5 a.m.

Masood's office is located on the top floor of the Autonomous Region Government Building, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire center of Erbil City.

The seventy-year-old man was standing in front of the window at this moment, his back to the door, rubbing a string of amber prayer beads in his hand, each bead polished to a warm, translucent shine.

The office door was pushed open roughly, and Barzani strode in, his military boots clanging on the marble floor.

He didn't knock.

This in itself was a demonstration.

"Chairman, I was already on the front line, why is someone sent to forcibly summon me back at this time?!"

General Barzani's voice was laced with anger but was more filled with disdain.

He was in full combat uniform, with a gun at his waist, as if he had just returned from the front lines, not from the military command.

Masood turned around slowly. The morning light streamed in from behind him, hiding his face in shadow, but his eyes shone astonishingly bright.

"Six thousand soldiers."

Masood spoke, his voice terrifyingly calm.

"Twenty-four armored vehicles, eighteen artillery pieces, six rocket launcher systems. Troops drawn from Marwal, Duhok, and Sulaimaniyah Province. The plan is to attack the Kirkuk Abu You Brigade defense zone after dawn today."

With each number he stated, he took a step forward.

After seven steps, he stopped in front of Barzani, less than half a meter away.

The old man was a head shorter than the General, his slender frame seeming frail in contrast to the other's robust build, but his presence completely overshadowed the other.

"Who gave you the authority?"

Masood asked, his voice still calm.

Barzani's jaw muscles twitched: "The authority to protect our national resources. The authority to quell rebellion. The authority to prevent separatist forces from growing."

"The Committee did not authorize this operation, only instructed you to make military preparations!" Masood said, "As the highest leader, I have not signed any military orders. As the Supreme Commander of the Military Committee, you have unilaterally mobilized more than a brigade's worth of force, crossed the red line, and are preparing for war—what is this called, Barzani? This is called a mutiny!"

"This is called a necessary military action!"

Barzani finally erupted, his voice echoing in the spacious office.

"Uncle Masood, you're old! You've been sitting in the office for too long and forgotten how the world outside operates! Abu You has occupied our oil fields, injuring and killing our people! And what do you want to do? Negotiate?! Negotiate with traitors?!"

"Call me Chairman." Masood corrected him, his tone as cold as ice, his demeanor imposing: "In this office, there is only a Chairman and a General, no uncle and nephew."

He walked back to the desk, taking a document from a drawer and slamming it on the table.

"This is a diplomatic note sent from the US Embassy half an hour ago. Not through diplomatic channels, but directly sent to my private encrypted mailbox through intelligence channels. Do you know why? Because the Americans believe our military system is no longer reliable! They believe there has been a split within the Kurd Armed forces, and that the highest military commander might have lost control!"

Barzani grabbed the document and quickly browsed through it.

His expression shifted from furious to shock and pale.

Attached to the document was an excerpt of the forged "Barzani's secret contact with Turkey's intelligence department" evidence.

"This is slander!" Barzani growled, "I never have, nor would I ever..."

"I don't care whether you did or didn't." Masood interrupted him flatly: "I only care about what the Americans think, what Baghdad thinks, what the international community thinks. Now everyone is laughing at us. Oh! The Kurds are having an internal conflict, the General wants to slap the Chairman in the face, the Autonomy is about to split!"

The old man finally raised his voice, a culmination of long-repressed anger.

"Do you think this is proving your toughness? This is destroying everything we have fought for decades to achieve! Do you think Kirkuk's oil is everything? I tell you, international support, political legitimacy, stable autonomous status—these are our real lifelines! And these are exchanged for with credibility! What you are doing now is shattering our credibility!"

Barzani crumpled the document into a ball and threw it on the ground.

"Credibility? Chairman Masood, those fancy political terms of yours are useless on the battlefield! When the 1515 Armed attacked at the beginning of 2014, it was I who led the soldiers to hold Kobani! It was I who used three thousand men to hold off the attack of eight thousand extremists! What did the Americans say then? They said 'we provide air support, but the ground is up to you'! It was victory bought with our blood, not at the negotiation table!"

"So now you want to use the same method against your own compatriots?" Masood tiredly rubbed his temples: "Half of the soldiers in the Abu You Brigade fought alongside you! Their Commander Abu You was one of your subordinates back then! Do you want Kurd blood to stain Kurd land?"

"If they pick up guns first, they are traitors!"

Barzani slammed his fist on the table.

"There's only one way to deal with traitors! That is to kill!"

The two stared at each other, and the air seemed to crackle with electricity.

This was a clash of two philosophies: one of the cautious balance of an old politician, believing in diplomacy, believing in compromise, believing in the need for timely concessions for long-term peace; the other of a soldier's absolute logic, believing in force, believing in loyalty, believing betrayal must be cleansed with blood.

After a long pause, Masood was the first to look away.