It goes well...

Your army continues its march without any major setbacks. Occasionally lookouts report seeing small groups of beasts or savages, and sometimes you even send out patrols to round them up, but nothing major happens. Everything so far has gone exactly as planned on the military front.

However, as pleased as you are about the progress made, and as excited as you are for what lies ahead, a part of you is unbelievably frustrated and upset. You haven't slept with your wife a single time since that last fateful night. It seems like your penis has shrunk even further, though with its current size that's difficult to tell. It's especially difficult because you find it increasingly difficult to achieve and maintain erections. You still get aroused, to the extent that you're now horny almost all the time, but your inability to consistently get hard means you can almost never satisfy your arousal. You feel a burning in your belly, and sometimes you feel like there is an itch inside your asshole. In the darkest reaches of your brain, sometimes, just for a moment, you think about the dark whisperings you've heard about how degenerate homosexual men use their anuses for pleasure. Whenever you do, you feel sick, and shame hangs over you for days for even daring to imagine such a thing was possible.

Furthermore, your chest has grown larger and larger. You must be failing somewhere in your exercise, as you're gaining what can only be described as breasts. They're fat and soft, and luckily you can still hide them, but you have begun to wear almost exclusively baggy clothing to do so.

Even worse, every time she hears that the enemy was spotted, your wife rushes to the lookouts to try to get a look. You might just have believed this was out of general curiosity, but after overhearing her conversation with the duchess you know this is not the case.

After over a month of marching, you officially enter what you consider to be enemy territory. Obviously these subhumans have no conception of statecraft and how to exert control over land, so nothing in particular changes, but you have still passed into enemy territory.

Excitement in the army has grown further. You're nearing where the bulk of the growing barbarian horde supposedly resides. Within a week you could dispatch them forever and usher in an eternity of blessed elven hegemony.

This is the point where the invasion begins in earnest. You detach most of the army from the camp followers and baggage train. You leave a reasonably sized retinue behind to guard the camp while you venture forth to rout the enemy, but it's only to make them feel safe. There's no way any major attack will take place in your rear.

You bid farewell to your wife as the rest of the army does the same with their families. As you march away, you gaze wistfully back at your wife, sure that you will be able to restore things to how they were before once you finally put this to rest. You lose sight of the camp not long after dawn, as a chill mist descends around you. Unsure of what the fog around you holds, you march forward undeterred.