Interstellar Beastworld: Raising A Cub With My Mummy System!-Chapter 51: THE MILITARY COUNCIL

Uriel sat at the head of the table, his uniform immaculate, his expression unreadable. Around him, the members of the military council were already seated.

Monty Garrow, a wolf beastman with grey fur and a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, leaned forward. "The Zephorian envoy has made their position clear. When the treaty expires at the end of the month, they will not renew it. Their military has been mobilized for three weeks. Their poison masters have been recalled from retirement."

Caliban Thorne, a bear beastman with dark brown fur and shoulders that barely fit between the arms of his chair, let out a low rumble. "Are they looking for war or just posturing?"

Rakesh Khoury, a snow leopard beastman with pale fur and eyes that missed nothing, answered without looking up from his data tablet. "Both. Their council is divided. The younger faction wants expansion. But the older faction remembers the last war and what it cost them. They are using the threat of conflict to push the elders toward concession."

Selas Merrick, a hawk beastman with sharp features and wings folded tight against his back, spoke next. "Our border fleets are at full readiness. The watch stations have been reinforced. If they move, we will see them coming."

Yerazig Ormarr, a snake beastman whose presence was so still he seemed carved from the stone walls, spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing them coming is not the same as stopping them. The last war taught us that."

The room went quiet. The last war was a scar on all of them.

Uriel’s voice cut through the silence. "We will not fight the last war. We will fight this one differently. The younger faction wants expansion. The elders want peace. We give the elders a reason to want peace more than they want power."

Aibek Tarasov, a wolf beastman with fur so dark it was almost black and eyes the color of pale gold, tilted his head. "What do you have in mind?"

Uriel touched his data tablet, and a map of the Zephorian system appeared in the center of the table. "Their economy is built on mineral exports. Their mines are concentrated in three regions. If those regions were threatened, the elders would feel it in their accounts. And their people would feel it in their homes."

Oberon Flint, a tiger beastman with fur that gleamed dark red in the light of the chamber, spoke slowly. "You want to block their mines?"

"I want to remind them that war has a cost they are not prepared to pay." Uriel’s eyes moved across the faces of his council. "We do not strike first. We do not give them the justification they want. But we position ourselves so that if they strike, they lose everything they are trying to protect."

Andromeda Ra, the only woman on the council, a lion beastman with a mane of dark gold hair and eyes that could freeze blood, finally spoke. "And if the elders see through the bluff? If they call it and the younger faction moves anyway?"

Uriel met her eyes. "Then we move faster."

Monty Garrow nodded slowly. "It is a risk."

"All wars are risky." Uriel stood, and the council rose with him. "Prepare the plans. I want them ready by the end of the week. If the Zephorians want peace, we will give them peace. If they want war, we will give them a war they cannot win."

The council members nodded, each returning to their own thoughts, their own preparations. They filed out of the chamber one by one, until only Uriel remained.

He stood at the window, looking out at the training grounds where soldiers moved in their endless drills.

He would deal with the Zephorians. He would deal with the rat. He would protect what was his.

He turned from the window and walked out of the chamber. There was work to do.

Uriel stepped out of the council chamber into the corridor of the military base. The walls here were reinforced steel, the floors scuffed from decades of combat boots, the lighting harsh and functional. Soldiers passing by snapped to attention as he walked past, their salutes crisp, their eyes forward.

Magus was waiting outside, a data tablet in his hand, his fox ears angled forward. He fell into step beside Uriel as they walked toward the command wing.

"The inventory check is complete, my Lord." Magus said, keeping his voice low. "I have compiled the list of weapons, both old and new, along with the current stockpiles and the number of soldiers available for deployment. It’s a notable size."

Uriel took the tablet and scanned the first page.

Numbers.

Dates.

Locations.

The cold arithmetic of war.

"The new plasma cannons?"

"Fully operational. Eight thousand units ready for deployment, another two thousand in final testing. The old ballistic artillery has been upgraded with new targeting systems. We have fifteen thousand units fully functional."

Uriel nodded. "And the soldiers?"

Magus consulted his tablet. "Fourteen million active duty. Twenty-two million in reserve. The training cadets number another four million, ready to be called up if needed. Total mobilization capacity stands at forty million within sixty days."

Uriel handed the tablet back. "The Zephorians have eight million active, twelve million in reserve. They are outnumbered. They know it. That is why they are waiting for the treaty to expire. They need the element of surprise to offset our numbers."

Magus nodded. "They are hoping the council will hesitate. That the King will choose diplomacy over action."

Uriel’s jaw tightened. "My father will choose what is best for Primus. And what is best for Primus is reminding our enemies why no one has challenged us in fifty years."

They walked in silence for a moment, their footsteps echoing off the steel walls. Uriel’s mind was already moving ahead, positioning forces, and calculating timetables.

"The mines," he said. "The Zephorian mineral regions. How quickly could we blockade them?"