoke in a harsh tone.

"That's enough on this matter. A war looms before us, and we're drowning in the shadows of the past. We must now focus on preparations."

His gaze swept across the chamber, his face drawn tight with resolve.

"Wake Ilterish. We need to continue this council."

A servant was summoned at once. Cool water was sprinkled over Ilterish, bringing him back to consciousness. As his eyes opened, the first face he saw was Mukan's, who greeted him with a faint smile. Ilterish said nothing, simply returning to his seat. The others followed.

And then… the war council began.

Maps were rolled open, troop deployments laid out on the table. Intelligence officers presented reports on Belisarius and Aurelius' positions. Palace engineers reviewed defensive structures. Master strategists discussed weaknesses in the enemy's alliance. Mukan offered front-line configurations, while Almila gathered all known intelligence on the secretive sect.

Everyone was speaking, debating—but the goal was now clear: to prepare for the approaching storm. This was not just Tengritugen's war… it was the beginning of a battle that would reshape the fate of the entire continent.