The Story So Far...

Ryoma Mikoshiba had boldly launched a two-front operation to aid the Kingdom of Myest and the Kingdom of Xarooda. The situation took a dramatic turn when Owen Spiegel—the Kingdom of Myest’s former chancellor—ascended the throne as the new king, thanks to the efforts of Alexis Duran, an operative secretly embedded by the Organization. As a result, Ryoma was forced to prematurely end his original campaign against the southern kingdoms and order a full military withdrawal.

Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Xarooda continued to face constant threats from the O’ltormea Empire. As the O’ltormean invaders steadily encroached on Xarooda’s territory, Ryoma finally deployed his trump card: reinforcements from the dark elves. Thanks to the decisive treatment administered by Nelcius, the dark elf chieftain, the true cause of the affliction plaguing Xarooda’s King Julianus was finally eradicated. Amid these events, the recuperated Julianus faked his own death to purge the corruption festering within his kingdom. The king’s return and the elimination of traitors breathed new life into the Xaroodian military.

However, Ryoma understood that this resurgence was no more than a temporary reprieve. Plagued with doubt, he struggled to find a way forward for himself and his comrades. A letter then arrived for his grandfather, Koichiro Mikoshiba, from an old friend and one of the elders of the Organization called Liu Zhong Jian. The letter stated that Liu would be traveling to the Myest’s trade city, Pherzaad. In the fated city, Ryoma finally met with Liu Zhong Jian, where he learned the true reason for the Organization’s existence.

“If I had to guess, the group known as the Organization operates based on two principles. Primarily, survival and progress,” Ryoma said. In response, Liu turned the statement back on him by asking what path Ryoma truly sought. When Ryoma said coexistence, Master Liu listened quietly. He proposed introducing Ryoma to Akimitsu Kuze, one of the elders of the Organization, superior to Sudou Akitake and the mastermind behind the recent conspiracy.

Prologue

The weather, which had worsened several days earlier, now seemed to have fully transformed into a raging storm. The sky was shrouded in dark clouds, and from time to time, streaks of lightning split the heavens. In the very next moment, a deafening crash of thunder would roar, mingling with the sound of heavy raindrops pelting against the window glass. One might say it resembled the fury of Meneos, king of the gods, who ruled the heavens.

Indeed, many of the farmers living near the imperial capital of O’ltormea were likely whispering that this violent thunderstorm was a sign that Meneos himself was enraged. After all, in this world of earth and sky, the weather was not merely a scientific phenomenon but literally an extension of the gods’ will. Even when observing the same sky, people’s interpretations of it varied greatly depending on their position and mindset.

The lightning is intense... Could this be a display of the God of Light’s wrath? Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that this fury belongs to the man in this very room. The emperor of O’ltormea, known as the Lion Emperor, is actively seeking to establish dominion over the western continent, mused Richard Dornest, also known as the Iron-Blooded Chancellor.

Dornest was the top official presiding over the administration of the mighty O’ltormea Empire, a vast realm ruled with an iron grip. And yet, he tried to avert his eyes from the reality playing out before him. More precisely, he was beginning to let his mind drift, seeking refuge in the depths of his thoughts. This was a rare occurrence for a man of his stature, since a chancellor’s authority within the empire was nearly absolute.

Most of the decisions Dornest made were realized without question, reshaping reality itself. Under normal circumstances, he would never need to escape from anything, including his own thoughts. But the pressure radiating from Emperor Lionel was so intense that it had rooted that foolish thought that the lightning was the manifestation of Lionel’s fury deep into Dornest’s mind and refused to let it go. Of course, saying that Dornest was equal to Emperor Lionel might be overstating things. Nonetheless, he was not someone to be underestimated as his position was still one of great power. If the emperor were a god, then the chancellor might be likened to an angel standing at the very side of the divine throne, serving as an agent in the mortal world. To the ordinary, unremarkable masses, Dornest was nothing short of an overwhelming being from a higher plane.

But in the end, an agent is still just an agent. Nothing more.

No matter how revered and feared an angel might be among mortals, the wrath of a god was something truly terrifying. To those living within the towering castle at the heart of the imperial capital, the flashes of lightning seemed less like the fury of some distant and uncertain deity, such as the god of light Meneos, and more like an omen far closer to home. Still, such impressions remained rooted only in emotion.

A mere mortal could never summon lightning.

Even if Emperor Lionel ruled the central territories of the western continent and commanded a great empire that aspired to continental domination, he was not a being who had stepped beyond the realm of humanity. Naturally, he could not summon thunder and storm as if they were under his command. Dornest understood that well.

While Emperor Lionel Eisenheit was an exceptional ruler and masterful strategist, he was not especially gifted in the arcane arts of verbal thaumaturgy. The man had expanded what was once a minor kingdom among the fractured nations of the mid-continent, elevating it in a single generation into the mighty O’ltormea Empire. He had faced countless brushes with death along the way. Undoubtedly, this was a testament to Lionel Eisenheit’s strength as a warrior and his formidable skill as a martial thaumaturgist. But that didn’t mean he held equal power in the realm of verbal thaumaturgy.

If there were anyone capable of such feats, it would have been the late Gaius Valkland, wouldn’t it? Yet Dornest was quick to dismiss even that thought. No... Even Gaius, once hailed as one of the top five verbal thaumaturgists on the entire western continent, would likely have found it difficult if not impossible.

Of course, the empire’s chief court thaumaturgist could summon lightning bolts. Even Celia Valkland, Gaius’s granddaughter, or Orland Armstrong, his famously secretive protégé, would likely only answer “possible” if asked whether they could manage it. Any first-rank thaumaturgist could conjure a gust of wind or summon rainfall, meaning it was certainly within the realm of possibility. Yet, that was only within a very limited scope and for a very brief period. To maintain a storm like the one raging outside the window—let alone spread it across the entire capital—was beyond even the greatest of thaumaturgists. They wouldn’t be able to sustain it for minutes, much less hours or days.

Should someone try such a thing, they’d need to gather dozens of thaumaturgists with skill rivaling Gaius himself... And even then, it would require extensive, meticulous preparation.

Was it possible or impossible? Technically, it was possible. But that was only to say that the chance wasn’t absolute zero. After all, most skilled martial thaumaturgists on Earth placed little importance on verbal thaumaturgy because that had always been the prevailing trend. This attitude stemmed mainly from the values of the knightly orders, who emphasized close-quarters combat, where spear clashed against spear. It was also due to the unavoidable issues rooted deep in the nature of this world that arose in mastering verbal thaumaturgy. All of that illustrated just how difficult it was to secure skilled verbal thaumaturgists.

Martial thaumaturgy is also far easier than verbal thaumaturgy because a person can more easily control the life force within one’s own body.

On Earth, prana was the very essence of life itself. No living being could survive without it. If one were to compare it to something, it would be much like gasoline to a vehicle. This meant that every living creature in this world possessed prana. Martial thaumaturgy was simply the art of manipulating that energy. As long as one knew the correct training methods, it was a skill that anyone could acquire.

Of course, those who have actually mastered martial thaumaturgy are still in the minority.

Knights, nobles, adventurers, and mercenaries were such sorts of people. Most commoners, though they might have heard of thaumaturgy, would live and die without ever having the chance to learn it. But that wasn’t because it was forbidden or inherently impossible. It was simply a matter of social control, in which nobles and knights kept that knowledge to themselves to maintain order and their own privileges. Opportunities to learn verbal thaumaturgy were rarer still.

Due to the nature of prana, releasing it outside the body was incredibly difficult. To become a verbal thaumaturgist, it wasn’t enough to control the prana circulating within one’s body. A person had to possess the innate ability to project it outward. Naturally, this meant that those with the aptitude to become verbal thaumaturgists were extremely rare. That didn’t mean martial thaumaturgy was easy, just that it was simply less difficult compared to mastering verbal thaumaturgy.

Besides, just having the aptitude doesn’t mean you get to walk the path of a verbal thaumaturgist.

Unlike martial thaumaturgy, which was contained within the body, verbal thaumaturgy required knowledge of higher beings, such as gods, spirits, and other supernatural entities. To gain that knowledge, one needed both money to buy the right books and the intelligence to understand them. But on Earth, such people were vanishingly few. Unlike modern societies, reading, writing, and basic arithmetic were considered specialized skills in this world. Thus, the number of verbal thaumaturgists who managed to learn all of those things as a prerequisite was severely limited. Given the small initial pool of candidates, the outcome was obvious. Even among the many nations vying for power on the western continent, the O’ltormea Empire stood out for its commitment to nurturing and employing verbal thaumaturgists. But even with that focus, only one out of every hundred trainees became a usable mage.

Those who achieved true mastery could be called veterans; those who aimed for the title of court thaumaturgist were rarer still. Out of a thousand trained, one might be lucky to count such elite on their fingers. And that reality wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. Even if O’ltormea mobilized every single verbal thaumaturgist in its service, recreating the natural storm raging outside through thaumaturgy alone would be, for all practical purposes, impossible. What Lionel had once said to Dornest in his youth had been his dream, his ambition. Or perhaps, more accurately, it had been the naive fantasy of a young man who had yet to face the harshness of reality.

Either way, it had certainly been a lofty and noble ideal. But the golden-haired, blue-eyed youth’s vision of the future had felt more like something plucked from a fairy tale than a realistic goal. In the past, the Kingdom of O’ltormea lacked even the faintest trace of the national strength needed to speak of conquering the western continent.

Considering how drained the kingdom was from its endless wars with neighboring states and how close it was to being crushed at any moment, O’ltormea’s very existence had been hanging by a thread.

At the time, the kingdom had been in disarray. Its king had been a coward who indulged in hedonism and ignored matters of governance, while the nobles squabbled in endless power struggles, plunging the administration into chaos. That alone was enough to doom a country. To make matters worse, the region had been swarming with opportunistic nations, all waiting like vultures to seize more land. Though the kingdom had barely kept enemy armies from pouring in, if Lionel hadn’t seized the throne when he had, the name O’ltormea would have disappeared from the continent’s history within a generation. Declaring the goal of continental conquest in such a dire state could only be seen as the height of foolishness.

When a young Dornest first met Lionel and heard him speak of ruling the western continent, the emotion that filled his chest was not awe or hope, but something far closer to pity for a man too blind to face reality. He was sure that most of those who had served under the young Lionel Eisenheit at the time felt the same. Despite the scornful gazes and condescending pity of those around him, Lionel never wavered. Decades later, the Kingdom of O’ltormea had changed its name to the O’ltormea Empire and had grown into the uncontested power in the central region of the western continent.

O’ltormea’s rise is a direct result of Lionel Eisenheit’s extraordinary talent and his nearly superhuman will.

Of course, Lionel had been lucky as well. The throne had come to him only because his two elder brothers destroyed each other in a secret war for succession. As the third prince, he never should have inherited the crown at all, meaning his rise had been little short of a miracle. Then there were his retainers, who had pledged their loyalty to Lionel and offered their lives for the empire’s rise without hesitation. That kind of selfless dedication could not be ignored. Even the greatest ruler could not stand without those willing to support him; that was an undeniable truth. Yet that didn’t diminish Lionel Eisenheit’s brilliance as a man.

If anything, Lionel’s fortune and his retainers’ loyalty should be counted as proof of his worth. They’re part of what makes His Majesty who he is.

Whatever the case, Lionel was clearly not a man like any other. He stood far beyond the reach of the average person. And for that very reason, there were exceedingly few who could remain calm in his presence.

On top of that, His Majesty is hardly the most approachable man in the world. “Difficult” would be a more accurate word.

Lionel Eisenheit was a strict, cold, ruthless man without mercy or tears. Most people, unaware of his true character, viewed him that way. Indeed, his hands were stained crimson with the blood of countless enemies and allies. Frankly, that such a man would be labeled cruel or brutal was to be expected.

But His Majesty is no mindless tyrant... He’s the most diligent and sincere man I’ve ever known.

Compared to the kings of any other great power across the western continent, Lionel would stand second to none in that regard. He rose before the sun and worked through the night on imperial affairs. Of course, Dornest forbade him from working through the night completely, so Lionel retreated to his bed when ordered. But if left alone, he would likely work straight through until dawn.

With the vast lands we now govern, perhaps it’s only natural that he works himself that hard.

To fully carry out one’s duties as the ruler of a nation, a person had to make sacrifices and devote oneself. In truth, few people actually lived up to those duties and that level of devotion. Lionel Eisenheit was a man who possessed both the qualifications and the disposition to stand above others. Dornest, being a native of the world of Rearth, likely didn’t know it. But Lionel might have shared the same qualities as the great monarchs etched into history, such as Philip II, the wise king who led France during the Crusades, or Emperor Kangxi of the Qing Dynasty, known by the temple name of “the Sage Ancestor.”

That was merely a hypothesis. Unlike a game, human abilities couldn’t be measured in numerical statistics, and no two rulers ever ruled under the exact same conditions. Comparisons were ultimately meaningless, though one aspect remained absolutely certain.

Truly, His Majesty is the one most worthy of ruling the O’ltormea Empire.

Lionel had finished reading the letter.

“I see... I understand the situation. You’ve done well. It will take some time to discuss our response and draft a reply to Shardina, so you may stand down and take your rest,” Lionel told the knight who had delivered the urgent report, subtly signaling he did not want anyone else to overhear the conversation he was about to have with Dornest.

Sensing his lord’s intentions, the knight swiftly dropped to one knee and paid his respects to the emperor. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rose and disappeared beyond the door, vanishing like a startled hare.

But then again, the knight’s behavior is only natural...

The knight hadn’t seen the contents of the letter he had delivered, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine them. Considering the situation Shardina and the others were currently facing, the contents practically spoke for themselves. Anyone with a certain level of status and competence would be expected to deduce as much. This was a common occurrence, so there was no need to express the emotions Lionel must have felt upon receiving such grim news.

From that knight’s perspective, it’s probably a case of “let sleeping gods lie.”

After confirming that the knight had left the room, Dornest quietly turned his gaze toward the face of his liege. As I thought, he’s quite angry.

The expression reflected in Dornest’s eyes was, at a glance, the same composed face Lionel always wore. If one were to nitpick, his features were noticeably tenser than usual. Still, that minor difference was all there was. On the surface, there was nothing overtly unusual to see. Because Dornest had been by Lionel’s side since his mid-teens as one of the emperor’s closest aides, he could read his lord’s state of mind as easily as flipping a page in a book.

“This is quite a mess we’ve gotten into... To think someone like Rolfe Estherkent would be dealt such a crushing blow. Tch. The only saving grace is that his life isn’t in danger.” A sharp click of the tongue escaped Lionel’s lips. Without saying another word, he held out the letter in his hand toward Dornest.

So he wants me to read it...

Taking the document, Dornest swiftly scanned through the contents. As he read, he realized that what was written matched exactly what he had feared, and he let out a deep sigh.

No wonder His Majesty is angry. The Xarooda campaign, which has already drained so much of our war funds, hasn’t even managed to take the royal capital, Peripheria. We’ve yet to even complete the occupation of the Ushas Basin.

If the worst of it was merely a stalled advance, the situation might have been salvageable.

But if everything in this letter is accurate, in the worst-case scenario, we may be forced to abandon the towns and villages we’ve already taken, and begin a full-scale contraction of the front lines. Purely from a tactical and strategic standpoint, a withdrawal is likely the only rational choice. If that happens, it will take even more time to achieve our overarching goal of occupying the entire Kingdom of Xarooda. And that, without a doubt, would place an enormous burden on the empire.

If one were to liken the invasion of Xarooda to a game of sugoroku—a traditional Japanese board game akin to backgammon—it would be as if they had advanced halfway across the board only to be suddenly forced back to the starting square. In a game of sugoroku, being sent back to the starting point only frustrated the player. But in war, being pushed back to square one didn’t end with a simple feeling of regret. Inevitably, the cost of war would begin to skyrocket.

Naturally, we’ve accounted for some margin of error. It’s not as if the empire’s finances will collapse overnight. Either way, a major budget increase is unavoidable.

That notion made Dornest’s stomach twist with sharp pain. The O’ltormea Empire stood as the dominant force in the central region of the western continent, a superpower with the ambition and the might to seize control of the entire continent. Militarily and economically, its strength was beyond question. But even overwhelming power had its limits. If one compared the empire’s current state to a business, it would resemble a company where expenses continued to balloon while profits refused to materialize. Ultimately, responsibility for that would fall squarely on the shoulders of Emperor Lionel Eisenheit.

While Shardina Eisenheit was on-site leading the second invasion of Xarooda, her position was still that of a field commander.

All this indicates that if the invasion of Xarooda continues to be stalled and military spending keeps rising, dissatisfaction with His Majesty is bound to spread among the nobles, thought Dornest, knowing that once that happened, the very foundation of the O’ltormea Empire could begin to tremble.

After all, there are plenty of people who would delight in seeing the empire’s rule falter... Not just enemies outside, but even within.

At first glance, the O’ltormea Empire seemed like a dictatorship ruled by Lionel Eisenheit. But that was only the surface. Given that the empire had risen to power through brutal invasions and the subjugation of weaker nations, such a façade was to be expected. Even if those new subjects bowed their heads outwardly, no one could know what they were truly thinking. The empire was filled with individuals who were wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Those people were no different from the subjects of ancient tales who endured bitter hardships and waited, hidden in plain sight, to exact their revenge. Despite their outward submission to O’ltormea, they secretly longed for the day it would stumble. For people like that, the news of the Xaroodian invasion faltering and the resulting spike in war expenditures presented the perfect opportunity to bring down the emperor. No one understood that fact better than Lionel himself.

Furthermore, the informants we spent years cultivating have been eliminated. On top of that, Lord Rolfe has been forced to withdraw from the front lines...

The loss of the informants had undoubtedly dealt a heavy blow to the O’ltormea Empire. After all, the empire had invested enormous amounts of time and a considerable fortune just to bring those individuals over to their side. Any chancellor responsible for leading the state would have a splitting headache.

Worse still, the postoccupation governance plan for Xarooda will have to be drastically reworked since the influential nobles who served as our informants are gone.

The empire hadn’t even reached the point of seeing a clear path to occupying Xarooda in the first place. At this stage, any plans for ruling the kingdom afterward were completely meaningless. This was the very definition of counting one’s chickens before they’d hatched. But from a national governance standpoint, planning only after a situation had already occurred would be far too late. Such disaster preparedness was akin to someone taking action only after starting with a panicked “So, what now?” Regardless of one’s opinion, advance planning was absolutely essential.

Reality and expectation rarely lined up. It would be absurd to claim that any premade countermeasures would be flawless. Shortcomings and miscalculations were bound to appear. Even if those plans weren’t perfect, establishing at least a general direction in advance was far from meaningless.

If we have a basic framework in place, all we need to do is revise it to match the situation. That’s far easier than building something from scratch.

Adjusting an existing plan required far less time and effort than rebuilding one from the scratch. But damage to a core element of an original plan, as in this case, would render a few adjustments insufficient.

Those informants, traitors to their own homeland, could never be fully trusted. They were, by all accounts, human scum. But even scum has its uses.

Even trash could serve a purpose, in its own way. The occupation of the Kingdom of Xarooda was merely the first step in the O’ltormea Empire’s greater ambition to bring the entire eastern half of the continent under its rule. While invading another country through force was no easy task, governing that country afterward was many times harder. Throughout recorded history, the occupation of a nation almost always occurred after it had lost a war.

Inevitably, the same people who were fighting to kill each other just yesterday must now be treated as citizens of the same nation.

From the perspective of a nation, once the white flag was raised and surrender was accepted, everything was essentially over. The formal signing of surrender documents then followed. Even that was no small affair because it concerned the life or death of an entire country. Naturally, it wasn’t something to take lightly. That said, one could still argue it fell under the broader umbrella of administrative work. But the hearts of the people who made up that nation weren’t so easily handled.

There probably isn’t a single person in the world who, after watching their homeland fall, would readily welcome a new ruler’s dominion.

Even those who normally gave no thought to patriotism wouldn’t remain unaffected when placed in such a situation. The country one was born and raised in held that much meaning. It was a presence deeply rooted in the heart, even if one didn’t always consciously recognize it.

This is exactly why governing a conquered nation becomes so difficult.

Whether the defeated people would loudly proclaim their patriotism, take up arms, and fight to restore their homeland remained uncertain. But even if they merely appeared obedient on the surface while subtly undermining the empire behind the scenes, the consequences could still be severe.

In some ways, it’s even worse when unwilling subjects don’t resist openly. If these people made their defiance clear, it was easier to deal with. Those who refused to comply could face immediate execution or coercion through threats to their family. Someone who appeared cooperative on the outside might make the entire situation far more complicated. The real problem is those who pretend to work diligently, yet intentionally cut corners and commit sabotage while carrying out their duties.

When individuals hindered progress, the damage would ripple through all sorts of unexpected places. When a blacksmith cut corners while forging weapons and armor, the soldier using that gear would be putting their lives at risk. And if the laborers in charge of transporting provisions slacked off, that alone could jeopardize the military operations planned around those supplies. The consequences were as clear as day.

Regardless, dealing with that kind of negligence isn’t exactly a straightforward matter.

Threatening them with a sword might work, sure, yet people forced to work through fear were far less efficient than those who worked willingly and with purpose. In Japanese, the word “saboru” usually meant skipping out on work or slacking off. The word originated from “sabotage” in French, which carried the much darker meaning of deliberate destruction, subversion, and obstruction. In this world, the word was completely unknown. And yet, even if the worlds were different, human behavior seemed to follow the same patterns. That was why, even if a nation won a war and annexed new territory, it always became necessary for the victorious side to station troops there to suppress potential rebels. The O’ltormea Empire was no exception. It had grown powerful through the conquest of other nations, but that very path had left it with a long history of struggling to govern the lands it had taken. To ease that burden—even a little—informants and collaborators became an indispensable part of occupation policy. Military oppression was necessary, but it was never enough on its own.

Some effort has to be made to soothe the hearts of the people. More importantly, someone has to serve as the new regime’s eyes and ears, gathering intel on the occupied population.

From that perspective, even someone willing to betray their homeland held some value. Compared to dispatching a noble from the O’ltormea Empire to rule over a new territory, local collaborators could often pave the way for smoother governance. But the latest incident had completely shattered all those occupation plans. No wonder Lionel was furious, and no one could blame Dornest for heaving a long, weary sigh. Now, the question was, where do they go from here?

That said, it’s far too late to cancel the invasion of Xarooda... In that case, there’s only one course of action left.

Just as the letter stated, there was no other choice but to answer Shardina’s request and dispatch further reinforcements. A detailed map of the imperial capital’s surrounding region surfaced in Dornest’s mind along with the positions of the military units stationed across it.

If we mobilize the scattered divisions around the capital, gathering a force of a hundred thousand wouldn’t be difficult, even on short notice. In just one month, we could double that number. No, the real problem is finding the right commander to lead them.

The O’ltormea Empire didn’t lack generals, but not just anyone would suffice. What they needed now was a warrior strong enough to turn the tide of a battle already tipping toward defeat. Yet, the enemy they faced had been powerful enough to force Rolfe, one of their greatest warriors, to retreat from the front lines. There were only a handful of capable individuals in the entire empire who could stand against such a formidable foe. Worst of all, most of those precious few were already burdened with irreplaceable duties.

“We’ll have to send someone from among my Swords, just as Shardina requested. Richard, sorry, but begin making arrangements. Decide who we can spare,” Lionel said softly, and hesitation flickered across Dornest’s face.

Dornest had expected as much from the moment he read the contents of the letter. That very option had already crossed his mind as well.

So we’re finally deploying His Majesty’s trump card, the Fangs of the Lion Emperor. If it’s them, then maybe, just maybe, they can pull this off. But still...

The Fangs of the Lion Emperor was the name given to Lionel Eisenheit’s personal handpicked elite. They were the embodiment of the O’ltormea Empire’s might, its strongest military force. Just as Rolfe bore the title of the Emperor’s Shield, these warriors were known as the Emperor’s Swords, a fitting name for blades honed to perfection. Each warrior’s strength surpassed Rolfe’s, and their accomplishments as generals far outshone his own. Without exaggeration, they were the living symbols of O’ltormea’s martial supremacy.

In terms of sheer power and rank, they stood on equal ground with the Kingdom of Myest’s three generals, like Ecclesia Marinelle, and even Helena Steiner of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria, that famed Ivory Goddess of War... If not above them altogether.

Even this ultimate fighting force came with its own risks because they were, in every sense, a double-edged sword one could not unsheathe lightly. They were simply too capable and so vital to the maintenance of the empire’s vast territories that reassignment wasn’t something that could be done lightly. Another reason was that nearly half of them were once generals of enemy nations who had bent the knee and sworn loyalty to the empire. In other words, they had once stood as barriers in the path of O’ltormea’s domination.

Of course, it’s been over a decade since they pledged themselves to our banner. No one’s really questioning their loyalty now. At least, not openly. On the surface, they’ve caused no trouble.

Each Sword had their own reasons for defecting to the empire. Since then, they had served under Lionel Eisenheit, devoting themselves fully to the expansion of O’ltormea’s power. They may not have been born into the empire’s military ranks, but their accomplishments were unquestionable.

When I look at our current situation, I can’t help but hesitate. Are the Swords really the best choice to send into a crisis like this? Dornest mused. In a case where a general must be dispatched to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat on a desperate battlefield, loyalty had to be weighed more than strength. The real question is where their hearts lie... Is it with His Majesty and with the empire?

Being born in O’ltormea didn’t automatically make someone immune to betrayal. But when forced to choose between a general born and raised within the empire and one who once stood as its enemy, human instinct would naturally lean toward trusting one’s own. It was like the Tokugawa shogunate of Edo-period Japan, where distinctions were drawn between hereditary vassals and outer lords. Or perhaps the situation was more like the difference between hiring fresh graduates and mid-career transfers in a modern corporation. One could call it a needless worry, if necessary. For Dornest, whose sole purpose was to support Lionel’s march toward supremacy, it was a consideration he couldn’t ignore.

There’s no doubt they possess the strength to be called His Majesty’s Swords. Their power is unrivaled; no one can deny that. They are, in every sense, mastercrafted blades. But even among famous swords, not all are noble or holy. There are also cursed blades and demon swords.

Perhaps they were indeed double-edged swords, so sharp they could cut their wielder as easily as their foe. And yet, the current O’ltormea Empire had no other options, which was why Dornest offered no protest. Instead, he bowed his head deeply to Lionel, accepting the weight of the decision in solemn silence. At that moment, Dornest believed it was the best possible choice they could make. Just then, a bolt of lightning flashed across the distant sky, and thunder crashed against the windowpanes like a clenched fist. It echoed across the land like the roar of a lion shaking the earth itself. Amid everything, Dornest offered a silent prayer in his heart.

Let this decision open the path forward for our emperor and our homeland.

The very next day, Lion Emperor Lionel Eisenheit issued orders for a massive mobilization across the imperial capital of O’ltormea and its surrounding territories. The gears of war had begun to turn once more.

Chapter 1: A Thorn to the Heart

Outside a window in a corner of the royal castle that towered over Peripheria, a crimson sun was setting over the horizon. King Julianus pushed his frail body to keep working through a mountain of paperwork. At his side was none other than Joshua Belares, the young general from Xarooda and the man solely responsible for the kingdom’s defense, assisting him in every possible way.

Under normal circumstances, one could hardly consider it efficient to have Joshua serve as the king’s aide. Joshua was constantly inundated with military matters that only he could handle. To deal with them, he was forced to carve out separate time just to complete his own duties. In terms of efficiency, there was no question that the current situation was far from ideal.

Assigning a capable civil official other than Joshua to assist Julianus would surely make things run much more smoothly. If this were likened to running a company, it would be akin to having the vice president personally serve as the CEO’s assistant just to keep operations going. No sane company would ever make such a foolish decision. Naturally, hiring a dedicated secretary for the CEO would be a far more efficient solution.

Running a nation wasn’t the same as running a company, but the basic principles remained the same. Having the right person for the right job was crucial. Work was only efficient when everyone performed duties suited to their skills and positions. Even knowing all this, Joshua continued to assist Julianus.

“Your Majesty, please take a look at these as well,” Joshua said as he handed over about ten documents. The documents detailed the levels of food stockpiled in warehouses scattered across the Kingdom of Xarooda, the amounts that had been transported to the royal capital Peripheria, and the proposed strategies for launching a counteroffensive against a future invasion by the O’ltormea Empire. These documents had the potential to shape the very fate of the Kingdom of Xarooda.

If the information within were to leak to the O’ltormea Empire, the enemy could easily infer the size of Xarooda’s forces or even how many days they could continue fighting based on food distribution.

“Ah... I see,” said Julianus as he sat at his desk, reaching out for the documents. But in the very next moment, he hunched over and began to cough violently. “Khhak—! Khh—!”

Julianus had a harsh fit of coughing. On the hand Julianus held to his mouth, drops of vivid crimson clung to his skin. The amount wasn’t anything severe as it was just a trace of blood mixed into his saliva. Even so, his coughing up blood made it painfully clear that something was wrong with his lungs, his bronchial tubes, or somewhere else in his respiratory system.

“Your Majesty!” As Joshua sensed something was wrong, he threw the documents in his hands to the floor without a second thought. Papers scattered across the floor with a sharp rustle. Some slipped into the narrow gaps between the desk and the furniture. They spread out widely, so gathering them again would be a hassle. But Joshua couldn’t care less about that right now. He reached for the pitcher he had prepared ahead of time and poured water into a glass until it was half full. Then, he quickly took out a medicinal packet from the box beside the pitcher and dissolved the contents into the water.

“Here, Your Majesty... Please drink this,” said Joshua as he gently offered the glass to Julianus, who was still wracked with coughs, while softly rubbing his back.

Julianus felt that his coughing had somewhat eased thanks to Joshua’s gentle hand on his back, then accepted the offered glass and drank the cloudy white liquid in one long gulp. Once it was empty, he handed the glass back to Joshua. Then, as if trying to steady his breathing, he leaned back deeply into the chair with his eyes closed and turned his face toward the ceiling. Joshua continued to watch him with clear concern, likely trying not to miss even the slightest change in Julianus’s condition.

“Hah... That’s much better,” Julianus muttered. The medicine prescribed by the royal physician must have eased his breathing. A bit of color had returned to Julianus’s once-pale face. Still, it was nothing more than a temporary recovery of the physical sort. “Joshua... I trouble you far too much.”

Julianus’s face was shadowed with a mix of sorrow, resignation, and guilt. It wasn’t exactly considered proper for a king to apologize to his subordinate, but Julianus did so anyway. Perhaps he had no other way to express his gratitude for Joshua’s loyalty and dedication. To those words, Joshua slowly shook his head and gently rubbed Julianus’s back once more as he let out a small cough. In a way, it was almost a heartwarming scene of a child caring for an aging parent, or that of a grandfather and his grandson. Considering the age difference between Julianus and Joshua, neither image would be all that far-fetched. But such warmth was something only an outsider unfamiliar with their circumstances could feel. At the very least, Joshua felt things were different since he was directly involved. To him, this situation likely felt much more like sitting on a bed of nails.

“What are you saying, Your Majesty? It is only natural for your servant to support you,” Joshua replied. Once he confirmed that the coughing had settled, he began to gather the documents scattered across the floor. Though he kept his face lowered so Julianus wouldn’t notice, an unmistakable look of worry and urgency clouded his expression. Despite the removal of the bloodworms that had been parasitizing him, His Majesty’s strength is still severely diminished. Considering his condition, it’s clear he should remain in recovery a while longer.

Such thoughts rose unbidden in Joshua’s mind, rightfully so as he reached a perfectly reasonable conclusion. Two weeks earlier, Archduke Mikoshiba dispatched General Nelcius—the chieftain of the dark elves who hid on the Wortenia Peninsula—to remove the bloodworms that had been parasitizing and ravaging Julianus’s body.

However, the treatment didn’t mean Julianus’s body had instantly recovered, nor did it mean he was ready to return to his daily routine. In fact, recovery only began after the source of the affliction was removed. With most illnesses, such as a simple cold or something worse, a certain period of rest was necessary, even after the symptoms subside. Whether it took a few days or a few weeks, spending time to recover one’s strength was the norm. That truth remained unchanged even on Earth, where medical technology was far from advanced.

The lack of medical technology in this world often resulted in proper treatment being limited to resting in bed. After all, most commoners couldn’t even afford to see a doctor when they fell ill. In fact, Joshua had once caught a cold as a child, and even after his fever and cough had eased, he had been strictly forbidden to leave his room for several days.

Given His Majesty’s age...

At Julianus’s age, physical decline was all too evident. A body approaching old age like his would now bear a critical burden, surpassing what a younger man could endure through sheer willpower. Setting age aside, Julianus had never been particularly strong to begin with.

He’s not exactly frail to the point of being called sickly, but still...

Even so, Julianus had a body prone to illness. As a member of the royal family, he had undergone a respectable amount of martial training, and he had even learned basic martial techniques. He didn’t possess exceptional strength as a warrior, but he had enough skill not to be underestimated by those around him. On Earth, where the law of the jungle held strong sway, individual strength could greatly influence one’s social standing. One would be hard-pressed to find anyone born into a noble family—especially one of any repute—who hadn’t studied the martial arts to some degree. That held true for men and women alike. Could they stand toe-to-toe with a trained knight in single combat? That was questionable. But having at least the necessary abilities to defend oneself was considered standard. King Julianus was no exception to that rule.

But the truth is that everyone has their strengths and weaknesses.

No matter how much one honed their martial skills, physical endurance determined everything. Regardless of the rhetoric used, people naturally gravitated toward the strong and followed them. That meant being seen as physically weak could become a serious liability—one that could easily erode trust. For a king who stood above all others, that was nothing less than a fatal flaw.

To make matters worse, the Kingdom of Xarooda’s territory was divided by mountain ranges and forested regions, and its nobles were known for their fiercely independent spirit. The nobles were still subjects of the kingdom, and Peripheria was undoubtedly the political center of the realm. But it would be misleading to claim that the king centralized power. Naturally, one had to be extremely mindful of the movements and sentiments of the nobles and vassals. In such a delicate situation, announcing that the prince sent to the battlefield had fallen ill would be a nightmare. Sending someone with questionable health onto the battlefield wouldn’t remain a personal issue; it would ripple far beyond the individual involved.

People understood why the previous king of Xarooda never sent his own son, His Majesty, to the battlefield.

Julianus’s royal blood made it unthinkable that he would be on the battlefield. He had participated in a few military campaigns, but that was back in his youth, in his mid-teens to early twenties. At most, those were token appearances meant to add luster to his reputation as crown prince. They could hardly be called meaningful military experience. Since then, for more than half a century, Julianus had spent nearly his entire life within the castle walls of Peripheria. During that time, as he remained cloistered in the capital and never set foot on the battlefield, whispers followed him wherever he went. They called him dull or a simpleton. In a world where martial prowess was a crucial part of a ruler’s evaluation, those criticisms weren’t entirely without basis. After all, Julianus had shown little in the way of military might, a key measure of authority on Earth.

But still, the former king’s decision was undeniably the correct one.

Until this recent incident, Julianus had never collapsed from illness to the point that the affairs of state came to a halt. And it wasn’t as if Julianus were incompetent. While he had no battlefield glory to speak of, his reign had lasted over fifty years. If he were truly a foolish or inept ruler, he could not have sat upon the throne for so long.

His Majesty is a skilled statesman. As a ruler, his governance has been steady and capable. He’s neither as mediocre nor as foolish as people claim. Joshua had formed this impression through years of serving at Julianus’s side as his aide. In truth, his assessment wasn’t wrong. But at the same time, Joshua was keenly aware of Julianus’s greatest weakness. His Majesty’s political skills are stable and reliable. Although, that very stability means his leadership lacks any sort of flash or spectacle.

From the perspective of maintaining the status quo, there were no major issues. When judged from the perspective of development or progress, Julianus would receive a failing grade.

And that’s precisely why people have trouble recognizing his value. Instead, they see him as passive and uninspiring, which makes it all too easy for others to underestimate him.

Of course, taking bold action isn’t always inherently good. What truly mattered wasn’t the action itself, but rather whether the results it brought were positive or negative. If acting decisively led to a negative outcome, there was no meaning in the act at all.

In fact, it’s better not to have done anything at all, Joshua thought. Yet, it was undeniable that when a king focused solely on stability, the people were bound to see it as underwhelming or lacking. Perhaps His Majesty’s sensible and cautious personality makes decision-making one of his weaker traits. In terms of temperament, he resembles the former queen of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria, Lupis Rhoadserians.

Unlike Lupis, Julianus had managed to hold on to the throne for decades. That achievement likely stemmed from his considerable talent as a ruler and the devoted retainers who had supported him throughout the years. Regardless, the perception that he lacked decisiveness remained a significant issue for a ruler.

The unjust perception of His Majesty was one of the root causes that led to the Marquis Almholt’s rebellion.

The marquis had self-destructed recently, caught up in a web of intrigue. False reports of Julianus’s death had deceived him, leading him to raise his banners in revolt. For the Kingdom of Xarooda’s survival, it had been a necessary move. But the decision had taken a heavy toll on Julianus.

Even under normal circumstances, His Majesty’s aging and already frail body has been severely weakened by the bloodworm’s poison. Now, this incident has pushed him to the edge mentally as well. Joshua saw the recent scheme as nothing more than the removal of a traitor who had colluded with the O’ltormea Empire. The situation with the marquis’s mother does make things appear tragic on the surface. But His Majesty’s decision was not wrong.

In Joshua’s mind, it had been the right decision from a ruler’s standpoint. There was a strong possibility Consuela, Marquis Almholt’s mother, had been assassinated by the Segroa family. Such was not merely a distant possibility; Joshua believed there was a ninety percent chance they were responsible.

Ultimately, the Segroa family’s involvement is based solely on circumstantial evidence from the situation at the time.

Certainly, it looked as though Count Segroa’s family was behind the crime, but appearances alone weren’t enough to justify punishment. If Julianus had pushed through such a judgment without solid proof, the backlash from the other nobles would have been immediate and intense. Ernest Almholt, a blood relative of the king, might have understandably wanted a favorable judgment on an emotional level. Such an expectation was a natural human reaction. But being able to do something and being right to do it were two very different things. And this fell squarely into the realm of what a person in his position should know better than to demand.

Despite that, he harbored a grudge against His Majesty for years. In the end, he went so far as to betray his own homeland. Such misguided thinking is beyond excusable.

If Almholt had only borne a personal grudge against Julianus, there might have been room for sympathy. But when he conspired with the O’ltormea Empire, he crossed a line that no patriot should ever cross. Thus, Joshua felt no regret about executing the plan that brought down Marquis Almholt. If anything, he believed the decision should have been made sooner.

However, His Majesty seems to feel otherwise, Joshua mused. The thorn of guilt lodged deep within Julianus’s heart. The king must have felt like he had mercilessly discarded a member of his own family. And that thorn continues to torment His Majesty from within.

Joshua was sure that the emotional strain was taking a serious toll on Julianus’s physical health.

If it were just about His Majesty’s body, then the best choice would clearly be to remove him from state affairs and let him focus entirely on recovery. That would be the most rational course of action. But knowing what’s best and being able to do it are two separate matters...

Joshua, for his part, wanted nothing more than for Julianus to live as long as possible, especially after Nelcius had intervened to save the king’s life. He tried to ease the king’s burdens in every possible way. Surely enough, that was the shared desire of nearly everyone working in the royal palace. But no matter how noble those wishes were, they remained just wishes. Reality had no intention of accommodating them. For those living in poverty, even recovering from illness didn’t exempt them from labor; they had to push their weakened bodies to work if they wanted to eat. Conversely, for someone like Julianus, who never had to worry about daily sustenance, the weight of responsibility that came with being king meant that rest wasn’t a luxury he could afford either. There was no realistic way for Julianus to take an extended leave to recuperate. If he were unconscious, that would be a different matter. But as long as the king remained lucid and capable of basic movement, Joshua simply couldn’t bring himself to ask His Majesty to step away from duty. Even if he did and voiced his concern and pleaded for rest, Julianus would surely reject it without hesitation.

Because the Kingdom of Xarooda stood on the very edge of survival, its fate was hanging by a thread.

Just when things look bleakest, a rare opportunity to strike back has finally appeared. If they hope to shape the future, now is the time to reclaim at least some of the territory lost to the empire... And His Majesty understands that better than anyone.

In such a moment of crisis, it would be unthinkable for the king to lie idly in bed. Nor could those around him allow it, even if they wished to. With that lingering thought, Joshua finished gathering the scattered documents from the floor. Once he’d carefully reordered them, he placed the stack neatly back on the desk. Just then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Julianus still lying back and catching his breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling and speaking in a low voice.

“Detestable creatures. Thanks to Lord Nelcius’s intervention, I’ve escaped death for now, and our kingdom has grasped a sliver of hope. But it seems I still can’t defy my age... I doubt I’ll hold out much longer. Well... If I think of it as reuniting with Arios in the afterlife, I suppose it’s not such a terrible thing...”

A wave of sorrow and confusion surged within Joshua at those words, but he couldn’t let it show in front of Julianus. These weren’t the weak, baseless ramblings of a man brought low by illness. Regardless of Julianus’s time, his life’s spark was gradually diminishing. Julianus was fully aware of that truth. For someone like Joshua—a bystander, a servant, and above all a loyal subject—accepting that evident reality was incredibly difficult. Even if death was near, one couldn’t simply acknowledge it without hesitation. This was especially true when the person facing death was the lord he revered more than anyone. But unaware of the turmoil in Joshua’s heart, Julianus continued speaking.

“That’s why... Before my time runs out, I want—no, I need to bring this war with the O’ltormea Empire to a decisive end... But whether I’ll manage that...”

The words that slipped from Julianus’s lips, even in the presence of a trusted retainer like Joshua, were dangerously candid for a monarch to utter during wartime. If such remarks were to leak beyond these walls, it could undo all the progress the kingdom had made in shifting the tides of the conflict.

Clearly, this is a sign that His Majesty is being pushed to his physical and mental limits.

Yet the sign was also a reflection of clear-eyed realism. Perhaps it was precisely because Joshua grasped the true state of affairs that Julianus forced himself to remain at his desk, ignoring the screams of protest from his aging body. In doing so, Julianus showed that he genuinely believed these next few months might be Xarooda’s last chance to strike back.

“Your Majesty, forgive my boldness, but I believe it will take at least another ten years before you’re reunited with my father, Arios Belares, in the afterlife.”

Julianus blinked in mild surprise at the unexpected words. After a short pause, he offered a quiet nod, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Of course, the odds of that happening were vanishingly small. But as long as one refused to surrender to despair, a sliver of possibility always remained. Perhaps that smile was his way of acknowledging Joshua’s unspoken compassion.

“Yes, Arios gave his life to protect this kingdom. And I, after casting aside even him, have no right to let the chance we carved out slip away. It seems... I let myself grow weak, speaking such foolish nonsense. Forget I said anything.”

With that, Julianus sighed deeply, turning his gaze toward the window. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon. Night had claimed the world outside. Suddenly, he coughed again. But this time, thanks to the medicine Joshua had given him earlier, it was nothing like the racking fit that had bent him double. It was just a few shallow coughs before it passed.

Even so, he must be nearing his physical limit. We cannot allow him to overextend himself any further.

Joshua quietly said, “Let’s call it a night, Your Majesty.”

Julianus tilted his head at those words. It was a natural question. “Is that really all right? There still seems to be quite a lot left, doesn’t there?”

The king’s gaze fell on the towering piles of documents resting on the desk. Each one demanded prompt review and approval. Yet, weighing the king’s fragile health against the importance of these papers left few options.

It’s not ideal, but I’ll have to go through them once and only bring to His Majesty tomorrow what truly requires his personal approval.

In hindsight, it might have been better to do that from the start. But Joshua had a mountain of tasks that only he could handle. Among the documents before them were not only military reports but also those concerning diplomacy and internal affairs. The real issue was how to handle these nonmilitary papers.

As the commander responsible for defending Xarooda from the O’ltormea Empire’s second invasion, I hold considerable authority.

Joshua had some jurisdiction over diplomatic and domestic matters as well, which helped him serve as the king’s aide. Furthermore, he was the son of Arios Belares, the “Guardian Deity” who had fallen on the battlefield during the first Xaroodian invasion, and one of Julianus’s most trusted retainers. For these reasons, the risk of Joshua being accused of wrongdoing was low. Yet if he were to actually approve internal and diplomatic documents, others could easily claim he was overstepping his bounds.

At the very least, that possibility remains.

There was a significant difference between advising the king, who made the final decision, and Joshua himself issuing orders. He could appear as a monopolizing power within the government or as a scheming minister controlling affairs from behind the throne. Such accusations were likely nothing more than envy and slander. Joshua did not have the slightest intention of exploiting his current position to gain benefits for the Belares family. Rather than gaining anything, Joshua was actually bearing more costs than benefits. One could argue it would be best to ignore such murmurs.

But ignoring such grievances always leaves a lingering curse. Human envy is a dangerous force...

Moreover, emotions only grow stronger when echoed and reinforced among like-minded people. This was known as the echo chamber effect. On Earth, there were no social media platforms or internet forums, so it might not be the exact same phenomenon, but the essence was similar. Whether Joshua truly deserved the label of a scheming minister was not the real issue. What mattered was that many would come to wholeheartedly believe he was indeed a traitorous figure manipulating affairs from behind the throne.

If mishandled, it could even lead to accusations of treason against the homeland.

Even if Joshua’s actions were the best option for the moment, they could prove disastrous in the long term. Nevertheless, to burden the already utterly exhausted Julianus with paperwork was nothing short of cruel. Knowing the king’s frail condition, it would be unwise to push him to work harder.

A slight misjudgment or lapse in coordination could easily bring about grave harm.

Taking all this into account, the most realistic choice was for Julianus to end his work for the day and rest. So Joshua nodded firmly in response to the king’s question, showing he was ready to take all the blame if necessary.

“You have been working since early morning and must be exhausted. Please rest well for now and focus on regaining your strength. If Your Majesty’s health improves by tomorrow morning, we shall resume work then,” Joshua said as he gave Julianus a slight bow, then gathered the towering stack of documents from the desk.

For Joshua, whose body was honed and strengthened by years as a warrior, this pile of paperwork was no issue. Still, carrying such a large stack without blocking his view or letting the papers topple was clearly a challenge. Joshua left the study with careful, unsteady steps.

“Ah, my Hawk... Forgive me. I keep burdening you so much...” Julianus muttered toward Joshua’s back, feeling frustration over his failing body.

“Honestly, I can’t just stand by and watch this... You could’ve at least called someone to help carry that mountain of paperwork,” a voice called out to Joshua as he made his way down the palace corridor, struggling to walk straight under the weight of the documents.

Recognizing the voice, Joshua came to a halt.

“Lady Lione...”

But the one who spoke first didn’t respond to his greeting.

“Give me half. I’ll carry it,” Lione said matter-of-factly.

At that moment, Joshua felt the burden in his arms lighten.

“Thanks,” Joshua said after a brief pause. He lowered his head slightly toward the speaker, careful not to let the pile of documents collapse.

Strictly speaking, asking Lione—commander of the reinforcements dispatched from House Mikoshiba—to help carry documents wasn’t exactly proper. Indeed, saying it wasn’t exactly proper was an understatement. Lione had originally been a mercenary and wasn’t the kind to obsess over social standing, but that didn’t change the fact that she now held a legitimate noble title.

And here she was, helping with menial tasks. Worse still, she was a general from a foreign nation, meaning a dispute could easily spiral into a diplomatic issue. Yet, they were long past the point of worrying about formalities like that. Regardless, it didn’t seem like Lione was doing this out of pure goodwill either.

“Sure, why not... You’ve got enough on your plate anyway. Let’s call this favor even with a bottle of wine. Just don’t try to fob me off with the cheap stuff! Oh, and while you’re at it, throw in some dried meat too, would you?”

With those words, Lione gave a sly grin. Not only had she volunteered to help on her own, but she was demanding a reward for it. She’d even casually specified a wine that wouldn’t come cheap. If that wasn’t shameless, then nothing was. Still, Joshua smirked and nodded.

“I see... So that’s your angle, huh? Well, fair enough. If the famed Crimson Lioness, once a masterful mercenary and now regarded as one of Archduke Mikoshiba’s most trusted blades, is willing to help me carry paperwork, then a bottle of wine is a small price to pay.”

“Flattery won’t get you a discount.”

“I never intended it to.” As Lione laughed, Joshua gave a small shrug in return, careful not to upset the stack of documents in his arms.

To anyone watching, their interaction would’ve seemed surprisingly warm. There was none of the sweetness found in romantic relationships, yet it clearly went beyond mere acquaintances. In simple terms, they were friends. More accurately, they seemed like partners in crime, and there was nothing wrong with that. Smooth personal relationships were an essential part of getting work done. No one could argue that a cooperative dynamic wasn’t better than a hostile one. Still, by all rights, this kind of relationship was unnatural.

Joshua Belares was a general from the Kingdom of Xarooda, responsible for the nation’s defense. Meanwhile, Lione was nothing more than a commander dispatched by the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy. Yet, both shared a bond that only those who had survived the same battlefield could ever understand. That bond had been growing from the day Lione first arrived in the Kingdom of Xarooda alongside Ryoma Mikoshiba, as they worked together with Joshua to repel the increasingly aggressive invasions from the O’ltormea Empire.

During the first invasion of Xarooda, the two had launched a raid together on the O’ltormean supply lines. Now, during the second invasion of Xarooda, Lione had been sent as commander in chief of the Mikoshiba forces and was stationed permanently in the royal capital of Peripheria. With diplomatic duties as part of her military role, she’d worked closely with Xarooda’s leadership—Joshua in particular—and the trust between them had grown into something solid. Anyone listening to how they spoke to each other could easily tell as much.

To Lione, Joshua Belares wasn’t just a foreign general serving a different kingdom. He was a friend who had endured the same hardships by her side on the battlefield. They were comrades in arms. If the favor was for a comrade like that, then helping carry a few stacks of paperwork was hardly a big deal for Lione.

“All right then, let’s get this stuff delivered and be done with it.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

The two started walking toward Joshua’s quarters. When they arrived, a guard stationed outside opened the door for them, and they stepped into the room.

“Thanks for the help, Lady Lione. Just leave it over there.”

A dull sound echoed as a stack of papers was dropped onto the desk. Lione followed suit, adding her pile beside the first.

“Still, this is a ridiculous amount... You’ve been working on it since morning, haven’t you? Even after all that, there’s still this much left? Governing a country really isn’t something you can half-ass, huh? Just looking at it makes me feel sick.”

Lione’s gaze rested on the two mountains of paperwork now sitting on the desk. Her words slipped out, tinged with a mixture of exasperation and resignation. For someone like Lione, who had spent most of her life as a mercenary, paperwork was nothing short of torture. She fully knew she truly shined on the battlefield, where she was at her best. As the leader of the Crimson Lion group during her mercenary days, she understood the importance of administrative work. If anyone asked whether she wanted to do that kind of work, she would have shaken her head violently. Since entering the service of Ryoma Mikoshiba, she had gradually gotten used to paperwork to some extent. That was because Ryoma demanded incredibly high standards from his retainers. While he didn’t ignore a person’s strengths and weaknesses, he wasn’t lenient enough to let people slide just because they disliked something or found it difficult.

More importantly, the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy functioned much like a startup or a venture company would in the corporate world. If each individual didn’t continue growing and improving, the entire organization would fall apart. Everyone who served under Ryoma understood that. With this in mind, Lione had made a serious effort to overcome her aversion to paperwork. Truthfully, she had achieved a fair amount of success in that area. Even so, it was the kind of task she had once routinely dumped on her adjutant Boltz without a second thought.

“Not a fan of paperwork yourself, Lady Lione?” Joshua asked.

“Yeah... I wouldn’t say I’m just bad at it. It’s more like I hate it. Honestly, I’d love to dump the whole thing on someone else. Not that I can, of course... But still,” Lione said with a wry smile.

She knew perfectly well that this wasn’t a matter that could be brushed aside based on personal likes and dislikes. Anyone who stood on the battlefield lived with the constant risk of death. No matter how much one prepared, that risk could never be reduced to zero. Because of that, people naturally wanted to eliminate whatever dangers they could avoid. For anything involving military affairs, there was no room for negotiation. This was no exaggeration, seeing that these documents directly affected the lives of Lione and her subordinates.

“Well, when it comes to paperwork related to war, I can’t exactly say I hate it and walk away... But I’m guessing this mountain here has more than a few things that are outside your area of expertise, doesn’t it?” Lione mused, reaching for one of the documents atop the pile.

After a quick glance at its contents, she gave a small, unimpressed snort through her nose. Whenever she had to look at paperwork outside her field of expertise, a reflexive sense of resistance always crept up. It was a mental block, the kind born from the firm belief that she simply wasn’t suited to this kind of work. In that sense, it was hard to blame her. Joshua responded to her comment with a deep sigh. Without a word, he reached for the document lying at the very top of the stack.

“You’re right. If we’re talking about being out of our depth, then I suppose you’ve hit the mark, Lady Lione.” Joshua glanced over the paper, then shrugged his shoulders and sighed heavily. The report was about forestry within the Kingdom of Xarooda, detailing which mountains to harvest lumber from, the transportation routes, and storage methods. Should one need to categorize the report, it was a matter of domestic policy. “But still... Is it the kind of thing I can just shove aside for later? Probably not. As long as we’re continuing this war with the O’ltormea Empire, we can’t afford to ignore the economy.”

Wars cost money. Nations had to provide drafted soldiers with weapons and armor, feed them three times a day, and if they were injured or fell ill, offer them proper medical care. If one was going to order them to risk their lives, that level of support was the bare minimum. Drafting men into the army wasn’t particularly difficult, but actually getting them onto the battlefield required even more funding. That funding had to keep flowing until the war ended, which was a constant drain of resources. Worse yet, this expense could not simply be cut off because the costs were getting too high.

If an army ever stopped, the nation would collapse, and the people would be forced to live under the ironfisted rule of the O’ltormea Empire. This future was all too easy to imagine.

“War sure burns through money. Our boss is always wrestling with that same headache,” Lione said with a dry chuckle.

Joshua gave her a slight nod in response.

In other words, nurturing industry is always a top priority for a nation. Even in the middle of a war... No, especially then.

Even someone like Joshua, who readily admitted he was no expert in domestic affairs, could grasp that much. Of course, doing everything possible to survive today was important. But the only ones allowed to live day-to-day without thinking about tomorrow were commoners who didn’t carry the burden of anyone else’s life on their shoulders. For those involved in governing a nation or leading people, such a narrow perspective simply wasn’t acceptable.

“Even if we survive today, if we don’t make plans to survive tomorrow, then all roads will just lead to ruin in the end.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s the truth of it,” Lione replied.

In short, a person couldn’t abandon either today or tomorrow. One couldn’t separate them either. With a sigh, she snatched the document out of Joshua’s hands, scanned it, and grinned.

“I see. Once you cut down a tree, that’s the end of it, huh? So if you want it to work as a steady business, you’ve gotta plant replacements for the ones you’ve taken.”

“Not only that, but the lumber you cut can’t be used right away. It needs to be dried based on how it’ll be used and sometimes reshaped entirely. If you’re serious about keeping the industry going, it takes time, planning, and a good deal of effort.”

For the mountainous Kingdom of Xarooda, where flat land was scarce and large-scale agriculture was difficult, forestry was considered just as vital an industry as mining and arms exports. But forestry wasn’t just about cutting down trees and turning them into lumber. Freshly cut wood still held moisture, needing drying time for construction. On top of that, the more trees they felled, the smaller the forest became. If one only cared about short-term profits, cutting the trees and calling it a day might seem fine. But if they were considering the Kingdom of Xarooda’s economic development ten or twenty years in the future, they’d have no choice but to invest in reforestation and sustainable practices. Pushing for deforestation purely for short-term profit could also lead to landslides and other natural disasters, depending on the terrain.

“Technically, it should be the nobles entrusted with the land who manage it themselves. Ideally, anyway.”

“Yeah... Well, that’s probably asking too much,” Lione replied with a shrug.

“I don’t want to meddle too much either,” Joshua continued. “But if we let those without a shred of self-restraint do whatever they please, it’s only a matter of time before it turns into a serious problem.”

In principle, Joshua was absolutely right. Land management was the responsibility of the local lords, as that was the natural order of things. But reality rarely followed principle.

People have desires that twist reality...

Desire in itself wasn’t evil. Hunger, lust, even the need for sleep were all essential instincts that drove humanity forward. They were the forces that pushed people toward a better future. But that only held true when those desires were kept in check by a person’s own will. Unrestrained desire was no different from a car speeding downhill with no brakes. It was only a matter of time before it crashed.

After all, this is wartime. Because of that, money is even more necessary than during peace. Everyone’s desperate to survive. Currently, what they needed to survive were two things: economic power and military might. For the sake of building up either, many nobles would probably throw caution to the wind and take reckless actions, even if they knew those same actions might strangle them in the future. With money, you can buy food, weapons, and maintain your troops.

As long as Xarooda’s nobles had a certain level of wealth and military force, they’d at least retain a chance of negotiating their families’ survival, even if the kingdom were to fall under the O’ltormea Empire’s control. On the other hand, if they had neither wealth nor troops, their fate would be bleak.

The strong don’t negotiate with the weak.

Being strong meant being able to force your will on others, even unreasonably. Whether that was morally right or wrong was a separate issue. That was the nature of the world, and everyone understood that truth. Given that, each person prioritized their own interests in how they acted.

People consider their priorities to avoid losing themselves or whatever it is they hold dear. If we do as we please, the state will lose all sense of order.

This perspective underscored the need for someone capable of seeing the bigger picture, regardless of morality. Without that kind of leadership, the Kingdom of Xarooda had no future. Therefore, the duo had to approve the documents sooner rather than later.

“To begin with, our country’s political structure is fragile,” Joshua said. “Ideally, the chancellor and civil officials should handle internal affairs and diplomatic planning. The very fact that His Majesty has to make every single decision is unnatural. At the very least, we should be dividing responsibilities to ease the burden on the king, but that’s easier said than done.”

With that, a heavy sigh escaped Joshua’s lips. It was likely a frustration shared by everyone working within Xarooda’s royal court. But reality never aligned neatly with ideals. When things aligned with ideals, it was a rare exception.

“Considering the nature of Xarooda itself, I imagine training civil officials would be quite a challenge,” Lione remarked.

Joshua nodded, as he already knew this well. Xarooda had long been hailed as a martial nation. Given its harsh terrain and geographical position, the kingdom had frequently clashed with other powers aiming to expand eastward across the continent. As a result, the military had grown disproportionately powerful. The nation’s armed forces were said to be second to none. For the people living in Xarooda, joining the knight corps or royal army was a dream and an aspiration in every sense of the word. Thus, the country’s most talented individuals tended to gravitate toward the military or knight orders.

“After all,” Lione continued, “I hear it’s pretty easy to get hired as a soldier in Xarooda. And promotions come fast. On top of that, if you’ve got the skill, you might even be knighted. With incentives like that, it’s no wonder people with real talent are drawn here.”

“It’s only natural for anyone to want to demonstrate their abilities in the best environment available,” Joshua responded.

In the Kingdom of Xarooda, most commoners were born with dreams of enlisting in the royal army. Even for a rank-and-file soldier, the conditions weren’t bad. If luck was on their side and they distinguished themselves in battle, they could be knighted and enter into official service. That alone would be enough to change their life entirely. Such a reward was like a carp climbing the waterfall and ascending to the heavens as a dragon, which one could refer to as a gateway to success. Because the military opened its doors widely, without regard for birth or status, countless capable individuals set their sights on joining, each dreaming of becoming a dragon.

Compared to a soldier’s, the path to becoming a civil official is brutally harsh.

Everything began with learning how to read and write. One would need to learn arithmetic too. Training the body required hardly any investment, but making your way as a scholar—and eventually a bureaucrat—meant investing heavily in your education. The costs added up in textbooks, as well as payments for reading and writing tutors. The expenses were endless. To cover all that, a substantial sum of money would absolutely be necessary.

But how many commoners could actually afford that kind of education? Joshua wondered. Among the commoner families in Xarooda, only those born into a wealthy merchant household could afford the kind of environment that allowed for dedicated study. Either that, or perhaps some illegitimate child fathered by a noble through a mistress.

Those born into merchant families were expected to take over the family business. In the case of illegitimate children, most would be brought into their father’s household and raised to serve as retainers. Most of those lucky enough to be born into families that could afford an education had their futures set in stone when they entered the world. While they may have been economically fortunate, they had no freedom to choose their own path and no need either. That was the reality of life on this continent.

Even if one of them miraculously gained the freedom to choose their own future, they’d still probably pick the military path.

When asked whether being a civil official or a military officer was more likely to lead to success, the answer was obvious.

Unless there was some extraordinary reason, there was simply no need to choose the path of a civil official. Anyone who voluntarily chose that route had to be either a true eccentric or someone hiding an ulterior motive.

The only real exceptions were those born with frail bodies or those whose injuries made life on the battlefield unfeasible. Of course, that was a viewpoint heavily steeped in prejudice. It wasn’t as if the civil officials of the Kingdom of Xarooda were completely devoid of talent; there were probably a few hidden gems mixed among the stones. Still, most of the kingdom’s people held this impression. Everyone sought a path to success, not one littered with thorns and hardship.

If given the choice, anyone would naturally choose the easier path.

Should someone have a choice between becoming a military or civil official, nearly everyone would opt for the military route.

As a result, Xaroodian civil officials are, more often than not, second-rate personnel.

Even Joshua, who admitted to being politically uninformed, didn’t hold a high opinion of civil officials. He wouldn’t go so far as to call all of them incompetent, but most were just machines that followed precedent without question. They had no free will or ideals guiding their actions.

Civil officials seemed to care only about completing tasks smoothly, without ever stopping to consider whether what they were doing was truly necessary or correct. Because of that, their work often came across as timid and mechanical, lacking any sense of confidence or pride in being responsible for the direction of the nation. When the nobles, who were supposed to handle domestic policy and diplomacy, began behaving questionably, people hesitated to entrust the civil officials with anything meaningful. It was a perfectly understandable consequence. Yet from a national governance perspective, the situation was extremely distorted.

Generation after generation, the kings of Xarooda never relied on civil officials.

As a result, the monarchs had no choice but to take political matters into their own hands, even if doing so meant tightening the noose around their necks.

Just like every king of Xarooda before him, Julianus hadn’t tried to drag the present closer to some lofty ideal. Instead, he took the burden onto himself and dealt with it head-on. With his health failing, it was Joshua’s turn to carry that weight. Calling the situation a hand-to-mouth operation pretty much nailed it; there was nothing they could do about it at this point.

It’s not like I’ve made any preparations for a new system anyway, Joshua thought. If he wanted to overhaul the way the government worked, they’d need an extended, carefully laid-out transition plan. But we don’t have the time to sit around playing the patient reformer.

The war with the O’ltormea Empire was still raging, after all.

Trying to force a political shake-up now would only stir up more chaos. Knowing that, Joshua understood perfectly well there was no way they could push such a thing through. However, this did not change anything in his heart.

“Well, I can’t argue with you, Lady Lione, about being sick to death of it all,” he said. He opened the desk drawer, pulled out a box of cigars, bit one, and brought a small flame up to its tip. “Ahh... Now that’s better.”

Purple smoke swirled lazily in the air as Joshua nodded in satisfaction. He’d been glued to Julianus’s side since morning, playing the loyal aide, without a moment to enjoy a smoke. Enduring this by sheer willpower was probably more accurate. Julianus was a king and a recovering patient on top of that.

There were no public health services on Earth warning people about secondhand smoke. But even a die-hard smoker like Joshua could guess that it wouldn’t do Julianus any favors. If he’d asked for a short smoke break, Julianus probably wouldn’t have refused him.

His Majesty’s always been far too considerate of me, after all.

Joshua wasn’t just any retainer; he was the last memento of Julianus’s old friend, Arios Belares. Ever since the king had left his sickbed, Joshua had been at his side day and night. Wasn’t a little consideration for someone like Joshua reasonable? It was hardly a crime. In fact, Julianus probably wished Joshua would take a proper break once in a while. But even for a man with nerves as thick-skinned as Joshua’s, it still felt a bit presumptuous to ask the king for something like that.

Besides, the longer I rest, the later the work gets finished.

If someone could take over while he was on break, he’d gladly do it. But that wasn’t the case. And so, he was nine to ten hours into an unplanned stretch of enforced abstinence.

“You’re really savoring that one, huh?” Lione’s tone was teasing as she smiled at the sight of Joshua exhaling purple smoke with such satisfaction.

“Yeah. It’s perfect,” he replied. For a smoker who’d been forced into hours of restraint, the moment was pure bliss. But that bliss came at the cost of heralding the start of hell’s second round. Still, I’ve gotta do it.

Joshua held down the urge to throw it all away, exhaling a long, steady stream of smoke. Lione watched him with a faint, wry smile.

“Don’t mind me. Go ahead and smoke to your heart’s content. You’ve more than earned a little reward.”

He gave a slight, rueful nod at that. Humans, after all, needed rewards if they were going to face hardship head-on.

“Then I’ll take you up on that. Might as well restore a bit of energy while I can.”

Afterward, he drew in again, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips. Lione’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression tinged with nostalgia as she spoke up.

“Hard to believe... Just a few years ago I was living like a wandering bird, drifting from battlefield to battlefield as the leader of a mercenary band. And now? Here I am, sitting face-to-face with a man who carries the fate of an entire nation on his shoulders.”

“To hear that from the Crimson Lioness, Lady Lione, is an honor. Well, I was just an easygoing third son with no political connections, so I don’t think you’ve got much reason to hold me in such high regard. Besides, if the price of promotion is getting chained to a chair wrestling with paperwork all day, I’d say it’s a pretty raw deal.”

“No arguments here.”

With that, both burst out laughing. Deep within, Joshua Belares was the same breed of person as Lione. The same applied to men like Robert Bertrand and Signus Galveria, who were starting to be recognized as martial icons of the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy. Only a vanishingly small number of warriors of any real caliber genuinely enjoyed sitting in a room doing paperwork.

Most of them lived for the battlefield—mud on their boots, the clash of swords and spears ringing in their ears, risking their lives in a deadly dance with enemy soldiers. That was where they felt purpose. That was where they felt alive. But once a soldier rose above the rank of a mere fighter and began leading an army, that was no longer enough. Every decision they made could erase countless lives.

A soldier’s job included the risk of dying. At the very least, danger was constant, and anyone unwilling to face it had no business wearing the uniform. That much was obvious on the battlefield. But for that very reason, a commander had the duty and the responsibility to minimize those losses and strive for victory with everything they had. If someone couldn’t understand that, they had no right to be a commander; that was what it meant to stand above others.

Whether Joshua liked it or not, he was in a position where his decisions could decide the fate of an entire nation. The weight of that responsibility dwarfed even that of a general commanding an army.

Never thought I’d end up in a position that could shape the future of a country. Life really doesn’t go the way you plan.

Before Arios Belares had fallen in the first war between O’ltormea and Xarooda, Joshua Belares had felt no loyalty or patriotism toward his homeland. Instead of claiming he didn’t feel any, he’d simply never seen a reason to consider it at all.

Until the day Joshua Belares stood on the battlefield alongside his father to repel O’ltormea’s first invasion, he had never realized there was a flame called patriotism or loyalty burning in his heart.

On Earth, a world where a clear social gulf separated commoners from nobles, being the third son of House Belares was not such a bad position to hold. At the very least, the nobility was far less likely to treat him like an insect compared to the commoners. Even among nobles, there were ranks, and even among siblings born into the same house, there was a stark difference between the eldest son and the rest. Being the third son in particular put him in an especially delicate position.

Moreover, inheritance of the family headship followed the principle of primogeniture in this world. Naturally, the eldest brother inherited the house; if something unfortunate befell him, there was still the second brother as a spare. House Belares was considered one of Xarooda’s distinguished noble families, so it wasn’t as though there would be no means of support for him. But the future laid before Joshua was one with no connection to advancement or glory.

Joshua Belares possessed exceptional martial skill and the tactical eye to lead a whole army as a general. He was a hero with the qualities to not only command an army but also to command generals. Whether he could stand in a position to make full use of those gifts was another matter entirely.

If my brothers had lived, I would’ve ended up serving House Belares as a retainer. Or, if I hated that, I’d have had to throw away the family name and live as a mercenary or an adventurer.

But Joshua’s father, Arios, had fallen in battle, while his brothers perished on the battlefield during the second invasion of Xarooda. Inevitably, the headship of House Belares fell to the only surviving member, Joshua.

Others might have envied him for inheriting the headship of the distinguished Belares family. Some had even said to his face, “Lucky your brothers died, huh?”

In the end, such remarks were nothing more than the irresponsible prattle of outsiders.

Whether my becoming the head of the house was a good thing or a bad thing...

What truly mattered was what Joshua Belares thought and how he acted. His refusal to give up and his resolve had likely brought about a turning point for the Kingdom of Xarooda in its time of crisis. Because Joshua knew this, he wanted to protect his homeland. And now, he had the position and the authority that might allow him to make that happen.

“Still, I can’t thank Lord Robert and Lord Signus enough. And Lord Nelcius as well... He is truly impressive. In just a few days, he’s already reclaimed nearly half of the Ushas Basin from O’ltormea’s occupation.”

“Well, with those two it’s hardly surprising. But the biggest reason for the advance in reclaiming territory is that His Majesty Julianus has recovered from his sickbed,” Lionel said.

“No doubt about that... In that case, Lord Nelcius’s achievement is even greater. When the war settles, I’ll have to think of something for him.”

“Well, I doubt Nelcius’ll care either way.”

Joshua nodded lightly at Lione’s amused comment. But for him, simply accepting her words as they were wasn’t so easy.

Lady Lione may say that, but we can’t just erase Lord Nelcius’s achievements. The fact that His Majesty has left his sickbed and returned to government is far too significant.

When King Julianus had been bedridden, poisoned by the bloodworm, everyone had thought Xarooda’s fate was sealed. Until that fateful day, only a handful of nobles—including Joshua, Captain Grahart Henschel of Xarooda’s Royal Guard, and Captain Orson Greed of the Xaroodian Monarch’s Guard—had shown any willingness to cooperate with the army to repel O’ltormea’s invasion.

But everything changed when His Majesty sat on the throne again.

The absence of the nation’s highest leader had clearly been the decisive factor. Nobles who hadn’t sided with Joshua lacked all patriotism or loyalty; their level of commitment was paltry when compared to men like him and Grahart. Moreover, they would have to accept criticism for their failure to rise in defense of the country during O’ltormea’s invasion.

While many nobles had been waiting to see which way the wind would blow, they weren’t traitors like Marquis Almholt, who had conspired with the enemy. They had simply been unable to fully believe in Xarooda’s future.

“Marquis Almholt’s lack of belief shows how he was tempted by honeyed words. Given the situation back then, I can’t say it was entirely unreasonable. So yes, executing him was the right choice, but... His Majesty seems to feel guilty over that decision.”

“I’ve heard the stories about the marquis’s mother, but is he really that troubled by it?”

“Yes. It seems His Majesty regrets executing Marquis Almholt.”

At that, Lione let out a deep sigh. The recently executed Ernest Almholt had been the head of a prestigious noble family and the grandson of Julianus’s sister, Alegria. In other words, Ernest was one of his few remaining blood relatives. However, the Almholt family had been completely cut off from their role in the kingdom’s governance due to this affair. For the mild-tempered Julianus, who disliked stirring trouble, it had been an unusually decisive act.

If the head of the house was conspiring with O’ltormea and plotting rebellion...

In reality, few nations would tolerate a man who colluded with foreign powers and turned his sword against his homeland. On Earth, the common response was execution of the entire family. Even the fact that Ernest Almholt was related by blood to Julianus hardly changed matters.

Had His Majesty really tried, it might have been possible to resolve things with a house arrest.

As a performance, it wouldn’t have been a bad way for King Julianus I to show magnanimity by pardoning a rebellious vassal and taking him back into service. In a story, it would have made for a fine turn of events. But in reality, it was far harder to choose.

If this were fiction, the villain might be moved by such mercy, turn over a new leaf, and serve the crown as a loyal retainer.

Joshua was not so naive as to believe such a thing would actually happen, though it wasn’t absolutely impossible. One could predict whether someone had any chance of reform based on their past behavior and words.

If His Majesty had pardoned Marquis Almholt, he would have had to pardon all the other traitors who became O’ltormea’s dogs along with him, Joshua thought, seeing that action as nothing more than a reckless gamble. Show leniency to people like that, and instead of appreciating His Majesty’s mercy, they’ll just get it into their heads that they can do whatever they want and still be forgiven.

Humans could only predict the future based on past results. It seemed that whenever a crime happened nearby, a person with a bad record was always the first suspect. If one called that prejudice, they would be right.

Should one confront such prejudice or go to the guards, anyone in that situation would arrive at the same conclusion. At the very least, it was only natural to consider the possibility once. Joshua wanted to avoid a situation where loyal retainers who had sworn to serve Xarooda ended up paying the price for such people. It was like a disease where one was too afraid to cut away the rot because they might lose everything in the end.

“Honestly, the tide’s finally turned. I just don’t want to see this opportunity wasted,” Lione murmured.

Joshua slowly nodded his head.

“I know... But with His Majesty in such a spiritless state...”

The king had returned to government after his illness and purged the treacherous ministers infesting the kingdom. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for Xarooda, which had been on the back foot ever since the war began.

Now was the time to throw the full might of the army into a counterattack against O’ltormea.

But His Majesty’s health is worse than I expected. If he pushes himself, could we be looking at the worst possible outcome?

Joshua, who commanded Xarooda’s army, could not ignore the situation. That uncertainty clouded his mind and made him hesitate to commit to the offensive. Yet he did not know that at that very moment, the tide was beginning to turn once more.

Chapter 2: Burning Hate

The Ushas Basin was one of the Kingdom of Xarooda’s most fertile breadbaskets. For a realm whose food self-sufficiency was never high, this land was nothing short of vital. Nearly half of all the grain circulating within Xarooda came from the basin’s harvests.

While the kingdom did import food from abroad, relying on foreign supply meant placing the lives of one’s citizens in the hands of another nation’s rulers. That was a risk no responsible statesman should tolerate. The more a country could feed itself, the more secure its sovereignty, which was common sense and a duty for those who governed.

By that measure, the Ushas Basin was the kingdom’s lifeline. Now, this lifeline had become a battlefield. It was the stage for a fierce struggle between the O’ltormea Empire, burning with its ambition to push east, and the Kingdom of Xarooda, determined to block that advance.

In truth, “fierce struggle” was almost too generous. From the outset of the second Xaroodian campaign, the O’ltormea army had been steadily expanding its control. Their pace had not been blinding, but the advance had been relentless.

Now that was changing.

On the eastern plains of the basin, two banners snapped in the wind—the royal standard of Xarooda and the crest of House Mikoshiba. This was the Xaroodian defensive camp, tasked with holding the basin.

To think I’d live to see this day, Orson Greed thought.

Orson Greed, captain of the Monarch’s Guard and entrusted with the basin’s defense, narrowed his eyes at the flags overhead. He had borne the brunt of the frontline defense ever since Robert Bertrand had smashed O’ltormea’s vanguard and temporarily returned to the capital. With allied banners flying beside his own, all that strain finally felt worth it. A familiar, booming voice then interrupted his moment of reflection.

“Greed. What are you doing, standing there?”

He recognized his old comrade’s voice. For months, Orson and Robert Bertrand of the Mikoshiba forces had fought side by side to hold the basin.

“Robert.”

Orson turned around and found Robert grinning, with his ever-present companion Signus Galveria beside him.

“It’s been a while,” Robert said. “You look well.”

“And you too,” Orson replied, clasping Robert’s hand firmly. He then extended a hand toward Signus.

“I’ve long heard of your skill, Sir Galveria, and how you nearly brought down the famed Emperor’s Shield, Rolfe Estherkent. As a fellow warrior, I’ve always held that feat in deep respect. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Signus scratched his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. Failure or not, praise from a knight of Orson’s renown was no small thing.

“You flatter me, Sir Greed,” Signus said. “Hearing this come from a general of your reputation is almost embarrassing.”

The two shared a brief laugh, but Robert’s gaze had already shifted as his eyes sharpened.

“Still, it seems quieter than I expected. Your men look restless,” Robert stated.

“They are,” Orson admitted with a nod. “Both sides have been avoiding large-scale clashes lately.”

The soldiers were armed, with their armor polished, and had unusually high spirits despite the war. Yet there was an odd looseness in the air, a faint frustration beneath the discipline. Now that they had turned the tide from disadvantage to advantage, they were eager to press the attack. But war required an opponent willing to face you. The enemy was holding back, and that restraint was bleeding into the camp’s mood.

“I considered going on the offensive,” Orson continued, “but I decided to wait for reinforcements from the capital. I’ve ordered the men to hold the line until then.”

“A sound decision,” Robert said without hesitation. “Better to defend with what we have than gamble on an assault and invite a counterstrike.”

He patted Orson on the shoulder, and the relief on the knight commander’s face was obvious. Even Xarooda’s Monarch’s Guard captain found it daunting to have his strategy judged by the legendary Twin Blades.

Robert turned to Signus. “So, what do you think the O’ltormea dogs will do next?”

“If I were in their place,” Signus remarked, tilting his head in thought, “I’d pull back, tighten the line, concentrate forces, and wait for reinforcements from home.”

“Agreed,” Robert said.

War followed its own patterns much like the movements on a board of chess or go. The best moves in a given situation tended to be the same, regardless of who played them.

“In that case,” Robert continued, “we should send word to Joshua in the capital and push for reinforcements of our own.”

Orson nodded. “If our reinforcements arrive before theirs, we could force a decisive battle and reclaim the occupied territory. We should also rally the nearby nobles. If you two and I go together, they won’t dare refuse.”

The plan was so simple that even the most hesitant lords would be hard-pressed to deny the combined request of Robert Bertrand and Signus Galveria.

“In that case,” Orson said with a grin, “let’s have a feast tonight. We may not get another chance once things start moving again.”

Robert laughed, patting his friend’s shoulder. Signus only shook his head with a smirk, though he didn’t object.

“Fine,” he said. “But triple the scouts tonight, just in case.”

And so, under watchful eyes, the camp celebrated late into the night.

As laughter and toasts filled the eastern plains, far to the west of the Ushas Basin in a village called Berat, a very different gathering was taking place. The birth of a new, dark, and deliberate scheme was taking shape.

In the confiscated manor that served as his forward command post, Hideaki Saito, vice captain of the Succubus Knights and one of Shardina Eisenheit’s closest aides, let out a heavy, weary sigh.

A map of the Kingdom of Xarooda lay spread wide across the table before Saito. Countless white and black pieces, representing the forces of the O’ltormea Empire and the Kingdom of Xarooda, were placed upon it.

Now, what should I do? A look of anguish colored Saito’s face as he glared at the challenging situation shown by the map. In fact, the state of the war could hardly be called favorable for the O’ltormea army. I should just admit it’s bad.

O’ltormea had been defeated in the recent battle, and the vanguard army dispatched to seize the Ushas Basin had been crushed at the hands of Robert Bertrand. On top of that, the supposedly foolproof plan to assault the royal capital of Peripheria also failed, forcing Rolfe Estherkent to retreat under pressure. The vanguard, serving as a decoy, would inevitably suffer losses.

Even Shardina, who had devised the plan, was prepared to accept a certain level of casualties. One could still consider the decimation of the vanguard army by Xarooda’s forces to be within expectations.

Had James Tret, who commanded the vanguard and was slain by Robert Bertrand, and Rolfe Estherkent—the leader of the detachment meant to carry out the assault—been forced to withdraw by Signus Galveria, things might have been very different.

The death of James Tret might have been tolerable at one point. He was a man of considerable ability as a general leading an army, but not someone truly irreplaceable. But because a detachment of ten thousand elite troops was annihilated before they could even launch the assault on the capital, and Rolfe was driven into hiding, the situation changed drastically.

Even though Lord Sudou somehow managed to rescue him before he was killed, if Lord Estherkent is now off the battlefield with no prospect of returning... Saito realized that the possibility meant the plan to assault the royal capital had failed. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before Xarooda reclaims the Ushas Basin.

If they sat idle like this, that future would surely become reality. The assault on the royal capital led by Rolfe that had been devised as the ultimate tactic to secure victory in the second invasion of Xarooda had dragged on for months. Instead, it tightened the noose around the O’ltormea army’s neck.

And it wasn’t just a simple failure. For the O’ltormea army, this was a failure in the worst possible way... If I were to compare it to fishing, it would be as if the fish didn’t just swallow the bait named James Tret but also yanked the entire fishing rod into the sea. If we’d only lost the bait, we could just replace it on the hook. But with the rod gone, continuing to fish becomes difficult... It’s the same thing here.

O’ltormea’s forces could retrieve the rod, give up and bring out another one, or abandon fishing altogether. Rolfe Estherkent’s removal from the front lines was a loss the army could not afford. As a result, the O’ltormea forces invading Xarooda were in dire straits.

In other words, we literally lost both the vanguard acting as bait and the ten thousand men of Lord Estherkent’s detachment, gaining nothing in return.

There had been no major repercussions from these events so far. The leaders were merely tightening their front lines to respond to enemy offensives and had begun abandoning some occupied territories. At least the Xaroodian forces had not directly assaulted O’ltormea’s army and inflicted additional defeats. On the surface, it wasn’t as if they had racked up more black marks. However, in war, what mattered more than the tally of victories was the soldiers’ morale and the army’s momentum. Above all, correctly reading the tide of battle was the most critical thing.

Xarooda understands that... That thought dominated Saito’s mind. For now, Xarooda showed no major movements. Although the number of skirmishes between O’ltormea patrols and Xaroodian forces had increased, they still amounted to nothing more than minor clashes barely above the level of reconnaissance encounters.

But Hideaki Saito was not a man naive enough to believe this situation would last forever. At this stage, he could compare it to an exchange of jabs in a boxing match. Eventually, someone would find the perfect moment to throw that crushing straight right.

Of course, sometimes a probing jab lands clean and gets you a KO... But how often does reality hand you that kind of luck? Saito thought. Those outcomes were not very frequent. Such feints would stop sooner or later, and someone would commit to a decisive strike. War wasn’t all that different. Xarooda hasn’t shown their hand yet, but it’s only a matter of time before they go in with a major offensive.

When the rising morale of the Xaroodian forces was so obvious, there was no mistaking that the day was close. Too close. The air hanging over the Ushas Basin was starting to carry the scent of blood and iron, which grew stronger with every passing day.

It’s like a dying campfire suddenly blowing up into an inferno, as if someone dumped gasoline on it.

A dramatic change had taken place. Just two weeks ago, the morale of Xarooda’s army had been anything but high. Quite bluntly, it had sunk to the bare minimum needed to keep the army from falling apart. Even with morale that low, these were soldiers from Xarooda, a nation famed for its warrior spirit.

Naturally, both nations had fought to some extent, except for the elite of the elite. The Royal Guard and the Monarch’s Guard were unmatched in all of Xarooda, as were other units that had sworn to resist O’ltormea’s invasion to the bitter end, ready to die on their feet.

But those were just that—exceptions. Tiny drops in the bucket...

When O’ltormea launched its second invasion of Xarooda, the kingdom’s standing army was estimated at roughly three hundred thousand, still recovering from the scars of the first invasion. Moreover, there were the forces of the local lords governing Xarooda’s territories. In times of crisis, mercenaries would be hired, and conscription would be enforced among the populace. The total came to just over half a million, which was a massive force for a single nation. Across the entire western continent, it easily ranked among the top five and was more than enough for defense.

But when the enemy was one of the continent’s three great powers—the O’ltormea Empire, whose standing army alone exceeded one million by a wide margin—even that mighty force was little more than a mantis brandishing its claws at a charging ox. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Xarooda couldn’t commit all five hundred thousand to the front at the Ushas Basin.

If they did, internal security would collapse, and they’d have bigger problems than O’ltormea’s invasion.

The countryside’s crawling with bandits and marauders, and literal monsters are lurking outside the cities. Considering the instability in the nobility’s loyalties, their situation is clearly dire. Even if they scream about defending the homeland, there’s only so much they can do; the troops they can spare for the front are limited. Severely limited.

From the viewpoint of Xarooda’s soldiers, that was nothing short of a hopeless war. And in that darkness, how many soldiers truly believed in victory and kept their spirits burning to slaughter the invaders?

At most, twenty percent would persevere. If that. Even if Saito was generous and estimated twenty percent of Xarooda’s half million total, that only gave them a hundred thousand. And honestly? It was probably even less.

With King Julianus bedridden and unable to lead from the front, and traitorous nobles scheming in the shadows to sell out their own kingdom, conflict was inevitable. Soldiers fought with their lives because they believed victory was possible. If that belief were taken away, Xarooda couldn’t fight.

Sure, they’d still pick up a sword and march to the battlefield, which is better than seeing their homeland trampled. But that’s all it’d be...

War in this world knew no brakes. There were no laws banning what modern society would call atrocities—pillaging, slaughter, rape, human trafficking—and the people involved didn’t even have the concept that such acts should be forbidden.

If your country suffers defeat, you’d better be ready to lose everything and live as a slave. Not that it’s guaranteed, of course.

Watching your parents or children butchered before your eyes, your wife or lover violated would not be surprising. In this world, defeat in war meant accepting that reality.

Any fool could see that crushing the populace under excessive brutality only made postoccupation governance harder. If a commander with that kind of foresight held the reins, they’d naturally try to curb such behavior. But whether such a commander even existed—or whether they had enough power to enforce their will—was another matter entirely. This meant it all came down to luck, and the soldiers of Xarooda knew that. That was why they kept fighting.

Still, there was a difference between a man who fought because he believed victory was possible and a man who fought believing the war was already lost. The difference showed in every strike, every breath of his fighting spirit. Motivation played a crucial role in everyday life. Work flowed when a person wanted to do it, and it dragged when they did not. On the battlefield, that will to fight determined everything. The stronger the will, the greater the results. It was as simple as that.

That’s exactly why this entire strategy was built the way it was. Low morale in Xarooda’s ranks was expected.

For this second invasion of Xarooda, Shardina Eisenheit and Akitake Sudou had crafted their plan around two key goals: crippling reinforcements other nations might send and crushing Xarooda’s fighting spirit.

The directive was born from the bitter experience of the first invasion, shattered by Ryoma Mikoshiba’s audacious gambit.

And for the most part, that strategy worked, Saito thought. Sudou’s move was especially notable as he slipped assassins into place to poison Julianus, leaving him bedridden. That blow gutted Xarooda’s morale and shackled their options on the field. Yeah... If things had gone on like that, Xarooda would’ve been forced to surrender within a few months at most.

But all that precision planning was history now. Ever since Robert Bertrand killed James Tret in the last battle, Xarooda’s army had pulled back and set up camp about thirty kilometers east of Gorteia. That put Xarooda’s forces about ten kilometers from Berat, the village where Saito was staying.

With that much distance, there was no way to see their camp with the naked eye. Unless one climbed a hill or mountain, or boosted their vision with martial thaumaturgy techniques, it was impossible.

Even in the Ushas Basin, where the terrain was relatively flat for a mountainous kingdom like Xarooda, it wasn’t featureless. Small hills dotted the land, and forests were thick in places. Considering all that, there was absolutely no way to observe Xarooda’s army from this village. And yet, Saito felt as though he could see their state as plainly as if it were laid out before him. He had no concrete proof, but something was decisively different.

I couldn’t put it into words even if I tried...

What exactly made him feel that way? What told him this wasn’t the same as before? He didn’t know himself. He wasn’t analyzing the air like some scientist. Maybe it was nothing but instinct. This meant, for all he knew, his certainty might simply be a delusion.

Saito felt the change in the air of war was an undeniable fact, which might have spoken to the depth of his skill as a warrior honed by countless battlefields and the blood of many men. Even if that sensation was nothing but delusion, it wouldn’t matter. Saito never ignored his instincts or gut feelings. But he wasn’t the kind of man to act blindly on them without grounding them in evidence either. What mattered was verifying the reasoning behind the conclusion.

If this report isn’t wrong, then my instincts are on the mark.

Judging from the intelligence gathered by spies embedded in Peripheria, Saito was sure of the oddity. Wild instinct sensed the threat; reason searched for the countermeasure. Both were a coexistence of beast and mind. That was what kept Hideaki Saito alive in this hellish world after being summoned here. His primal instinct was now screaming the loudest warning yet.

Add to that the scouts’ report that the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy’s banner has been flying over Xarooda’s camp since yesterday and...

Saito had to assume Xarooda was preparing to push soldiers to the front. The only question was when they’d make the counteroffensive official.

Just have the king return from his sickbed and the army’s vigor changes this drastically, huh.

Of course, Saito had expected that much when Julianus recovered. But seeing Xaroodian morale shift so dramatically? He hadn’t counted on it.

The man was mocked for being dull, even called a fool behind his back. If it had been Arios Belares, that would make sense. Saito did not believe every rumor about the king, though he’d assumed that a man branded with such contempt wouldn’t inspire much by coming back.

If the Guardian Deity had returned to lead, the high morale of Xarooda’s soldiers would be obvious. But reality didn’t follow Saito’s script. The revival of a scorned and underestimated king had rekindled hope among Xarooda’s troops. No matter how much Saito despised the fact, it didn’t change the truth.

If his recovery happened right after Mikoshiba’s forces arrived, they must have carried out special treatment of some sort. Sudou said it was nearly impossible to purge bloodworms once they’ve taken root.

A sharp click of his tongue escaped. While there was no solid proof, the situation strongly suggested Ryoma Mikoshiba’s involvement. Then came the executions to purge traitors like Marquis Armholt. That spectacle froze the hearts of nobles who’d been watching from the sidelines, forcing loyalty to the crown and fear of Julianus back into their bones. Nobles from all across Xarooda now marched toward Peripheria with their own troops in tow.

Because of that, we’re getting reports of unrest creeping through the towns and villages we’ve occupied.

At the war’s start, lightning raids and Julianus’s coma had tipped the scales to the O’ltormea Empire. Little by little, but without fail, the balance was swinging back. If this kept up, the scales would tilt toward Xarooda. When a force that had been losing caught a glimpse of victory, momentum surged with it. Saito understood all too well that this was a temporary morale spike.

In terms of raw national strength, Xarooda was still less than one-third of O’ltormea. Reinforcements from their supposed allies, like Helnesgoula, still hadn’t arrived.

The only real reinforcements were Mikoshiba’s expeditionary force, and that’s what? Ten thousand at most. Even if it’s packed with elite troops centered around Robert Bertrand and Signus Galveria, that’s nowhere near enough to overturn the war.

Not everything in this war had shifted in Xarooda’s favor. The situation had gone from O’ltormea holding a ten-to-one advantage to maybe seven-to-three. From a purely material standpoint, it couldn’t yet be called a crushing disadvantage.

Once armies build momentum, they don’t stop easily, Saito mused, recalling sayings of “riding a tiger.” Sometimes, that alone was enough to flip a losing battle. Of course, that sword cut both ways. Riding a tiger... It’s basically like slamming the gas pedal and never touching the brakes.

But that recklessness came with perks that canceled out its flaws. When Xarooda’s forces hit their stride, the pressure bearing down on Saito and his men would be like a raw, merciless tidal wave. No victim ever showed compassion to the invader who had trampled them, as most would rather pay back every debt a thousandfold.

The real problem is knowing that we still have so few moves left to play. At the very least, they’d have to slow down to gauge the situations.

Overall, the simplest and safest option was to link up with reinforcements from the imperial heartland and confront Xarooda directly. Once the empire’s support arrived, Xarooda’s crushing pressure would slacken.

The strength of those reinforcements, their commanding officers, and the tonnage of their supply lines were necessary to know before making their next call.

Not that there’s zero chance they’d just ignore all that and charge anyway, Saito thought. Logically, few generals would choose that path unless they were dead certain they could take the head of Shardina Eisenheit in one strike. When people finally glimpse the possibility of victory, they start getting cautious.

In the end, this was the same as trying to jam the brakes after flooring the accelerator. That decision would, without a doubt, drain the fighting spirit that Xarooda’s army had just built up. While that gave one time to think, time could just as easily turn into poison, corroding certainty and clouding resolve. Such weakness would be nothing short of salvation for the O’ltormea Empire.

This meant that until reinforcements arrived from the homeland, Saito and his men had to stay inside Xarooda’s borders and hold their beachhead. Whether they kept a foothold in enemy territory would shape the empire’s entire strategy moving forward. The options for achieving that were painfully few.

In the end, pulling back and tightening our defenses is the only real move.

No one stood in front of a tsunami without a plan. Only fools drunk on their own strength did that.

Whether that decision is “right,” the only measure of that was if one survived. At the very least, the instinct that kept a person breathing was the one to run for ground where the tide slowed and find something to shield oneself with. The empire’s army was currently in much the same place.

But if we pull back without a plan, the enemy will come down on us like wolves, tearing into our exposed backs.

Contracting the lines was urgent. If that were done incorrectly, the result would be catastrophic. In war, pulling an army back was far harder than pushing it forward, especially when one was still crossing blades with the enemy, where precision mattered most. One misjudged moment in the timing of a retreat order, and one could leave their men wide open to a slaughter from behind. Across centuries of warfare, even fewer soldiers died in the clash itself than most imagined.

So when did the body count rise? History had a cruel answer: during retreats.

The actual number of dead soldiers in head-on fights is surprisingly low, or so they say, Saito observed. But then again, there was no proof to deny it either. To avoid that kind of tragedy, they would have to find a way to bleed off the enemy’s momentum.

Granted, our troops are not in direct combat with the enemy. That makes things a little better, but only a little. It’s never easy. Whether it’s an individual or an army, it’s the same principle.

People liked preaching that self-defense was all about running away. Hell, even the police handed out leaflets saying, “Just get away from the scene.” Running was an important choice when it came to self-preservation, but it was no cure-all. Simply put, the situations where escape was actually possible were vanishingly rare. If a person was assaulted in the middle of a city, was bolting really the right move? It was hard to say yes with a straight face.

Statistics indicated that if one could create a twenty-meter distance between them and their attacker, they would stop chasing. But what if the opposite were true? For those twenty meters, the person’s back was exposed, and they would go for them. In that window, was running really the smart play? Running was fine if one could absolutely outrun one’s assailant. But how many people would stake their life on that bet?

Lose the bet, lose your life. Running mattered, but sometimes the only way out was through, even if it meant fighting to kill. Should one choose fight or flight? That was a question for God, not men.

And on the battlefield, that question gets even nastier.

Here, the adversary was not an individual, but an army. Should one turn their back and run, only to get hit from behind, that was game over. Getting O’ltormea’s troops out of this alive would require more than luck. It would take a real strategy.

Seeing the land of Xarooda stained red with the corpses of O’ltormea Empire soldiers wouldn’t be such a bad sight, would it? Saito thought. The dark desire lay hidden deep within his heart. He would never show this obsession to anyone, nor could he ever allow anyone to see it. Even a slight weakening of the O’ltormea Empire’s power is a divine blessing.

Saito cherished his ambition for the downfall of the O’ltormea Empire and was willing to stake his life to achieve it. As a first step toward achieving that long-cherished desire, even if half of the Xaroodian army ended up dead, Saito would have leaped for joy.

He would have worn the mask of a grief-stricken commander mourning his fallen comrades, yet in his heart, he would have been laughing out loud. Even as he held such dark hopes, Saito understood that it was nothing more than a fleeting pleasure.

Well, I’ve no intention of being satisfied with such a trivial, shortsighted result. Saito’s obsession was a dream he was willing to burn himself down to achieve. There was not the slightest cloud of doubt about that. To wipe out every last drop of blood from those beasts who stole my future, who wounded her, who trampled her underfoot... That is my wish. There’s no mistake about that.

O’ltormea’s destruction could never be accomplished with half-hearted resolve. The beasts Saito wished dead were those who ruled a group wielding the overwhelming power of a nation. They were Emperor Lionel Eisenheit of the O’ltormea Empire and the nobles who backed him. If he were aiming to kill just one specific person, the chances of success would be quite high. Saito was already the vice captain of the Succubus Knights and held a respectable position within the empire as a close aide to Shardina. As a warrior, too, he possessed skills among the very finest in the empire. So, if Saito resolved to throw away his life and kill them, he could make it happen today. He could slaughter their entire families and vanish from the imperial capital without a trace. But Saito’s desire would not be satisfied with just the lives of those directly involved.

While undeniably crucial and something he could never abandon, killing the elite was not what Hideaki Saito wanted most.

Far deeper in his heart, a secret obsession lay thick like sediment.

I’ll wipe out their families and shatter to dust everything they’ve sought to protect and pass on. I won’t yield on that. But that’s not enough, not nearly enough. Those who let these beasts roam free without controlling them will pay with their lives too.

If he sought to destroy an entire nation and slaughter every power-holder who formed its foundation, the level of difficulty would skyrocket. At a minimum, Saito’s strength alone could not accomplish this.

Besides, even if I kill them, my wish doesn’t end there. Saito’s true desire was to burn this world to ashes in flames of hatred and resentment. In his heart, flames of loathing for this hell called Earth blazed violently. Yes... This hell deserves to be obliterated without a trace.

Life in this otherworld called Earth had been hell itself for Saito. Ever since he was summoned in his mid-teens, others had manipulated him and forced him to kill over fifteen years. How deep had his regret and despair grown during that time? Had he killed with his will, with full intent, prepared for the hatred and condemnation of society, perhaps he would not have agonized so much. Setting aside right and wrong, Saito’s killing of his own volition could still be rationalized, even though it might have been hard to justify.

A killer’s unwavering will mattered most. Did it matter whether one possessed something they wished to accomplish, even if it meant killing others? Perhaps a sense of duty or patriotism might have mattered. Yet, the humans summoned to Earth bore no such resolve. Why? Because they had been forcibly dragged into this hell as voiceless pawns in human shape. Anyone with sound nerves would have their spirit broken the moment they looked at their hands stained crimson-black with blood. At first, they could excuse themselves by saying they had no choice or that they were forced by others. But as time passed, that excuse no longer sufficed.

Among the Japanese summoned at the same time as Saito, not a single person remained mentally intact or able to live an ordinary life. The only one who still retained a sense of self and carried on with daily life in the O’ltormea Empire was Hideaki Saito. That was not to say Saito lacked a human heart.

Saito was an utterly ordinary person. He was a young man with dreams and hopes, who cherished his parents, siblings, and friends. While he had never thought deeply about the sanctity of life, he did not fail to understand its worth. He was a perfectly average boy one could find anywhere in modern Japan. But Earth’s hellish environment would not allow such an ordinary boy to remain ordinary. At some point, Hideaki Saito, the boy who had once been commonplace, adapted to this hell and became a demon.

Indeed, he was a fiend who hid the flames of vengeance within his heart and longed for the day this hell called Earth would perish.

Otherwise, I couldn’t have survived...

That demon of vengeance lay in wait, hungering for the chance to unleash the secret power he had kept concealed. Said dream was steadily, if only gradually, moving toward reality. Because he knew that, he had no reason to cling to some fleeting, petty revenge.

I’ll burn this twisted world to the ground.

Saito’s maniacal obsession flickered in his mind, like that of an evil spirit. People would ordinarily call this sort of dream impossible, yet he had made that impossibility possible. Or rather, he had more accurately finally brought it to a point where the dream held some small chance of coming true after countless sacrifices. The odds had risen from zero percent to perhaps five percent because Saito had sacrificed much of himself. He had turned a blind eye as other humans summoned to Earth were oppressed, and he had stained his hands red to grant their wishes. Because of that, Hideaki Saito despised the man called Ryoma Mikoshiba.

“Ryoma Mikoshiba, don’t think everything will go the way you want,” Saito cursed, voice heavy with hatred and resentment. The root of the O’ltormea Empire army’s plight lay entirely with Ryoma’s existence. The annihilation of the vanguard, Rolfe’s withdrawal from the front lines, and even the king of Xarooda’s dramatic recovery were all his doing.

Saito’s gaze fixed on the piece on the map representing the army of the Kingdom of Xarooda. Ryoma Mikoshiba should not have been an enemy to Saito. Even if he wasn’t an ally, at the very least he should not have been an adversary. From Saito’s standpoint as a knight of the O’ltormea Empire, both men were on opposing sides. However, as a member of the Organization lurking in the shadows of the western continent and as an infiltrator operating within the O’ltormea Empire, there was no reason or need for Saito to oppose or regard Mikoshiba as an enemy.

There were times when Ryoma’s actions had disrupted the Organization’s plans, yet they had always managed to balance the scales. In fact, more often than not, they had reaped greater gains than what the original plans had anticipated. If viewed purely from an organizational benefit, Ryoma’s actions ultimately yielded profit, even if they hindered their plans along the way. Because of that understanding, Saito’s superior, Akitake Sudou, was never particularly eager to resort to eliminating Ryoma Mikoshiba.

But that’s only from the Organization’s perspective.

To put it bluntly, Saito felt something akin to jealousy; Ryoma was an eyesore.

Why... Why is it that he alone, despite being summoned to Earth, neither became a slave nor suffered indignities but instead rose to be called a hero?

That thought churned violently in Saito’s heart. It was the kind of envy harbored by someone whose dignity had been trampled under relentless, unjust violence directed toward another who seemed, at least outwardly, to live a charmed life. None of this was in any way Ryoma’s fault. An outsider might perceive Ryoma’s life as blessed. But the very fact that he had been summoned to this world made him far more unfortunate than any ordinary person. Saito was undoubtedly unlucky, even miserable at times, but his life would not be considered the worst.

There were always those above and below. Saito believed he was unlucky, and anyone who knew his circumstances would agree he was pitiable. While Saito had survived and carved out a tolerable existence, every other person who had been summoned alongside him was either dead or reduced to a husk of their former self.

Among the summoned were the sick and elderly, who were deemed worthless on the battlefield and ended up executed. Saito, following Gaius Valkland’s orders, had been the one to dispose of such people. Compared to those wretched souls, Hideaki Saito’s life was far better.

In the end, there was no meaning in comparing one’s happiness or misfortune to that of others. Doing so only made life harder for oneself. Even if the truth were thrust before his eyes, he would not accept it, nor would it save him. And so Saito continued to envy and resent Ryoma. Despite his awareness, such feelings bordered on baseless spite.

But what do I do? What’s the best course of action?

As both an operative of the Organization and one of Shardina’s close aides, Saito could not allow the second invasion of Xarooda to end like this. The Organization gave him clear orders to ensure the victory of the O’ltormea Empire’s army. Under the current circumstances, an immediate assault on Peripheria was out of the question.

O’ltormea’s forces needed to abandon a portion of the occupied territory, contract their front lines, and wait for reinforcements from the homeland to regroup and fortify their position. But Saito could not think of any way to make that happen.

If we simply retreat like this, Xarooda’s army will only gain momentum. If that happens, there’s a real chance they might force us into a decisive battle before reinforcements arrive. Saito acknowledged that would be the absolute worst-case scenario for the soldiers and officers of the O’ltormea Empire. Then the only option is to devise a strategy to kill the momentum of the Xarooda army, right?

But such an ingenious plan was not something that came easily to mind. Perhaps Hideaki Saito truly possessed a gift for strategy. After staring intently at the map for a good ten minutes, Saito focused on a certain point.

“So that’s it... That’s the move.” In that instant, a demonic smile spread across Saito’s face. A few days later, the stalemate would begin to shift dramatically due to his malice.

When Orson Greed beheld the sight spreading out beyond the encampment, he was speechless.

“Impossible...” Orson uttered.

He observed people, driven from their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs, walking eastward toward the royal capital of Peripheria. Though he had already grasped the situation to some extent from the scouts’ report just a few hours earlier, actually witnessing the scene before him struck him differently. It was truly a sight beyond reason.

“All of them...are our people?”

Before Greed stretched a mass of humanity like a swarm of insects. This phenomena was by no means limited to thousands, as the scale clearly exceeded tens of thousands. Even now, black specks continued to crawl westward from beyond the horizon.

Could it possibly reach a hundred thousand?

A chill ran down Greed’s spine. Yet, he could not dismiss the possibility. The entire Ushas Basin had a population of roughly one million. Without precise family registers, nothing was definitive, but it was the largest breadbasket in the Kingdom of Xarooda. For that reason, it was not only home to farmers but also to many merchants and artisans, making it one of the most densely populated regions in the entire kingdom. Gathering the inhabitants of even the western half would not be unthinkable, as it would create a refugee group of a hundred thousand. The question was why such a massive tide of refugees had formed. In Orson’s mind, the words exchanged with Robert and the others a few days ago resurfaced.

Could they have torched the villages to deliberately create refugees as a shield as they contract the front lines? Orson wondered. Judging from the sight before him, that possibility seemed the most likely. To use civilians to restrict our movements. How utterly despicable...

The tactic was not without merit as a way of preventing enemy pursuit during a withdrawal. All the more so since, to the O’ltormea army, this was enemy territory.

Even if they intended to annex it eventually, the people of the Kingdom of Xarooda were still enemy subjects. It would not be shocking if the empire’s army contrived to exploit them for its own safety. This was not admirable, but it was undeniably efficient and effective. If there was any reason to avoid it, it would be ethical considerations or the increased difficulty of postwar governance. Currently, Orson still did not fully grasp the purpose for which these people had been driven here or the true intent behind it. He believed the refugees were being used as shields.

However, the O’ltormea Empire had a different objective. When he heard the words of the breathless messenger who came running up, Orson finally perceived the enemy’s true intent.

“Sir! Behind the refugees, there’s a cloud of dust! Judging by the banners, it’s an O’ltormean assault! Estimated numbers...around twenty thousand!”

The faces of the knights surrounding Greed paled with alarm at the report. There could be only one reason the O’ltormea Empire’s army was advancing behind the refugees.

“To think they would resort to such a tactic...”

“Cowards! So this is the O’ltormea way!”

Such curses spilled from the mouths of those around Orson. This righteous anger was perfectly natural. But as the commander here, he had no time to bare his rage alongside his subordinates.

No, their aim isn’t to use the people as shields for retreat. This is a spear thrust straight at our chest.

Even knowing that, Greed had no countermeasure to take.

“Sir! Prepare for interception!”

“That’s right! Deploy the archers! Now!” Such shouts rang out from every direction. They were reasonable decisions for building a defensive posture. After all, shooting arrows at enemy cavalry to halt their advance was a fundamental tactic; his subordinates were not wrong. And yet, Greed stopped their actions.

“Fools! Would you have us wound our people with our blades?”

Orson’s subordinates turned their faces away all at once. His sharp rebuke had jolted them back to their senses.

“But sir! If we leave things as they are... Regretful as it may be, this may be an unavoidable decision.”

One of his men pressed the argument, bitter anguish etched across his face. He did not want to make such a suggestion either, but their options were severely limited. What that man said was true. If they did nothing, the O’ltormea Empire’s army would trample the refugees and pour into the camp. If they tried to withdraw their forces, chaos would ensue, and the O’ltormean troops would strike their rear.

So I should order them to ignore the people and fire on the enemy, and that wouldn’t even be wrong.

But as captain of the Kingdom of Xarooda’s Monarch’s Guard, Greed could not accept that choice. Orson Greed cherished and protected the people. He knew full well that it was nothing more than a pretty ideal. In truth, it was merely a convenient fiction, a pretext rulers used to keep their subjects obedient. Yet whether one left that pretty ideal as mere words or staked one’s life to make it real depended on the individual’s character and measure. For the people, it was their fortune that Orson Greed was a man who would stake his life for that ideal.

“No... If we do that, we will lose the people’s trust! Then what have we been fighting the O’ltormea Empire for until now?!”

If the O’ltormea Empire’s army killed Xarooda’s people, whether it was right or wrong, such an act followed a certain logic of war. There was no real obligation to show mercy or consideration to enemy civilians.

Should the knights of the Kingdom of Xarooda slaughter their own people, that would become another matter entirely. Of course, these were extraordinary times, demanding extraordinary decisions. Making such decisions would not be unreasonable. Those living in Xarooda would see its meaning change drastically. For many citizens, the kingdom was their homeland, but that did not mean they obeyed unconditionally.

The citizens paid taxes and submitted to the kingdom’s rule only because they believed it would protect them. Conversely, they would surely choose the path of rebellion against Xarooda’s rule if they became convinced it would not.

And if we do that, the morale of our army will plummet.

That would be no different from crushing with their own hands the long-awaited chance for a counterattack that had just begun to glimmer into view.

Then there’s only one path left...

In the end, it was merely a question of whom to sacrifice. Once he decided that the people of the Kingdom of Xarooda would not be the ones sacrificed, there was no other choice. So, Greed gave his order to his men.

“Open the gates and let the refugees in. Drive them as far to the rear as possible.”

That was an impossible command, one that went beyond reckless. It was almost the same as ordering his soldiers to die. Regardless, Orson made that merciless choice. His subordinates fell silent and bowed deeply at his unwavering stance, then they dashed off in all directions to meet the oncoming O’ltormea forces. Their commander’s resolute determination had moved them, and not one displayed the slightest sign of discontent. As Orson watched their figures, he lifted his gaze to the sky.

Lord Robert, Lord Signus... Forgive me. It seems I can’t keep our promise.

During the banquet a few days ago, Orson had promised they would celebrate at the tavern in Peripheria that he frequented if they won the war. But that was now nothing more than a futile dream. Orson Greed drew his sword and roared, then raised his voice in a ringing command.

“My beloved soldiers of the Kingdom of Xarooda! This is the decisive moment! Steel yourselves and send as many of the enemy as you can to their graves!” When those words left Greed’s lips, the earth trembled with their battle cry.

“So, you’ve resolved yourself, have you? Orson Greed... Captain of the Xaroodian Monarch’s Guard and said to be a match for Grahart Henschel himself... I see,” Hideaki Saito said.

As the thunderous shouts echoed from the Xaroodian camp, Saito curved his lips into a cold smile. From the moment he conceived this plan, he had been certain of victory.

In truth, that certainty was not misplaced.

When this stratagem was set in motion, no matter what choice Orson made, the O’ltormea Empire’s army victory in this battle was assured.

If Orson Greed withdraws without a fight, it will mean abandoning his people. Yet to sally forth against us is just as impossible; the civilians will be in the way. If they attack, they’ll have to trample their own people to reach us.

Regardless of which path they chose, Xarooda’s morale would inevitably collapse. In this state, neither retreat nor advance was possible. Orson Greed chose to remain where he stood because he understood all too well that it was the only reasonable choice. He must have understood that this was the only halfway decent choice in such an overwhelmingly disadvantageous situation.

“Very well, I’ll grant your wish. I’ll crush you along with your precious people of Xarooda,” Saito murmured, casually raising his right hand. Then, he gave his order to the men around him. “Trample them! Take Orson Greed’s head!”

Saito’s roar rang out across the sky. Suddenly, twenty thousand O’ltormean soldiers quickened their advance. They had only one objective: take the head of the enemy commander in the camp before them. That was why they would not stop.

No matter what lay between them and their goal, their pace would not falter. That day, the fertile land of the Ushas Basin was stained red. The surviving soldiers of the defense force would spread the news of Orson Greed’s death in battle to Peripheria.

That news would bring great sorrow and fury to the soldiers of the Kingdom of Xarooda.

Chapter 3: The Self-Proclaimed “Tsuchigumo”

A pleasant breeze swept across the grasslands that stretched along the western side of the highway. On the eastern side of the road stood a windbreak forest, planted to block the sea breeze, and beyond that lay the vast blue sea. Above, the sun shone brilliantly in the sky, casting its gentle light upon the earth. Scattered across the blue expanse were white clouds, soft and fluffy like cotton candy.

It was the very picture of a peaceful country road and a perfect subject for a landscape painting. Along that road, a single carriage traveled north on the stone-paved highway. Even though the road had stone paving, its condition was far from good.

Compared to the asphalt or concrete roads of modern Japan, it was abysmal. Anyone riding inside would surely have been suffering from the constant jolting of the carriage. And yet, was this carriage of exceptionally high quality? Despite what should have been violent jolts, the body of the carriage barely moved at all. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary carriage commonly used on Earth, but its interior differed greatly from its outward appearance. Aboard that carriage were four passengers, along with the driver.

The group consisted of one young man, one old man with a white beard, and two girls who appeared to be in their late teens. The young man and the old man shared the same skin tone, so they might have seemed related by blood. Judging by their ages, they might have been grandfather and grandson. But upon looking at their faces, it was hard to say they shared any close family resemblance.

Compared to the men, the girls were far easier to read. Their facial features were strikingly similar, with the only real difference being their hair color. One bore hair of golden brilliance like the sun; the other had hair of silver as pale as the moon. Even with their contrasting colors, a single glance at their faces left no doubt that the two were related. They could easily have been mistaken for a noble family out on a countryside excursion. Yet, emotions that had nothing to do with such peace swirled inside the seemingly tranquil carriage.

“So then, where exactly is this Kuze you mentioned?” Ryoma Mikoshiba casually asked the man sitting next to him, Liu Zhong Jian, as he gazed out the window at the passing scenery.

But in response, the elderly man, respectfully called Liu Daijin, smiled and slowly shook his head.

“Isn’t it nice to take a journey without knowing the destination once in a while? Forget the usual clamor and simply enjoy the scenery before you,” Liu said, stroking his beard and laughing softly. His words sounded reasonable enough, but he had no intention of answering Ryoma’s question.

Seeing his attitude, Ryoma smirked. From Liu’s gestures and expression, he sensed that pressing the issue would be pointless. While he desperately suppressed the complaints welling up from the depths of his heart, he turned his gaze toward the scenery outside the window.

They’re looking right through me, mocking me... Of course, being the best friend of that damned old man, I’d expect nothing less. What a fine personality this geezer has. Ryoma understood that Liu Daijin’s words carried no malice, which was why he endured them. However, it seemed that refraining from cursing him in his mind was difficult. No matter how dissatisfied Ryoma might feel, the option of getting out of this carriage and returning to Pherzaad simply did not exist. Well, it can’t be helped... The Organization holds the initiative... As the one trying to extract concessions, I have no choice but to accept a certain degree of risk.

Normally, a journey to an unknown destination was never the way Ryoma Mikoshiba did things.

People often regarded Ryoma Mikoshiba as someone open-minded and unconcerned with trifles. In certain situations, that assessment was accurate, but he was fundamentally a very cautious man. His tendency to gather information beforehand and secure multiple options when making decisions was proof of that. This didn’t mean he was a coward, nor was he indecisive.

He simply recognized the value of information and detested situations where others limited his options. Just a few months ago, he had barely escaped a trap devised by Alexis Duran, who seemed to be a member of the Organization, in the Kingdom of Myest.

If someone asked whether we are outright enemies, I’d say it’s a fine line. But at the very least, they’re no allies.

Even though Liu Daijin had agreed to act as a mediator, under normal circumstances, charging into the enemy’s stronghold would be nothing short of reckless. Ryoma believed that the meeting should take place in some neutral location. Alternatively, he could have chosen to bring an elite unit of the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy along.

However, circumstances were what they were this time.

Without this old man, it would have taken even longer just to get the negotiations started.

The Organization was a society operating in the shadows across the entire western continent, sharing a common purpose. Its scale supposedly spanned the continent, but its true nature remained shrouded in darkness. Even Ryoma’s renowned intelligence corps, the Igasaki clan, and the merchant network commanded by Simone Christof had failed to grasp its overall picture, let alone even touch the hem of its cloak.

And now, I’m being given a chance to negotiate directly with one of the elders of the Organization. No choice but to take a risky path.

Ryoma did not just have a direct negotiation with one of the elders of a hostile faction, but the immediate superior of the man scheming the invasion of Xarooda under the O’ltormea Empire’s banner. If this went well, it could open a way forward for Ryoma and his companions, who were trapped in a desperate situation.

With such a valuable opportunity, Ryoma had no option but to compromise his usual stance.

Ordinarily, he would have entrusted security to either the Igasaki clan or the Black Serpent unit led by Nelcius’s daughter, Dilphina. Yet he abandoned said plan this time.

Currently, Ryoma could only consider two people around him as allies. Those were the gold- and silver-haired twins sitting in silence before him, alert to their surroundings. This decision was fraught with peril. Still, he chose to take that risk because of the character of this old man they called Liu Daijin.

Liu Zhong Jian... He’s one of the Organization’s elders, also known as Liu Daijin.

As Ryoma gazed out the window, countless thoughts about the old man sitting before him rose and vanished in his mind. From what Ryoma could tell, Liu Zhong Jian was a man of wit and magnanimity and someone who appreciated a good joke. That much had been clear ever since they spent about a week together at a guild-affiliated inn within the trade city of Pherzaad, after being told that preparations were necessary for the meeting with Akimitsu Kuze.

Apparently, he also had a strong sense of style. On Earth, where Western-style clothing was the norm, Liu Daijin almost always wore something called a changpao. From a Chinese perspective, that attire might not seem unusual. But considering this was another world, it certainly stood out as rather odd.

Despite knowing full well that blending into a crowd in town would be nearly impossible dressed like that, the fact that Lord Liu insisted on wearing his changpao suggested that he cared deeply about his clothing.

And on top of that, he doesn’t have the arrogance so common among men with power and wealth.

This characteristic may have been why he was addressed as Liu Daijin. Even from Ryoma Mikoshiba’s point of view, Liu Zhong Jian was not someone he could call likable. At the very least, it was hard to say he welcomed him with open arms, but that was only natural. After all, Liu Zhong Jian was a sworn friend of Ryoma’s grandfather and foster parent, Koichiro Mikoshiba.

This relation implied that Liu was the type of man Ryoma had the hardest time dealing with. Frankly, he was the kind of person Ryoma would rather not get too involved with. It was a situation not unlike when a parent’s old acquaintance, with whom one shared no real connection, fussed over them endlessly. The more kindly they acted, the more you found yourself taking a step—or two—back. Not that this was Liu Daijin’s fault.

Ryoma simply found it uncomfortable.

Still, there’s no denying this old man is trying to help me. Perhaps because of the bonds of brotherhood, huh?

Such was the strength of the bond between Koichiro Mikoshiba and Liu Zhong Jian. Of course, nearly half a century of separation lay between the two men. Regardless of the men’s close friendship, that would have been enough time for it to fade into nothing. But apparently, the time those two had shared in this hellish world had never lost its color.

That much was obvious from how Liu Daijin had gone out of his way to assist Koichiro when he was summoned back to this world and searching for the whereabouts of his grandchild, Asuka Kiryu. Perhaps that was partly because Liu Zhongjian was from the Chinese sphere of culture. There was a certain fierce warmth—a depth of loyalty—that Chinese people showed toward family and friends, something Japanese people could never quite grasp.

I could see that warmth from the tone of the letters grandpa received.

Moreover, the fact that Lord Liu personally traveled to Pherzaad left no doubt about the extraordinary nature of his relationship with Koichiro. After all, Lord Liu’s base of operations, the port city of Lentencia, lay in the southwestern part of the continent.

As the crow flies, it has to be over a thousand kilometers from Lentencia to Pherzaad.

In a continent where nations clashed and local lords ruled through partition, no comprehensive map even existed to show the full distance between the two cities. Even so, the journey clearly took months on land.

Of course, Ryoma had heard that Liu Daijin traveled by sea to reach Pherzaad. Apparently, it had taken him barely ten days by ship.

A state-of-the-art fast ship built by the Organization... Impressive performance.

Although the details were top secret and Ryoma hadn’t been told, the ship was said to have cost a fortune to build. Naturally, it must have been one of the Organization’s most closely guarded assets.

For us, it’d be on par with Dragon’s Breath or a hang glider—a strategic secret.

Nevertheless, Liu Daijin had used such a vessel just to come to Pherzaad to meet Ryoma Mikoshiba.

Even for an elder of the Organization, that couldn’t have been easy. Ryoma considered that Liu would only have one reason to go to such lengths to be here, and he wasn’t so arrogant as to think that reason was him. It’s all for grandpa’s sake, huh? Kinda enviable, really. I don’t have a friend like that.

Of course, there was no doubt that Liu Zhong Jian held a favorable view of Ryoma. But that was more because Ryoma was Koichiro’s grandson than because of who he was as an individual.

Well, it looks like this old man’s got his own agenda. Ryoma cast a probing glance at the elder sitting before him. He knew there was no malice directed toward him, but he wasn’t naive enough to believe Liu Daijin had no ulterior motives in helping him.

But what that is, I have no idea.

For all practical purposes, the Organization’s purpose was undoubtedly about their survival and prosperity. The real question was how they intended to achieve that ideal.

From where I’m standing, they might as well be like one of those villainous secret societies in a tokusatsu hero show, plotting world domination. Ryoma understood that the Organization was not merely an evil secret society. But at the same time, he also knew he couldn’t deny they had some of those elements. After all, one of their slogans is supposedly “For a Better Tomorrow.”

Taken at face value, most people would probably see the Organization as a group full of dreams and hope. Anyone with a cynical streak might scoff and call it hopelessly idealistic fluff. But the truth was that Ryoma Mikoshiba also carried those words in his heart as he acted.

The slogan had been his dream and ideal, which he had confided only to the Malfist sisters before the war against the ten houses of the north. At the very least, it was not something that inspired a negative impression. Although, that emotion occurred only when one heard those words in a modern-world context. Ryoma Mikoshiba had known the phrase “For a Better Tomorrow” for a long time, and as a guiding principle, it didn’t feel out of place to him. But if he suddenly heard those words in this hell, he would find nothing but dissonance.

This is Earth... For someone from modern society, it’s hell in the truest sense of the word.

The concept of hell varied across different religions and cultures. But across East and West, hell was where sinners went after death, and their fate there was nothing but misery. Everyone prayed to their god to escape from this place that was hell.

If one took people forcibly summoned to this hellish world and made them kill each other, then tried to stir them up with a slogan like “For a Better Tomorrow,” there was only one possible outcome.

Well, if it were me, I’d try to turn hell into heaven. I wouldn’t care what means I had to use or how many sacrifices it would cost.

Should Ryoma Mikoshiba ever go to hell, the very first thing he would think about was how to kill the demons. Of course, he knew that demons were overwhelming beings that made up the very structure of hell itself—supernatural entities the dead could never hope to stand against. Even so, if one truly wished to escape hell, there was no other way than to fight them.

You can’t escape from this hell, and negotiating for improvements is impossible, Ryoma thought. The same applied to having no way to return from the world of Earth to Rearth. Well, there are exceptions, like my old man.

But Koichiro’s Mikoshiba’s return to Earth had been nothing but a coincidence that had zero reproducibility. It was literally nothing but the whim of heaven. Of course, one couldn’t say heaven would never act on a whim again. But only a fool would believe that whim would favor him.

Still, I guess I’m lucky.

Ryoma had the power to kill Gaius Valkland, the one who summoned him, and the wits to escape from the O’ltormea Empire’s royal castle. Beyond that, he could never have survived this long without a great deal of luck. Meeting the twin sisters who followed him like shadows had been nothing short of destiny. Yet even that fortune was paltry compared to the blessing that had descended upon Ryoma.

Although, it’s questionable whether this meeting was truly a good fortune.

The chances of being summoned from the modern world to this one were infinitesimal. Ryoma wasn’t a statistician, so he didn’t know the exact odds, but he guessed it was something like one in ten million or one in a hundred million. Those chances were about the same as winning the first prize in a lottery. In other words, the probability was so small it was practically nonexistent in a lifetime.

Still, Asuka and I were summoned here... According to grandpa, so were my parents.

Those summonings should never have happened. It was as if one’s entire family had won the lottery multiple times. Yet that impossibility had happened right before his eyes.

This means it’s no coincidence. It was inevitable.

When Ryoma thought about what might have caused it, the first thing that stuck in his mind was Koichiro’s return. In fact, Koichiro had said words to that effect. His grandfather probably wasn’t certain either, but there was nothing else he could think of. As Ryoma was mulling this over, the old man sitting across from him tilted his head and spoke.

“You look deep in thought with that serious face. Did something I said earlier offend you?”

Apparently, Liu Daijin had grown uneasy seeing Ryoma quietly staring out the window despite having told him to enjoy the view. Ryoma grinned at Liu’s words. This behavior was typical, as the elder had told him to do something and worried when he actually did it.

Really reminds me of my old man...

But this was a rare opportunity. So Ryoma shrugged his shoulders and finally voiced the question that had been nagging him all this time.

“That can’t be helped. After all, I still don’t really understand what kind of group you people call the Organization. At the very least, I’d like to know its name.”

Liu Daijin smiled gently.

Nonetheless, Ryoma’s request was a rather bold one. The old man was smiling, but Ryoma immediately sensed the dangerous glimmer in his eyes.

Uh-oh. Did I just step on a land mine? If Ryoma were the kind of man to back down from a look like that, he never would have asked in the first place.

“Hmm. The Organization I manage calls itself the Long Bang, or the Dragon Gang. Didn’t Koichiro tell you?”

“No, this is the first I’ve heard of it. But you know that’s not the name I’m asking for, don’t you, Liu Daijin?”

Ryoma shook his head at the old man’s words. The so-called Organization was just a convenient term used by outsiders. It was unthinkable that a massive network spanning the entire western continent had no official name. Liu Daijin might be one of its top elders, but he wasn’t the absolute leader.

With others like Akimitsu Kuze holding equivalent rank, there was no way the name of the entire Organization was the same as the group Liu personally controlled.

There has to be another name. Ryoma wanted to confirm that here and now.

“Hmm... What to do...? It would be easy enough to answer that question. But what would you do with that knowledge? Surely you’re not thinking of broadcasting it to the world, are you?”

Ryoma shook his head and said, “Just a matter of courtesy, I suppose. Since you’ve granted us this negotiation, it would be rude not to know the name of the other party.”

When negotiating with a nameless group, it was only natural to consider that form of address discourteous. Indeed, Ryoma was right. In the business world, a person couldn’t hold talks without knowing the other party’s company name. Ryoma’s request was perfectly reasonable. But to boldly ask a secret society for its real name was truly audacious, and Liu Daijin looked genuinely surprised by what Ryoma said. The response must have been entirely unexpected.

Suddenly, a light laugh slipped from the old man’s lips.

“I see. You have a point there. Hmm...” After a good chuckle, Liu Daijin turned back to face Ryoma. “Very well. For the sake of what lies ahead, I’ll make an exception and tell you. We are Tsuchigumo... That is the name we go by.”

“Tsuchigumo, you say?” Ryoma tilted his head inwardly at the name Liu Daijin had stated. Tsuchigumo... Tsuchigumo, huh.

Ordinarily, one would imagine the yokai called Tsuchigumo. For someone who grew up playing kids’ games, that image would probably be even stronger. But if one dug deeper into Japanese history, Tsuchigumo carried another meaning entirely. The real question was why they had given such a name to a secret society in this otherworld.

Did they really go out of their way to choose that name?

Judging from Liu Daijin’s demeanor, this name carried more significance than a mere label.

People say the name reflects the nature of the thing. But if that’s the case...

One possibility after another flashed through Ryoma’s mind, only to vanish just as quickly. But he didn’t voice that question here and now because he did not have the time to ask.

“Liu Daijin, my apologies for the delay,” Ruqaiya Redouane remarked from the driver’s seat, and the wheels finally came to a halt. Their three-hour journey by carriage from Pherzaad was at last coming to an end. Then, the door of the carriage swung open. “Please, step down.”

With those words, Ruqaiya bowed slowly toward Liu Daijin.

“Hmm. Then our conversation ends here. We shall speak again when the time is right,” Liu Daijin said as he promptly stepped down from the carriage.

“Mikoshiba, you and your companions should exit as well,” Ruqaiya continued.

Ryoma nodded slightly and followed suit, stepping down from the carriage. As he looked around, he spoke with a tinge of exasperation.

“Well, now... This is one extravagant mansion.” Ryoma’s reaction was natural as a grand estate, built with lavish marble, towered before him. Rather than referring to it as a mere mansion, a more accurate description was a palace or even a fortress. Somehow, it reminds me of the Élysée Palace or maybe the White House.

Either way, by the standards of this world, the building was certainly an imposing and opulent residence. Just then, the great doors of the mansion’s entrance slowly opened. A crimson carpet was unfurled all the way to the carriage, and about twenty figures lined up on either side of it. The group was seemingly meant to walk between them. Whatever country’s ceremony this was modeled after, it was clearly an extravagant welcome. At that moment, Liu Daijin’s gaze shifted toward the entrance.

An elderly man stood by the entrance, his white hair contrasting with his traditional Japanese attire. He looked to be nearly ninety years old. His back was slightly bent, perhaps due to his weakened spine from age. His overall health likely wasn’t the best. The staff clutched in his right hand seemed the only thing keeping him standing.

Even though he was an old man leaning on a cane, he was clearly in a very different state from Liu Daijin.

“I see. So, Akimitsu really was ill,” Liu Daijin whispered. The sight of his comrade in arms, aged and frail, stirred something deep within him.

Even so, Akimitsu Kuze appeared to be the type who considered it shameful to show weakness. Though his legs might have failed him, his mind was clearly as sharp as ever. For he had come out, walking under his own power, to greet these honored guests.

“It’s been a long time, brother. You haven’t changed much. Have you been well?”

“Ah. You’ve changed a great deal, though, Akimitsu.”

The two men exchanged a quiet embrace. Then, Akimitsu Kuze stepped back from Liu Daijin and slowly turned toward Ryoma.

He fixed his gaze on Ryoma’s face, staring intently. Though his body was weakened by age, the sharpness in those eyes was like that of a raptor.

“I see. So you are Ryoma Mikoshiba, the one I’ve heard so much about. Indeed, I can see the trace of Koichiro in you,” Kuze said, nodding deeply.

Conversely, Ryoma offered the greatest courtesy he could muster.

“It’s an honor to meet you. I am Ryoma Mikoshiba, grandson of Koichiro Mikoshiba.” Ryoma bowed deeply before Kuze.

“No need for such formality. Think of this as your own home and relax.”

Kuze smiled with an effortless grace, then turned and made his way back into the mansion. It seemed that Ryoma and the others were left behind.

“Please, this way. We’ve prepared a room for you. Would you mind waiting there for a while?” A maid directed Ryoma, who nodded in response. He glanced back and gave a slight nod to the Malfist sisters behind him, and the three of them stepped into the mansion and followed the maid.

Nearly two hours had passed since Ryoma first entered Kuze’s mansion. While he was enjoying tea in the waiting room, a maid finally came to fetch him. It seemed Kuze and Liu had at last finished their discussion. Only Ryoma was allowed to meet them, so he left the sisters in the room and trailed the maid down the corridor.

They really made me wait, he mused as he walked along the red-carpeted hallway. The reason for that thought was obvious enough. His stomach was now sloshing from all the tea and sweets that had been served. I guess there’s no doubt they’re treating me as an honored guest, though this might be a little too much.

A personal maid had been attending to him, making sure everything was served on a silver platter. This was nice, even though the sheer excess of hospitality was starting to feel oppressive. Ryoma was honestly relieved when the maid came to fetch him.

With no real option to leave the food untouched, what else could he have done?

If I were thinking like a true warrior, eating and drinking what’s served in a place like this—an enemy stronghold in all but name—would show a complete lack of caution.

Someone wary of poison would naturally not touch food or drink offered by a person they couldn’t trust. That, after all, was the bare minimum of etiquette and mindset for any warrior. Simultaneously, doing so would be the same as telling the enemy to their face, I think you’re the sort who might poison me!

This remark would kill any negotiations before they even began. So, Ryoma had eaten and drunk as much as he could, though he might have overdone it a little. If Koichiro were here to see him now, he would either scold him for lacking proper discipline or mock him as a fool who didn’t know moderation. But Koichiro wasn’t here.

Well, there’s no point in making them think I’m being overly cautious. Let’s just call it good enough.

As he ruminated, the maid who was leading the way stopped in front of a certain door. She gave the oak door a refined knock.

“I’ve brought Lord Mikoshiba.”

From inside the room, Kuze answered, “Well done. You may go now.”

The maid bowed toward the door at those words, then she gave Ryoma a small nod and quickly disappeared from sight. As soon as she was gone, Kuze’s voice came again from within the room.

“Come in. It’s not locked.”

Following that instruction, Ryoma opened the door and stepped inside. The room was lavishly appointed, to say the least. From the ceiling hung a chandelier, and the floor was covered with a carpet adorned in intricate geometric patterns.

As expected of a mansion belonging to an elder of the Organization. This might be more splendid than some royal chambers.

Kuze, who was sitting on a sofa, called out to Ryoma. The leather-upholstered sofa was positioned in the center of the room, yet no one was on the opposite side of him.

So Liu isn’t joining us?

Ryoma had assumed Liu would be present, and the unexpected absence left him slightly unsettled. Still, that absence couldn’t be helped. Whether that would turn out to be to his advantage or not was hard to say. But asking Is Liu not attending? at this point would be tactless.

He had no choice but to accept the situation as it was.

“Come, have a seat.”

“Excuse me.”

Shortly after, Ryoma sank into the sofa. Akimitsu Kuze opened the conversation with an apology.

“I kept you waiting far too long. My apologies for making a guest wait. I ended up losing track of time in a lively conversation with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years,” Kuze said, bowing his head slightly.

Ryoma responded in kind, careful not to sound servile. There was no need to accuse his host and sour the mood, but remaining silent would also be a poor move in negotiation.

“It’s no trouble. Though my stomach’s rather full from all the fine green tea, I should be the one thanking you for giving me the time to enjoy such quality tea and sweets.”

Depending on how one heard it, one could take that statement as sarcasm. But Ryoma admitting that he had thoroughly enjoyed the tea and sweets served was hardly something Kuze could take offense at. Most would miss the nuance and simply let it pass, which was how faint the venom was. However, Kuze seemed to have understood Ryoma’s intent perfectly.

“As expected of Koichiro’s grandson. You’ve inherited even his taste for barbed compliments. Quite an elegant turn of phrase.”

With that, Kuze grinned, not seeming the least bit displeased. As opening exchanges went, this was acceptable. That being the case, Ryoma nocked the second arrow he had prepared before the negotiation began.

“Well, considering I’ve got some of the Kuze blood in me as well, I can’t exactly blame it all on my grandfather,” Ryoma admitted, shrugging. He’d realized this connection the other day when Liu had first mentioned Akimitsu Kuze’s name. When Ryoma heard the negotiator’s name, he recognized it as the same name as his grandmother’s brother. That became the trump card he kept hidden until today. Back when grandma was alive, she showed me a photo of her missing brother.

In that photo were a young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, and his grandmother, Akie Mikoshiba, who looked to be about middle school age. It was likely taken at her junior high school entrance ceremony. The two of them smiling in front of the school gate left an impression Ryoma hadn’t forgotten. On the back of that photo, Ryoma remembered the names Akie and Akimitsu Kuze.

His trump card struck Akimitsu Kuze right in a vital spot. Playing such a card before the negotiations even began was a considerable gamble, but it appeared Ryoma’s aim had been spot-on.

“What did you say?”

Kuze, taken aback by the unexpected words, was at a loss for words. The reaction was stronger than Ryoma had anticipated, and he even felt a flicker of hesitation.

I didn’t think he’d react this strongly.

Truth be told, Ryoma had never possessed absolute proof. The surname Kuze was uncommon compared to staples like Sato or Suzuki, but not so rare that it belonged to a single bloodline. At first, it had been nothing more than a possibility.

However, the moment he saw Kuze standing in front of the mansion earlier, Ryoma had been convinced that the man in the photo and the elder before him were one and the same. Now, here he was, revealing that trump card.

It was the eyes...

Physique, facial features, hairstyle changed with age, but the eyes rarely did. Eyes as sharp as Kuze’s didn’t dull so easily.

“Could it be true?”

Kuze’s expression naturally still brimmed with disbelief.

Who would expect to suddenly encounter someone claiming to be kin on Earth? This was not just anyone, though; it was an opponent of the Organization, Archduke Mikoshiba. Maintaining composure under such circumstances was nearly impossible. Ryoma calmly offered an explanation about the photograph to the shaken man.

“So Akie, my sister... She married Koichiro? He... He protected her in my place?”

A flood of emotions surged within Kuze’s heart after being dormant within him for decades. Ryoma’s words brought those emotions to light, yet he answered with composure. Inside, he was probably throwing his hands up in triumphant applause. The difference between a man who had foreseen the possibility and one blindsided by an unthinkable revelation was stark.

“It seems that way. Honestly, until Liu mentioned your name the other day, I never imagined things would turn out like this. Not once did my grandfather ever breathe a word about it, you know,” Ryoma said, shrugging slightly. In truth, Koichiro had likely never considered that Ryoma would one day sit across from Akimitsu Kuze. After all, Ryoma’s reason for revisiting the Kingdom of Myest had only been to negotiate with Liu Zhong Jian. Knowing grandpa’s personality, he’d never tell me something like that.

Koichiro Mikoshiba was a man open and frank to a fault, yet he despised revealing his inner thoughts on certain issues. While Ryoma couldn’t explain it logically, the truth was undeniable that his grandfather had a habit of avoiding discussions about blood relations.

If grandpa started explaining how he met grandma, I wouldn’t know what to do either.

Ultimately, Koichiro had likely never spoken of his ties to Kuze due to nothing more than a matter of timing. Ryoma had plenty he wanted to say to Koichiro, but the fact that he shared blood with Kuze carried tremendous weight. It wasn’t hard to imagine what a powerful advantage that would be in the negotiations to come. Ryoma pressed on, seizing the moment while Kuze was still unsettled, and stated his purpose.

“But putting that aside for now, Uncle Kuze, would you allow me to explain the reason I’ve come to see you today?” Ryoma asked as he bowed deeply before Kuze. In response, Akimitsu Kuze could do nothing but nod.

“I see... And so, Ryoma Mikoshiba wants to join hands with us?”

After Sudou heard Kuze’s report, he stroked his chin and tilted his head. Beside him, a young beautiful woman, who had sunk deep into the sofa, snuggled close. It seemed that Kuze had interrupted a night of sweet intimacy between Sudou and the woman.

Since Sudou had given permission without objection as the most concerned person, Kuze had no choice but to prioritize his own business.

“Yes, he wants us to cut off support for the O’ltormea Empire. In exchange, he agreed to allow the guild and the bank to open branches within the Wortenia Peninsula. I believe that even if we cut off support for O’ltormea, the profits will still be more than enough,” Kuze said, watching Sudou’s reaction. Doesn’t seem like he’s taking it badly.

From what Kuze could see, Ryoma’s proposal wasn’t that bad, and that wasn’t because he had learned that the young man was his relative. Setting aside such personal matters, Kuze found the Wortenia Peninsula, territory held by the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy, to be extremely appealing. When using the northern sea route around the western continent, having a port of call in the Wortenia Peninsula carried tremendous significance for trade. As things currently stood, adventurers were forbidden from harvesting resources or hunting within the peninsula. Various herbs and monster materials could only be obtained there, but if anyone wanted them, they had to get permission from the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy.

Considering that, being allowed to open guild and bank branches in the Wortenia Peninsula was a very lucrative deal. After all, the Organization placed enormous value on commercial activity as a secret society operating out of sight of the public.

Unlike a nation, the Organization couldn’t collect taxes from citizens, nor were they directly engaged in primary industries like agriculture or fishing. However, money was always necessary to keep them running. Considering the balance between secrecy of information and operational efficiency, the group naturally placed great importance on commerce.

With that in mind, establishing a base in the Wortenia Peninsula would undoubtedly generate an immense fortune for the group. Under normal circumstances, Ryoma Mikoshiba’s proposal could only be described as a gift from the gods.

The only problem is this man’s will, Kuze noted.

Kuze was one of the Organization’s elders and nominally Sudou’s superior, meaning he should have been granted the authority to issue orders to the latter. But in reality, appearances aside, that wasn’t the case. In fact, Sudou had decided the society’s support for the O’ltormea Empire.

Whether Sudou would even listen to what Kuze had to say was difficult to predict.

Will Sudou allow us to break the pact made with Gaius Valkland, the former Court Thaurmaturgist of the O’ltormea Empire?

Under normal circumstances, the possibility was nonexistent. However, Gaius was already dead, sent to the other side by Ryoma Mikoshiba’s hand. Taking that into account, the justification for continuing to support the O’ltormea Empire’s territorial expansion had grown weak. But Kuze’s expectations were about to be pleasantly overturned.

“I see. Very well.”

Kuze involuntarily caught his breath. The approval had come so easily that it left him momentarily bewildered.

Yet, as Kuze stood there confused, Sudou chuckled and went on, “That said, we have long enjoyed a friendship with the O’ltormea Empire. Opening up the Wortenia Peninsula alone won’t be quite enough.”

“You mean you’ll attach further conditions?”

“Yes... Let’s make a wager. If Ryoma Mikoshiba wins, we’ll cut off our support for O’ltormea. We’ll still open our branches in the Wortenia Peninsula, but that’s not exactly a bad deal for him, right?”

“And if we win?”

“In that case, aside from the condition of opening branches in the Wortenia Peninsula, how about we have Mikoshiba officially join us?”

“Do you mean as a subordinate under either me or Liu Daijin?”

When someone became a new member of the Organization, it was unclear which faction they would belong to. Exceptions were usually made for a recruit with ties to someone already affiliated with a specific branch. If Ryoma Mikoshiba were to join, it would only make sense for him to be placed under either Liu or Akimitsu, given their connection to him.

But Kuze’s prediction was spectacularly overturned.

“No. I’m thinking of welcoming him as a member of Tsuchigumo. It would be a waste to bring in a man like him as just an ordinary member. His territory spans not only the Wortenia Peninsula but also stretches across the northern regions of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria. Giving him a position of that caliber doesn’t seem unreasonable, does it?”

Kuze involuntarily caught his breath. Had it been just a matter of making Ryoma a member of the Organization, he wouldn’t have been so shocked. But bringing him in as a part of Tsuchigumo was an entirely different matter.

Judging by Sudou’s tone, it sounded as though he intended to grant Ryoma a position equal to that of an elder or something close to it eventually. Because Sudou had made up his mind, there was nothing Kuze could do to stop it.

“So then, what are the terms of this wager?”

Sudou paused to think for a moment. Then, a mischievous smile like that of a child who had just thought up a prank spread across his face.

“How about this? Tomorrow at noon, Ryoma and Kusuda will have a sparring match in the courtyard. From Kusuda’s perspective, Ryoma ruined the plot he orchestrated in the Kingdom of Myest. I’d say he’s itching for a chance to settle the score, wouldn’t you agree? And this seems like the perfect opportunity. After all, this is a world where the strong rule the weak. So why not let the strong man’s will prevail, hm?”

“That’s...”

Kuze was left speechless at Sudou’s unexpected proposal. An unexpected relative had come to him for help, so he subsequently wanted to lend a hand. In that sense, the fact that Ryoma Mikoshiba’s request hadn’t been flatly rejected was a stroke of good fortune. But that didn’t mean this was the sort of development Kuze had been hoping for. Ignoring Kuze’s feelings entirely, Sudou added an even more outrageous condition.

“Kusuda is a very promising ally for us, and Mikoshiba is an exceptional find as well. I’d like to avoid a situation where the two fight and one ends up dead. So how about this? If either one kills his opponent or inflicts a wound so severe that it can’t be healed without using an elixir, he loses.”

Upon hearing those words, Kuze immediately grasped Sudou’s intent.

At first glance, it seemed like a fair rule that prioritized safety; in reality, it was anything but. This condition put Ryoma Mikoshiba at an extreme disadvantage. The Mikoshiba mortal arts that Ryoma practiced were a battlefield style designed for killing. Most of its techniques focused on breaking or killing an opponent as efficiently as possible.

In other words, Ryoma could not demonstrate his art’s true worth under these new rules, where killing or causing serious injury was forbidden. Even when he knew that, Kuze had no choice but to accept. Sudou lost nothing by rejecting Ryoma’s request. He could simply continue supporting the O’ltormea Empire while operating in the shadows of the western continent. But for Ryoma Mikoshiba, that wasn’t an option.

Breaking the ties between the Organization and the O’ltormea Empire was practically a prerequisite if he wanted to aid the Kingdom of Xarooda. Compared to Sudou, who could take or leave this negotiation without consequence, Ryoma was in an overwhelmingly weak position.

“In that case, I shall go and convey this to Ryoma Mikoshiba at once. I doubt he will refuse, but there’s always the slightest chance,” Kuze responded, bowing deeply.

The gesture was hardly befitting a man who held power on par with that of a king as an elder of the Organization. Yet, Kuze showed no hesitation, clearly understanding this was the proper thing to do. Even as he received such deferential treatment from a figure of immense power, Sudou displayed not the slightest sign of agitation or discomfort. This demeanor spoke volumes about Sudou’s standing, which was even greater than that of Elder Kuze.

“Yes, I look forward to it.”

Akitake Sudou, still seated deep in the sofa, raised his glass filled with amber liquid. A broad smile spread across his face, revealing his excellent mood. Whether that was due to the amber liquid in his glass or the presence of the elegant woman seated beside him was anyone’s guess. Clearly, even after granting Kuze’s request, his spirits remained remarkably high.

Kuze still felt the decision was an unexpected outcome. Frankly, he had braced himself for a harsh reprimand from Sudou. While the situation had taken an unforeseen turn, he never imagined his plea would be granted so easily. For Kuze, who had come to ask for approval, there was no problem if the result had turned out better than expected. At the very least, the possibility of fulfilling Ryoma Mikoshiba’s wish had been secured.

“In that case, I shall return with a report later. I deeply appreciate you giving me your time, especially when you were otherwise engaged.” Kuze bowed once more and left the room. When he opened the door, he paused at the threshold to bow deeply again. “Excuse me.”

“Yes, thank you for your efforts. I look forward to hearing the outcome.”

Once Kuze’s figure vanished beyond the door, Sudou turned his gaze back toward the glass in his hand.

“Yes... Ryoma Mikoshiba truly is fascinating. No, perhaps the word ‘intriguing’ is more accurate. To think he would stride boldly into what is practically enemy territory and make such a proposal...” Sudou said, nodding deeply with satisfaction. He had the same feeling as when he first heard the name Ryoma Mikoshiba. It wasn’t hostility or resentment. Even though his plans had been disrupted, Sudou felt a surge of joy and anticipation. It was a feeling akin to what one sometimes experienced while raising a child—joy at witnessing unexpected growth.

When he had heard Kuze’s report earlier, that feeling had only grown stronger.

At that moment, the elegant woman beside him leaned in.

The woman was stunning. She had glossy, jet-black hair and long, slender limbs. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, which was the golden years when youth and maturity balanced in perfect harmony. This woman was, without doubt, the peak of feminine beauty.

“What made you look so pleased, Lord Sudou?” The elegant woman’s voice carried a sweet sigh, as if whispering to a lover, dripping with seduction and allure.

“Oh, nothing. Just that our plans are proceeding smoothly.”

At that, a hint of curiosity flickered across the woman’s face.

“Oh? Is that so? From what I heard from Lord Kuze, he was asking for permission to alter those very plans.”

Resting a perfectly shaped chin on one finger, she tilted her head ever so slightly—a gesture designed to ignite desire in any man. And she knew it. But Sudou was not a man so easily swayed by appearances alone.

“You know better than that, don’t you, Miyabi? I hardly need to explain everything to you at this point.” Sudou then tapped Miyabi lightly on the forehead with a finger.

“My, my. I can’t quite agree with that. No matter how long we’ve been together, we’re not exactly of one mind. You’ll have to put those thoughts into words, won’t you?”

She puffed her cheeks in feigned displeasure, playing her part well. This was merely a scene from a carefully scripted performance.

Although Miyabi Nikaido wasn’t an elder, she was one of the very few who truly understood Sudou’s standing within the group. She even knew things that Elder Liu Daijin did not, which spoke volumes about her closeness to Sudou. The very fact that she had maintained an intimate relationship with Sudou, a man notorious for fleeting affairs, for nearly a decade was proof enough. She would never hold the formal position of wife, given Sudou’s status, but she was undeniably more than a mere lover. To Miyabi, Sudou was not simply a man she loved or someone to whom she had given her body. He was far more precious and worth more than her own life.

In a way, Miyabi’s devotion was similar to what Saria Steiner felt for the man who had rescued her from a fate of slavery and misery at the hands of her mother’s political enemies.

Saria felt Sudou was closer and dearer than even her own mother, Helena Steiner.

Miyabi was not ignorant of why Sudou was in such a good mood. Even so, she pretended not to know because she understood that playing coy was safer than showing too much cleverness lest she risk angering him. Angering Sudou, even briefly, could mean more than just a momentary loss of favor. It could mean the end of everything she had built over years, which was the steel hidden beneath Miyabi’s beauty.

Sudou knew the control he had and enjoyed it. The two of them reveled in this game of words.

“No. Perhaps saying everything is going smoothly is a bit misleading. Still, even if things have taken an unexpected turn, the outcome benefits us. So, calling it smooth sailing isn’t entirely wrong, wouldn’t you agree?” Sudou whispered into Miyabi’s ear as he slipped an arm around her slender waist. The delicate waist was a true beauty, like a willow branch.

Her pure white dress bared her shoulders and plunged daringly at the chest, yet somehow never looked vulgar, making her like a goddess who descended from the moon. Sudou tilted her chin upward with one hand. From that movement alone, the conclusion was obvious. There was no need to state the inevitable. But just as Sudou moved to claim her, Miyabi gently pressed a hand against him, stopping him.

“My, my. The sun is still high in the sky. Isn’t it a little early for such pleasures?”

Miyabi brushed away his hand with an almost playful gesture. Yet her expression made it clear this was no rejection. It was the unspoken language between man and woman. Had she truly wished to refuse him, she would never have come here at all. If Sudou pressed, she would not deny him. She saw Sudou as a man overflowing with magnetism. At first glance, he looked like nothing more than a slightly overweight middle-aged man, but women flocked to him because they were drawn by a charisma that defied appearances.

Sudou knew his appeal. Even as he toyed with this beautiful woman, his mind burned with a different anticipation altogether.

In the end, everything hinges on tomorrow’s result.

Depending on the outcome, the Organization might drastically alter its course. Whether that would prove advantageous for those who bore the name Tsuchigumo, even Sudou could not say. But one thing was certain: The very foundation of their assumptions was about to change. The long stalemated war of the western continent would enter a new phase. Sudou’s heart blazed like a raging inferno with excitement for the future. For now, that fire had to be tamed, which was why Sudou swiftly swept Miyabi into his arms and laid her gently on the bed.

“Well then, shall we enjoy ourselves?”

With that, Sudou slowly reached for the ripe, sweet fruit before him. A soft moan slipped from Miyabi’s lips. Soon, the only sound echoing through the room was the creak of the bed.

Chapter 4: The Future at Stake

The sun was nearing its zenith, indicating it was almost noon.

“So, the time has come,” Ruqaiya said softly, breaking the silence as she walked beside Lord Liu in her role as his bodyguard. “How do you see this match playing out?”

There was a trace of curiosity in her voice, which was understandable considering what was at stake. The outcome of the upcoming duel could alter the very course of their Organization’s future. She wasn’t the only one who felt that way. All around them, the courtyard had people lined up pretending to be on duty, even if the truth was obvious. They, too, wanted to witness what was about to unfold.

Officially, these men and women were assigned to guard Lord Liu and the Malfist sisters. This was contingency security in case something unexpected happened. But was that precaution really necessary?

This level of security was unlikely as the estate was deep within a dense forest, encircled by towering walls. There was virtually no chance of a stray villager stumbling upon this place by accident. As for hostile intruders? Forget it. A network of the Organization’s elite operatives patrolled the perimeter, backed by wards and enchantments forming an impregnable security system.

Breaking through such defenses would be nearly impossible. This meant the people gathered at the estate weren’t there out of necessity; they were there because they wanted to be. And they knew it. Still, none of them moved to leave. If anything, their determination to stay was the clearest sign of their true motivation of sheer, unfiltered curiosity about the duel to come. Regardless of it being excitement, fascination, or just plain nosiness, it all boiled down to the same thing.

Lord Liu understood this perfectly, and he wasn’t about to reprimand them for it.

Well, who could blame them? Life on this harsh, entertainment-starved continent offers precious few diversions, after all.

Liu displayed a faint, indulgent smile. Indeed, he had no real grounds to criticize anyone for seeking a little spectacle. Even Lord Liu, one of the Organization’s elder council and a key figure who had helped set this duel into motion, shared that same sense of anticipation.

“Well now, this should be interesting,” Liu murmured, his tone almost playful. For him, this was nothing more than an intriguing spectacle worth watching.

The best part was that he had no reason to fret over the outcome, seeing it posed no threat to him. If anything, the certainty that either outcome would serve the Organization’s interests allowed him to savor the match without a trace of anxiety.

If Ryoma Mikoshiba wins, we’ll withdraw support from the O’ltormea Empire and redirect our resources to House Mikoshiba. If he loses to Kusuda, he’ll formally join our ranks. Either way, we gain.

Lord Liu could indulge in pure amusement.

But was he truly free of concern? If someone were to ask him outright, even he would have to admit the truth with a shake of his head.

Should Ryoma triumph, we’ll sever ties with O’ltormea. But that’s far easier said than done.

The Organization’s relationship with the O’ltormea Empire stretched back decades. It wasn’t just a political matter, but also an economic one, deeply entrenched and fiercely interwoven. Untangling that web would be no small task.

Avoiding backlash while quietly unraveling the threads would also be nearly impossible. But cutting the knot outright could be done. If we cast aside diplomacy and accept the cost, almost any impossibility becomes achievable.

Like Alexander the Great before the Gordian Knot, the answer was a single, decisive stroke. It would be brutal but effective.

Still, that was no trivial choice. Even Akimitsu Kuze, the most pragmatic of the elders, would not make this decision lightly. The risks were real, and the consequences would demand a heavy price. While the Organization might have been a power that transcended nations—its roots sunk deep into the shadows of the western continent—it simply couldn’t force through any course of action without consequence.

And let’s not forget that supporting the O’ltormea Empire was never an act of pure charity.

If anything, those years of aid were calculated investments, thinly veiled as assistance, with expected returns. From that perspective, cutting O’ltormea off would not merely be a political decision but also meant swallowing a considerable loss.

Still, the truth is undeniable. The O’ltormea Empire’s days of meteoric expansion are over. Their future growth will be slow, if it happens at all.

The O’ltormea Empire had not reached its limit. Measured against the sheer sprawl of the western continent, O’ltormea held no more than a quarter of its lands at best. Based on statistics, that left a theoretical seventy-five percent for conquest. On paper, that was an opportunity with growth potential.

The plan is only a pretty fantasy sketched out across a map.

Just because land existed didn’t mean O’ltormea could seize it. The empire’s early surge owed nothing to inevitability and everything to the Organization’s backing. With that support, a once-feeble kingdom devoured its neighbors like a starving wolf. It had grown because they were weak.

But now? Now they stand as one of the three great powers of the West.

Though O’ltormea’s power was impressive, the curve for growth potential was flattening fast. If their early kingdom years were childhood—an age of boundless leaps and visible change—then today’s empire had reached the cusp of adulthood. The quick gains were gone. What lay ahead was the long, grinding plateau.

The O’ltormea Empire is no longer a boy racing toward his prime. It is a man stepping into middle age.

O’ltormea would grow a little more, but nothing like the explosive surge of its youth. Those days were gone. From that perspective, severing ties now and throwing the Organization’s weight behind Ryoma Mikoshiba wasn’t as reckless as it sounded. If anything, the timing made sense. Because this match had been Kuze’s suggestion, it showed his resolve or something close to it. Perhaps that young man, Kusuda, possesses such strength that Kuze truly believes he’ll win. Liu remembered the face of the person Kuze had introduced him to not long ago, Kusuda Tomohiro. Could he really defeat Ryoma Mikoshiba?

The memory sharpened as he visualized a man with a lean, powerful build, sharp eyes, and the look of a man carved from discipline and hard living. Kusuda was in his early thirties, with broad shoulders and a solid frame. He was impressive by any standard.

He was a police officer back on Rearth, wasn’t he? That means training, conditioning, years of experience. Judo, maybe more.

When adding the time he’d spent in this harsh land, he’d experienced even more. Kusuda hadn’t suffered as deeply as some because the Organization had shielded him from true ruin, but he’d walked through fire more than once. He had endured enough to temper the steel of body, mind, and spirit.

And yet, that’s all it is, Liu thought as he saw that Kusuda did not have a weakness. Among men, Kusuda was undeniably strong and a fighter worthy of respect. But he was still a man. When pitted against Ryoma, his chances are close to zero.

In a pure fight to the death, the outcome was already written.

This is exactly why they added that no-kill rule...

Yet the question lingered stubbornly and coldly.

What troubles me most isn’t the match but Kuze himself. His decision came far too quickly. O’ltormea is his portfolio, and he technically has the authority to act alone, but that still feels sudden. One day? From yesterday to today? That’s not decisiveness—that’s haste.

By Liu’s reckoning, ten days—half a month, even—would have been reasonable before any verdict was reached. A matter of this significance should have gone through the other elders. At the very least, Liu should have been consulted, as he was present on the estate.

Differences in ideology had kept him and Kuze at arm’s length over the years. Even so, this decision was far too consequential to leave unspoken. A word or a gesture would have been enough.

In fact, a response was expected.

But he didn’t do anything.

Unease crept in as a slight distortion or a hairline crack in the surface.

The sensation was so slight it might have gone unnoticed by another. However, Liu perceived it as a splinter under the skin that was impossible to ignore.

Surely he doesn’t intend to renege on the stakes of the wager? The sharp and unwelcome thought flashed across his mind. It lingered for a moment, then it dissolved. He wouldn’t be with me acting as a witness. That would be unthinkable. But if not that, then what?

The feedback loop kept closing again and again, without resolution. There were questions without answers.

At Liu’s side stood the Malfist sisters, Laura and Sara, whose faces were pale with worry.

“Laura, do you think he’ll be all right?”

“I don’t know,” Laura admitted softly, shaking her head. “Any other time, I’d say yes without hesitation. But this...”

Laura’s and Sara’s voices held a tension that needed no words. They couldn’t predict the outcome, and it wasn’t due to a lack of faith. Both knew Ryoma Mikoshiba’s strength intimately. Among warriors, his name commanded respect. Even in a household renowned for its martial excellence—where men like Signus Galveria and Robert Bertrand stood as paragons—Ryoma ranked among the best. Perhaps he was even the very best. Even so, no warrior remained the strongest forever. The Malfist sisters trusted him as few others could, so that uncertainty was a rare and unsettling thing. And the reason was all too clear.

So, they understand too...

Liu cast a sidelong glance at the Malfist sisters’ anxious faces, lifting his eyes to the sky. Above him, the sun was nearing its zenith, spilling harsh light across the courtyard.

“It’s almost time.”

As if on cue, two figures emerged into the open garden of the estate.

One was a man who had risen from the rank of a mere mercenary to claim dominion over the Wortenia Peninsula and the northern reaches of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria. He was an iron-willed hero of his age. The other was a man torn from his homeland, summoned into this strange land by the whims of fate, and bound to live as a servant of the Organization.

The two men stood at opposite ends of fortune. Heaven and earth could hardly seem farther apart. Now they faced each other on the sun-baked soil, a gap of roughly five meters lying between them. Said distance was slightly more than two ken, the standard spacing in a judo match, but they remained silent. No one had marked their areas or signaled them; both men had simply chosen their positions, as naturally as drawing breath. From his place as arbiter—and as the very architect of this contest—Akimitsu Kuze stepped forward.

“Before we begin, let’s go over the terms one last time,” Kuze said evenly as his gaze shifted between Ryoma and Kusuda.

“This is a match. Not a death duel. Victory will be decided only when one opponent loses consciousness or yields. Kill your opponent, or inflict an irreparable injury, and you lose. Intent doesn’t matter. Understand?”

Both men leaned their heads up. Of course, Ryoma Mikoshiba would have considered these rules as shackles.

No killing is fine, I can live with that. But no crippling wounds either? They’re really trying to bind my hands here. Not that I’d want to rough up the man who risked himself to save Asuka... Still, it makes things tricky, Ryoma thought quickly like a blade’s edge.

The Mikoshiba style, which his grandfather had taught him, was no mere art of self-defense. It was a killing art in the truest sense of the word. At its core, it was a system of techniques honed for one purpose: to kill an enemy as efficiently as possible. If one failed to do that, the next best thing was to break them—by shattering joints, tearing ligaments, or crushing bones—until they could no longer move. In short, most of the skills Ryoma had mastered were either unusable or severely hampered under these rules.

At the very least, I’ll have to hold back and control every strike.

In a battle between fighters of this caliber, where victory was often decided in a single fleeting moment, such restraint was no small handicap. A rule that forbade killing tilted the field heavily against Ryoma Mikoshiba in terms of advantages and disadvantages. However, the restriction played to Kusuda’s strengths.

One would find it almost impossible to see how this rule could work against him.

After all, Kusuda used to be a cop.

Japanese police officers were trained above all else to capture suspects alive. Where foreign agencies might shoot first, those in Japan followed the principle of preserving life, even if it was little more than a polite fiction at times. Police officers carried firearms, and their use wasn’t outright forbidden. In extreme cases, even killing a suspect could be justified. But in practice, drawing and firing a weapon was a last resort. Most officers would go their entire careers, spanning thirty to forty years, without ever pulling the trigger on a human being.

The penalties for misusing a firearm were far too severe to risk. Even so, there was no option to simply walk away from an arrest. When necessary, a police officer had to subdue a suspect and use force if necessary.

Hell, I’d wager most officers have never even fired a warning shot. A police officer is expected to do two things: subdue a resisting criminal by force and capture them without causing unnecessary injury or death.

At first glance, those demands seemed contradictory. Ryoma believed they were nothing short of a paradox. He did not think that cops should beat a helpless suspect senselessly, but when someone was swinging a blade in the middle of a crowded street, why in the hell would one charge in with a baton instead of using the gun at their hip?

If you had no other option, that’d be one thing. But when you’re carrying a weapon as powerful as a handgun, why not use it? Ryoma remembered watching news reports back in Japan of officers wrestling knife-wielding maniacs into submission and being hailed as heroes for risking their lives. He felt they were needlessly gambling with death. I get that in a busy shopping district, there are innocent bystanders everywhere. Limiting the use of firearms makes sense in theory.

The reality was that Japanese police sidearms primarily chambered .38 Special bullets that weren’t exactly heavy recoil monsters. Even so, landing a precise shot under pressure was another matter entirely.

When the annual live-fire drill only gives you a few dozen rounds to work with? Yeah, good luck making that count.

With so little practice, how skilled could officers really be? Only the gods could answer that one. Of course, Ryoma knew it wasn’t as simple as just throwing more bullets downrange.

American cops, the poster children for a gun culture, spend something like twenty to twenty-four weeks on firearms training.

The two societies were worlds apart, so direct comparison was shaky at best. But one truth was undeniable: When it came to firearms proficiency, the gap between Japanese and American police was a chasm. In short, Japanese officers weren’t trained to rely on guns in the line of duty.

So what did officers use to protect themselves and the public? They simply turned to martial arts like judo and kendo, which emphasized control as much as power.

Japanese police officers are the living embodiment of the old ideal of “a divine warrior who kills not,” Ryoma mused. Basically, this match was set up squarely in Kusuda’s comfort zone. Talk about blatant favoritism... That makes me want to call them out on it.

But Kuze was the one holding all the cards here. Ryoma was nothing more than a petitioner. Regardless of the perceived unfairness of the rules, raising objections now could blow the entire negotiation to pieces, thereby defeating the whole purpose of being there. For now, Ryoma Mikoshiba had no authority to dictate the terms.

Considering how outrageous my request was in the first place, I guess a handicap like this is only fair.

This wasn’t just a duel. It was the decisive gamble that would determine the future of the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy and the Tsuchigumo.

Kuze’s voice cut through the heavy silence.

“Before we begin, let’s confirm what’s at stake. We can’t afford any misunderstandings.” He turned his eyes on Ryoma. “If you win, we will cut all support to the O’ltormea Empire and redirect our aid to the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy. If Kusuda Tomohiro wins, then your duchy will come under our banner and work for the ideals of our Organization. Does that sound correct?”

“Yes, that’s acceptable.” Ryoma nodded deeply, sealing the pact with quiet resolve.

“Very well. Then let us wager our fates on this match.” Kuze raised his right hand skyward in a solemn declaration. Just then, the bell in the estate’s clock tower began to toll at noon. As the final note rang out, his hand slashed downward.

Surprisingly, Kusuda was the first to move. The instant the bell’s echo faded, he surged forward, closing the distance in a single explosive burst. His posture dropped low, his center of gravity sinking as he dove straight into Ryoma’s range.

Based on appearances, Kusuda had some boxing experience. With martial thaumaturgy enhancing his body, that skill was a whole different beast.

From that stance alone, I can tell he’s an infighter. Damn it, he took the initiative.

Ryoma fired up his own martial thaumaturgy, muscles tightening like coiled steel to counter the charge. But he had been expecting Kusuda to use grappling techniques, which were classic police-style takedowns. That split-second miscalculation slowed his response. When fighting against an opponent of Kusuda’s caliber, that delay could prove costly.

Instantly, Kusuda’s left fist shot forward, driving hard toward Ryoma’s midsection. The blow wasn’t loaded with raw power, but it was a body shot built for speed. It was a flicker of motion designed to disrupt Ryoma with quick strikes and break his stance.

Interesting... Then take this!

As Kusuda relentlessly targeted his gut, Ryoma unleashed a right uppercut in response. The attack climbed away from beyond Kusuda’s line of sight, carving a sharp diagonal arc toward his face as a strike meant to scoop his head skyward before he could react.

The strike packed crushing force, like a cannonball fired point-blank. If it landed cleanly, the fight would be over quickly, revealing the power that radiated from the blow. Kusuda scrambled, desperate to create distance. But Ryoma wasn’t about to let him off that easily. Without pulling back the arm from his missed uppercut, Ryoma folded it tight and whipped his elbow in a tight arc, driving it toward Kusuda’s temple. His motion flowed like a river, smooth and unbroken.

“Ryuha...” Liu Daijin whispered. He was aiming to paralyze Kusuda and end it right there.

The technique’s name originated from how water flowed around obstacles and always found a path to rejoin the stream. It was a mid-level strike in the Mikoshiba arsenal. Ryoma’s target was clearly the mastoid process near Kusuda’s ear.

A precise blow to that spot could shut down the body instantly. Among the vulnerable points on the human head, the mastoid process was the most effective. But Kusuda wasn’t about to just eat that strike. He snapped his upper body backward, evading the elbow by a hair. Both fighters reset, choosing to put space between them. They stood three meters apart, eyes locked. The tempo had shifted. Neither was in a rush now, as they would probe and wait for an opening.

Kusuda circled, tossing sharp left jabs as he moved, peppering Ryoma with feints and light strikes. He’d abandoned his infighter approach, switching to an out-boxing style where footwork, range control, and constant probing jabs were used.

“Hmm, impressive. That Kusuda fellow is no amateur. Closing the gap early to force a quick finish was sound judgment. Clearly, he’s fought his share of battles,” Liu Daijin said approvingly. His assessment was generous. In fact, Liu had revised his opinion upward since the match began. Still, it was nothing beyond expectation.

“Not bad. Evading Master Ryoma’s last strike was a fine display of skill. Yes, he’s a formidable fighter indeed.” Sara nodded slightly. Her judgment was also fair as someone who had fought through countless life-or-death struggles alongside Ryoma. “Even so, he’s nowhere near a true match for him.”

“Naturally,” Liu said. “Kusuda is a product of modern martial arts. Ryoma bears the Mikoshiba style, handed down directly from Koichiro. The sheer number of techniques he commands is on an entirely different level. There was never any real contest here.”

Between the two men, the gap was like an unscalable wall. Ryoma was leagues ahead.

Modern martial arts, codified into sports, could not implement countless prohibited techniques. Ancient schools, like Mikoshiba mortal arts, carried fewer restrictions. Koryu, or the old school martial arts systems, reigned supreme in terms of freedom. This system included everything, such as methods of poison, concealed weapons, and countless strategies for survival. Their essence was adaptability, achieved through extensive training and the mastery of techniques that enabled them to handle any situation effectively. Said practice was akin to a student striving for a score of seventy in the five subjects of literature, math, science, history, and language.

Conversely, modern martial arts had specializations. Judo focused on throws and holds, while karate and boxing sharpened strikes. If the same analogy held, a person would abandon every subject but one and strive for a perfect score in that single area.

Neither school was inherently better nor more correct. It was a matter of purpose. But in life, where unpredictability reigned, breadth often beat narrow specialization, highlighting why the old ways favored versatility.

“But we’re only assuming Lord Ryoma can unleash his full arsenal,” Laura murmured.

Liu nodded deeply. “Exactly. And here, he’s bound by the rule of nonlethality. That’s a heavy shackle for him.”

They had always known it would be difficult from the start. But knowing didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“Then...” Sarah’s voice trailed off.

“Yes,” Liu said quietly. “This fight may turn into a real struggle.”

Ultimately, the meaning of “prohibited techniques” differed between the two worlds of martial arts.

In competitive martial arts, a banned move is one that a person could not even practice or perform. Attempting it in a match would result in an instant loss. In koryu, a banned move was merely one that a participant shouldn’t use lightly. Even so, one still practiced and unleashed it when the moment demanded it. Currently, the two were evenly matched. If anything, Kusuda seemed to hold the initiative, which would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances. The reason was clear: Ryoma’s Ryuha lacked its usual sharpness. The technique’s essence lay in carrying the momentum of the first strike seamlessly into the second, finishing the enemy without pause.

The uppercut to Kusuda’s body had been the opening blow. Ryoma’s subsequent elbow blow should have been the killing strike, but it hadn’t carried its usual bite. It was subtle, but both Malfist sisters had seen it.

Liu Daijin had seen it too.

There was nothing wrong with the body mechanics leading up to the elbow strike. But for the briefest instant, just as he folded his arm to drive it forward, hesitation crept in. He wavered, unsure of exactly where to land the blow.

Ryoma had a trace of doubt, so faint it would normally mean nothing. But Kusuda’s level of skill made even that whisper of uncertainty a liability. If killing were allowed, it would be simple. He would push his elbow straight through the temple and end it. The human skull, though resilient against frontal impact, was comparatively fragile from the sides.

With the right angle and force, even a small girl like Laura could drop a man as large as Ryoma with a single strike. Even though the forehead could take a solid hit, certain spots remained fatally vulnerable. A blow to the fontanel at the crown could shear the cranial sutures apart. Meanwhile, a sharp strike to the philtrum beneath the nose could cause a person to lose consciousness instantly. With enough force, it could kill.

The head is a minefield of vital points.

From a pure survival standpoint, the head was the ideal target. But under these rules demanding nonlethality, that very fragility became a curse. One slip in control, and Kusuda wouldn’t just be paralyzed but also be sent to the underworld.

He’s overthinking the restraint, and it’s warping his form. Liu Daijin’s silent judgment was spot-on.

Damn it, this is a nightmare... Strikes are a pain to pull back on. At least with the head, if I hit wrong, he’s dead for real.

Ryoma had no intent to kill Kusuda, but when he became conscious of not killing, his movements began to stiffen. Although it was a tiny shift in awareness, it was creating a rift wide enough to decide the fight. It felt like someone who was used to driving an automatic vehicle suddenly being thrown behind the wheel of a manual vehicle. The similarity in stance only made the unfamiliarity more jarring, akin to stepping into a car that looked the same as yours, only to find the gears were completely different. But complaints didn’t matter now. The fight had already begun, and losing wasn’t an option for Ryoma.

If I lose, I agree to join their Organization. Damn it. Maybe making that deal was too naive of me.

Regret gnawed at him. If he fell here, there would be no escape. He’d have no choice but to serve under Kuze as one of the Organization’s men. Some people might think breaking a promise would be easy, but there was nothing lower than a man who went back on a bet. This was similar to a man who insisted on taking his winnings when they won, and such hypocrisy violated everything Ryoma stood for.

His guiding principle was simple: “If you can’t pay up when you lose, don’t bet in the first place.” If he lost, he would settle the debt with his own body.

But Ryoma couldn’t join their ranks without betraying the people who had trusted him and followed him. It would mean abandoning the hopes and faith of those still fighting for the Kingdom of Xarooda, including Lione and his allies. If he failed, he would only settle things with his life.

Even so, Ryoma accepted Kuze’s terms because there had been no other choice. However, it felt like a reckless decision. Kusuda’s fists rained down like a storm, his footwork light and merciless.

Kusuda was floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee. Ryoma gritted his teeth, covering up, waiting for an opening. But Kusuda’s assault didn’t falter. If anything, it grew fiercer. He’d sensed the moment to end the fight.

Damn it... Iron Body or not, I can’t just let him pound away forever. If I don’t go on the offensive soon, I’ll get crushed, Ryoma considered.

The problem was simple and brutal. How do you put someone down without killing them? His mind circled the same dead-end maze.

Suddenly, fortune smiled on Ryoma as something clicked inside him. The stiff, grinding gears of hesitation finally got unstuck.

Idiot! This is why you’re getting pushed back. You’re shackling yourself! Stop overthinking! Forget everything except dropping the bastard in front of you!

With that, Ryoma moved. He swung with everything he had in a wide, telegraphed arc powered by raw strength and reinforced with martial thaumaturgy. It was a single hammering blow. Kusuda dodged easily, but the sheer force of that strike was terrifying. Branches shuddered ten meters away. Kusuda recoiled, instantly pulling back to a safer distance. That distance was exactly what Ryoma had wanted, even at the cost of a miss. He dropped his hips and slid one foot back. His left hand was leveled at Kusuda, while he had his right hand cocked low at his waist.

Kusuda’s eyes narrowed. His guard was up, both hands tight to his face. He didn’t understand Ryoma’s intent, but he smelled danger. Doubt flickered in his gaze.

“Mikoshiba-style Meida... So you’re betting it all on one strike,” Liu Daijin remarked.

“Meida? What’s that?” Laura’s voice was hushed.

“It is a paired technique in the Mikoshiba school. If Anda seeks consistent power from any range, Meida is its opposite as an art devoted solely to amplifying force,” Liu explained calmly. But Meida is pure fatality. If he lands that cleanly, Kusuda will die.

Meida wasn’t just a punch. The move involved every joint in the body chained together, with every ounce of weight hurled into a single instant of impact. Even without martial thaumaturgy, that blow could dent plate armor. It was made to break through a guard entirely. This was akin to a blade strike from Yagyu’s Jigen, a form of Japanese martial art, unleashed in pure hand-to-hand form.

If it landed, Kusuda’s life would end.

Ryoma knows that killing him still means losing the match. And yet... Is this strategy or desperation?

Ryoma’s killing intent exploded in a suffocating wave crashing toward Kusuda.

Meida was simplicity itself because it was one stance and one strike. It was a powerful strike launched straight from the hip. One could dodge it more easily than the wild haymaker before it. But if it was so simple, why had it earned its name as an ultimate technique?

This is the ultimate technique because it binds the enemy with sheer bloodlust. That’s the essence of the move.

Applying the technique was like the saying “One direction of the mind” in Nikaido’s school, or like a snake pinning a mouse with its stare. But that focus required overwhelming spiritual dominance. If there was doubt or hesitation, Meida would collapse into an ordinary punch.

Does Ryoma have that much resolve?

Liu couldn’t tell. But the air between the fighters grew taut, vibrating with lethal tension. Both men understood that the next blow would bring everything to an end. The world held its breath, then there was movement. Kusuda struck first, feet flashing forward, closing the gap in an instant. His right straight punch roared toward Ryoma’s face.

But before the strike landed, something screamed past Kusuda’s temple like a gust of wind. Darkness swallowed his world. The strength was drained from his body, knees buckling as he toppled to the dirt like a machine with its power cut. Ryoma cast Kusuda a brief glance, then turned to Kuze. There was no need for words. Kuze gave a single nod, checked Kusuda’s breathing, and raised Ryoma’s arm high. The victor stood clear. For one breath, there was silence. The arena then exploded in a roar that shook the sky.

That night, Akimitsu Kuze visited the room set aside for Sudou in a corner of the mansion.

“Thank you for accommodating my unreasonable request this time,” Kuze said, bowing deeply to Akitake Sudou, who sat with composed dignity on the sofa before him. Ryoma Mikoshiba had won the bet.

Sudou had simply proposed a wager and suffered a disgraceful defeat. At first glance, it might have sounded strange that Kuze expressed his gratitude to him. Had he not accepted Ryoma Mikoshiba’s proposal, the wager itself would never have been established. Although Sudou had presented the condition of a wager, he had not rejected Ryoma’s proposal. Normally, he could have cut off the negotiation without a second thought. Given that he had indulged in a request from one of his own men, Kuze naturally offered Sudou words of gratitude, to which the latter gave a deep nod.

“It’s no trouble. His proposal brought us benefits as well, and making this level of adjustment to our plan is hardly any burden, don’t you think?” Sudou replied, raising his glass of sake to his lips.

The sake and the cup must have been items that someone had brought from Japan when they were summoned. The blue glass cup was adorned with the chrysanthemum-linked pattern known as kiku-tsunagi. Such a design combined the plant with flowing curves reminiscent of waves, a beauty meant to delight the eye. It was a piece known as Edo kiriko. Sudou drained the cup in one breath, savoring the lingering taste before taking up the tokkuri, a sake flask, placed beside him. This, too, was Edo kiriko, made of the same glass as the cup.

Most likely, the tokkuri had been crafted as part of a set. From the precision of its workmanship, it was clearly the work of a renowned artisan. Sudou began refilling the emptied cup with the clear liquid. He seemed to intend to enjoy his sake. On the table, salted squid entrails, shark cartilage mixed with plum known as ume-suisho, and other side dishes perfect for drinking had been laid out in abundance, covering nearly every inch of space. It was the sort of spread one might call a modest indulgence for an ordinary man. The dishes resembled those served in the bustling izakaya of places like Shimbashi or Akabane.

For sake—especially for Japanese sake—there could be no more fitting companions. The lineup perfectly suited the izakaya, which was the ally of the common man. Considering this was another world, the meaning and value of the dishes before them were drastically transformed. These were ordinary items in Japan, but eaten here, they might rival the full course of the finest Chinese banquet. Even so, Kuze apparently could not focus on enjoying the food, just as Sudou had mentioned.

“Since we’ve gone to the trouble of preparing all this, Kuze, won’t you have a drink as well?” Sudou said with a smile.

Kuze hesitated before answering.

“But what about Duran? Won’t his position become difficult because of this incident?”

Kuze saw Alexis Duran, who was infiltrating the Kingdom of Myest, as an old acquaintance. In their younger days, they had shared the battlefield as comrades in arms. He surely felt responsible for placing such a friend in a precarious position. Even if it was for the sake of his own people, the thought of endangering a longtime comrade was enough to set his nerves on edge. But in response, Sudou only shrugged his shoulders. Truthfully, Kuze’s concern was of little consequence to Sudou.

“There’s no need to worry. We’ll just say he fell ill and let him shut himself away in his estate again... People will grumble about it, but if it’s an illness, then it can’t be helped. Surely no one would be so bold as to drag him out of bed by force,” Sudou responded, emptying his sake cup once more.

“Will that really suffice?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, Duran has a history of secluding himself for years under the pretext of illness. Though people won’t be satisfied, they’ll have no choice but to accept it. And in the worst case, we can always have him ‘die of illness’ and bring him back to our side.”

Kuze finally nodded.

“I see... So the only one left in trouble will be the new king, abandoned without support?”

“If I recall correctly, it was the former king of Myest’s half brother, Owen Spiegel. Well, he’s the sort of man who would assassinate his own brother to take the throne. He ought to be grateful he was even allowed to wear the crown for a time.”

At that, Kuze gave a wry smile. Still, it seemed Sudou’s explanation had convinced him. Kuze sank to one knee and bowed his head.

“We, who call ourselves the Tsuchigumo, offer our deepest gratitude for your mercy. We shall all swear eternal loyalty and obedience to you... O lord beyond the stars, enthroned among the highest heavens, O divine Mikoshima.”

This attitude was much like that of a vassal before his king. But it was more than that, as it resembled worship before a god. While it appeared unnatural to outsiders, it was a normal sight to those directly involved.

“There’s no need to be so formal. I have no doubts about your loyalty and devotion. If anything, I sometimes worry that I cannot live up to your dedication, don’t you think?”

Sudou let out a loud, hearty laugh. His words of encouragement resembled those a superior might offer in acknowledgment of a subordinate’s devotion. Or they seemed closer to the relationship of king and subject. But Sudou had other thoughts on the matter.

“Still, I must admit, it’s a little embarrassing now. Back in the day I thought such pomp and ceremony was important, but looking at it now...” Sudou turned the glass cup lightly in his hand as the words slipped from his lips.

The Tsuchigumo were like his own children. He had built and nurtured the organization, and he had given them the name Tsuchigumo. Naturally, he had also decided upon the rites of loyalty that Kuze now performed. But time, perhaps, was cruel. Methods that once seemed proper often failed to suit the age as the years passed. The question was, who would make the necessary changes, and when would they be made?

“I suppose I’ll have to be the one to change it, but... Honestly, I’d rather someone else do it for me.” With that feigned complaint, Sudou tilted the tokkuri toward his empty cup.

A glance at the direction of Sudou’s gaze made clear who that “someone else” was meant to be. Yet judging from his expression, he had no real intention of ordering a reform. His smile revealed his true intent: to tease Kuze and leave him flustered.

Akitake Sudou was not the sort of man one would wish to have as a superior.

“Oh? Already empty...”

It seemed the tokkuri had indeed run dry.

Only two or three drops of sake dripped from the tilted tokkuri. Perhaps it was the nature of a drinker, but Sudou still clung to the empty vessel, turning it upside down as if unwilling to let go. Yet it was clear the contents were entirely gone. At last, Sudou resigned and gave the empty tokkuri a little shake toward Kuze.

“Kuze, I’m sorry, but could you ask Miyabi to bring two or three more bottles? The night is still young, after all. You’re keeping me company tonight!” Sudou exclaimed as he laughed cheerfully.

However, Kuze remained silent. If he opened his mouth now, he might let slip words unworthy of their king. Without a word, the elder of the Tsuchigumo made his way to the next room, where Miyabi was no doubt preparing food. He went to obtain what their lord desired, as was the duty of one who bore the name of Tsuchigumo.

Epilogue

The light of candles illuminated the room and four shadows were cast upon the walls. Given that there were fourteen chairs arranged around the round table in the center, it meant that the majority of those who should have been present had not appeared. Excluding the one who had issued the summons, the attendance rate of this gathering was less than twenty-five percent. The attendance was so poor that one might wonder if there was any point in holding the meeting at all. But for those familiar with the circumstances, the scene before them could almost be called a decent result. At the very least, the summoner had been spared the pitiful sight of sitting alone in the room, waiting in vain. It was like the sorrow of a superior who called an emergency meeting at work, only for most of his subordinates to fail to appear. If that absence was not the result of some simple miscommunication, it could only mean that doubts had arisen about the superior’s ability or even his character.

Had that distrust grown, it would have been nothing short of disgraceful.

A heavy sigh escaped the lips of Richard Dornest, Chancellor of the O’ltormea Empire, who sat in one of the chairs around the round table. As the man who had issued the summons for this assembly on behalf of Emperor Lionel, he clearly felt he had exposed his own lack of ability and personal influence. That was Dornest’s unvarnished truth, even if it was only paranoia. Still, the current state of affairs had been foreseen from the very beginning. The thirteen individuals who bore the title of the Fangs of the Lion Emperor were all men and women of high standing and not merely commanders capable of leading armies.

As soldiers and as theater commanders, they had the talents to carry entire strategies on their shoulders, embodying much of the very reason the O’ltormea Empire remained a major power vying for supremacy over the western continent. They were, without exaggeration, individuals who could determine the empire’s survival.

Due to those factors, gathering them all is no simple task. There were many reasons organizing the meeting was so difficult. The first lay in their personalities. Most of those summoned under the name of the Fangs of the Lion Emperor were undeniably capable, but they were also men and women of strong quirks and eccentric temperaments. For better or worse, they were independent, self-righteous, and stubborn to the core.

Expecting such people to respond obediently to a summons is the real absurdity. Dornest admitted to himself that his view might carry some bias, but judging from his past dealings with them, that evaluation was not far from the truth.

Beyond that, a fundamental conflict arose from the divide between the military and the civil officials.

The officers, whose duty was to stain themselves with mud on the front lines whenever war broke out, tended to look down on the bureaucrats who worked mostly in the rear and were busy with bookkeeping. Said sentiment was born of their pride in risking their lives at the front. When civil officials in charge of supplies said things like, “Consumption of supplies is too high, please cut back,” officers unsurprisingly took it poorly. Officers also understood that such differences stemmed only from the distinction in duties. The bureaucrat telling them to cut back had no desire to starve the soldiers on the front lines or the intent to sabotage the O’ltormea Empire’s military campaigns. Anyone who understood the difficulty of maintaining supply lines and procuring resources during war would naturally want to economize wherever possible to ensure a margin of safety.

But even if one understood that in theory, whether they could accept it emotionally was a completely different matter.

Human beings lived based on their emotions. They did not always choose what was most logical, nor could they. When their roles inevitably set them at odds, they harbored negative feelings toward one another.

Well, the same could be said of the bureaucrats too.

Among the civil officials, there were more than a few who scorned frontline soldiers as little better than savages. Dornest himself had his share of thoughts about the Fangs of the Lion Emperor, the supreme representatives of the military. He did not bear them such ill will that he wished to obstruct them, yet he did not feel inclined to offer them wholehearted cooperation.

Even though we all serve the same O’ltormea Empire, striving together for supremacy over the western continent, there remains a division born of the very different stations we occupy. And it is by no means a small one.

Whether such feelings were expressed openly or swallowed down depended only on the balance of power between the two sides. This structural problem arose in any society once it grew into an organized group. The essence was the same whether in a nation or in a corporation. Such conflicts could not truly be eliminated—nor should they be. Conflict could serve as a source of change, even as a driving force of progress.

But conflict can also bring great harm, which happens when balance is lost.

Everything was fine so long as the scales tipped one way or the other, yet still found some equilibrium. But once the balance broke, once the tilt of the scales became fixed, the story changed entirely. In the present case, the problem was that the military officers had come to despise and look down on the civil officials. The real danger was not whether that state of affairs objectively existed. Instead, the problem was that Dornest had come to perceive their relationship as unbalanced. When perception solidified, it took form as fact. The unease and relief that had mingled within Dornest earlier were nothing more than the accumulation of such perceptions. If no one had answered the summons, one could think, They were all busy, that’s all, or, They’re mocking me and ignoring me. The meaning of the same fact shifted 180 degrees depending on how the person involved interpreted it. Setting aside such emotional matters, no one could ignore the reality that most of the duties carried out by the Swords of the Fangs of the Lion Emperor were vital tasks that no one else could perform.

After all, our empire, the hegemon of the western continent’s central region, holds vast territories.

Naturally, the O’ltormea Empire had begun expanding into the southern reaches of the continent. Among the three great powers of the West, the empire could boast the largest realm in sheer size of territory. Due to its magnitude, maintaining and managing such lands required an immense amount of effort. Of course the effort extended beyond military affairs. In military, domestic, and diplomatic affairs, there had never been enough manpower. Given the empire’s current state—waging wars of aggression on all four fronts—the labor required had far exceeded the burden of mere maintenance and administration. As chancellor, Richard Dornest ultimately stood in the position of managing and overseeing all of it. In such a situation, one might wish to borrow even a cat’s paw if it could be put to use.

And so, we have no room to leave capable personnel idle, Richard mused. Those belonging to the Fangs of the Lion Emperor had indisputable talents. Inevitably, every one of them had been entrusted with a critical mission. This is why it’s all but impossible for them to hand off their duties to someone else and return to the capital.

On top of that, geography imposed further constraints.

Although O’ltormea’s capital was in the continent’s central region, it was positioned far to the east of the actual center.

The capital’s position was the same since the days when the O’ltormea Empire was still the Kingdom of O’ltormea. The old kingdom’s capital had simply been adopted as the new empire’s capital.

But this world was not like modern Earth, where information could be transmitted in real time no matter where one was. Here, the only means of communication were to send a courier riding on horseback or to use carrier birds.

Keeping our capital’s position unchanged is hardly a rational decision. Looking ahead, we ought to relocate our base closer to the true center of the continent.

Where to place the seat of government was a major question in national administration. Purely from the standpoint of efficiently managing such vast territory, the capital evidently had to be moved to the very heart of the continent. At the very least, shifting it westward from its current position in the east would undoubtedly improve efficiency.

But the question is whether that truly ought to be done.

The issue lay in the fact that the O’ltormea Empire sought to unify the western continent. With future plans to occupy and govern the three eastern kingdoms, beginning with Xarooda, the current capital’s location was extremely advantageous.

Once unification is complete, the capital should indeed be moved to the exact center. Relocating the capital now, before subduing the eastern part of the continent, would only lead to imbalance. And of course, distance is not the only factor to consider.

Land near forests and mountains might serve well as a defensive stronghold, but they were a poor choice from an economic standpoint. Conversely, if one chose to relocate to the plains for the sake of economic growth and urban expansion, the terrain would offer little natural defense against outside invasion. Naturally, any relocation of the capital would require clearing all such geographical conditions. Moving the capital would consume vast amounts of labor and resources, making it impossible to simply pick up and relocate again, even if problems emerged afterward. Choosing the site required thorough, deliberate consideration.

That said, it’s not as if ideal terrain could be found so easily.

Good land certainly existed, but land that met all conditions to a high standard was exceedingly rare. Even if such a place were found, it was seldom uninhabited. Land that seemed good to him would almost certainly seem good to others as well. Dealing with the existing inhabitants was just one of the many problems weighing on Dornest’s mind. The situation could have been compared to a salaryman shopping for a home, visiting real estate agencies one after another. Indeed, the search closely resembled the pursuit of an ideal house.

And if the Japanese had described such a situation, they might have used the expression “too long for a sash, too short for a belt.”

People may have laughed at Dornest and the others for chasing after an impossible utopia, calling them indecisive. The O’ltormea Empire was an aggressor state, which was a problem worse than any of the candidate sites’ geography.

Even in lands we have occupied and governed for more than ten years, the ghosts of the past still lurk. Some men refuse to abandon the dream of restoring their homelands, Richard thought. Naturally, it was unthinkable to relocate the capital into such unstable territory. Force the move, and it’s plain to see we’ll only be planting fresh seeds of conflict.

Conflict, more than any calculation of military or economic efficiency, was the reason the imperial capital of O’ltormea could not yet be moved from its present site. Because such domestic issues remained unresolved, obstructions had arisen in various forms across internal governance and military affairs.

That’s also why we cannot so easily summon the Fangs of the Lion Emperor from their posts.

Under ordinary circumstances, no one would dare refuse the summons of Emperor Lionel himself. In this hierarchical world, it was common sense to go to the capital, regardless of whether a replacement could be found. Refusing to obey a superior’s will was treated as a crime. Depending on the case, the penalty might be demotion, exile, or even death for lèse-majesté.

In such a world, choosing to decline a superior’s command was almost unthinkable. History held countless examples of armies that had lost battles not because withdrawal was tactically wise, but because the central government had ordered them to retreat against all reason.

But the Swords have that special privilege.

Even Chancellor Richard Dornest was not granted the Swords’ privilege. Emperor Lionel bestowed upon them an extraordinary authority: absolute discretion in military matters. In diplomatic terms, it was akin to the powers of an ambassador plenipotentiary.

In their case, even independent peace negotiations with enemy armies are permitted, so the comparison is not so far off. Either way, it is nothing less than a privilege of the most extraordinary kind.

This arrangement had been conceived to deal with the reality that, in a rapidly shifting battlefield, one could not afford to wait for instructions to travel hundreds of kilometers from the capital. It was, in a sense, an optimized system of military command that only the vast O’ltormea Empire could have developed. The Swords could refuse an imperial command from Lionel, citing the state of the battlefield or their circumstances. Because of that, they would bear no guilt. Though their authority was limited to military matters, they had been granted significant power.

When they refused, they were required to explain their reasons. If the emperor were to accept a mere “I don’t feel like attending today,” it would undermine his authority as ruler. So their words were not accepted unconditionally. While an explanation was demanded, it was not a particularly high hurdle to clear.

The investigation into those who refused His Majesty’s orders was less about punishing criminals and more about a formal procedure carried out to preserve the emperor’s dignity.

Richard had long felt deep dissatisfaction with this privilege. Of course, he understood that the Fangs of the Lion Emperor possessed enough value to warrant such special treatment. In terms of ability, they were the highest rank within the O’ltormea Empire’s army as its strongest spear. Quite literally, they were the claws and fangs that had torn apart countless foes who dared to stand before Lionel Eisenheit, the Lion Emperor. Yet from the perspective of governance, these formidable chess pieces merely served as obstacles. For now, Lionel’s power and charisma kept them under control, but there was uncertainty about whether the next emperor could do the same.

No, better to admit outright that controlling the Swords cannot be done.

The outcome was still unknown, but if assumptions of them being under control remained, only for the lid to be lifted and chaos to erupt, then all would be meaningless. If they became independent warlords far from the capital of O’ltormea, it would be a nightmare come true.

In time, some form of action must be taken. Either the Swords’ authority will need to be curtailed, or they will have to be removed... One or the other. To leave things as they are will only plant a curse for the next generation. Reform is unavoidable.

The O’ltormea Empire was a great power among the world’s mightiest, yet it was still a nation in development. In the current turmoil, the establishment of many institutions had been delayed. One day, building systems to govern the entire western continent would become necessary. No matter how much Dornest resented the Swords, as long as the emperor protected them and granted them privileges, his hands were tied. The empire could not afford to discard its strongest weapons. As the old saying went, “When the cunning hare dies, the hounds are boiled and eaten.” But so long as the hare was still alive, no fool would cook the hounds. If someone did so, it would only invite attack from the enemy. This was no different.

And the Swords know their might all too well...

Thus, they did not take seriously the summons of Richard Dornest, the Iron-Blooded Chancellor feared across the empire. Since they had the privilege to reject even the emperor’s commands for valid reasons, why should they heed the orders of the chancellor, who was no more than the emperor’s proxy? It was unlikely they ignored him deliberately, but neither would they actively cooperate. Most of them probably thought that answering Dornest’s summons, at the cost of hindering their missions, would be the greater problem.

Thus, their stance was that they would go if possible. At the very least, the idea of all thirteen gathering together in one place was unrealistic. Truly assembling them in the capital would require immense preparations beforehand. As Richard Dornest pondered these things, a man suddenly broke the silence.

“Well lets get to the point, shall we? What is it that His Majesty desires of us, the Fangs of the Lion Emperor?” asked Julius Rosenwald, known by the epithet Ice Wolf.

His voice resounded through the room, a sound both as hard as steel and as cold as ice. All eyes around the round table turned toward the golden-haired, blue-eyed giant who had spoken. Even Richard Dornest, the chancellor and supposedly the highest authority present, was no exception. Dornest had not raised his voice, yet something in Rosenwald’s words overflowed with a force that would bring no interruption. He had the same aura of dominance that radiated from the Lion Emperor Lionel Eisenheit himself.

Such a voice was the mark of a man born to stand above others and command them. Truly, it was only fitting that among the Fangs of the Lion Emperor, he bore the heavy burden of vice commander. Since the commander himself was bound to the western front alongside the crown prince, Rosenwald had effectively taken on the role of holding this pack of beasts together. It was no wonder, then, that his presence was overwhelming. And his question carried enough weight to drag Richard Dornest, the Iron-Blooded Chancellor, up from the depths of his thoughts. Dornest’s awareness returned to the present.

“Hmmm...”

Perhaps trying to hide his awkwardness, Dornest cleared his throat lightly and bought a moment. Once he had regained his composure, he placed his clasped hands upon the round table and spoke.

“His Majesty seeks two things: to aid Her Highness Shardina in completing the occupation of the Kingdom of Xarooda... And to demonstrate across the western continent the martial might of our O’ltormea Empire, which has been undermined by Rolfe Estherkent’s defeat.”

The instant those words left Dornest’s lips, silence fell over the chamber. Those goals were already known, but having the chancellor confirm them carried its own weight.

“Heh... So Rolfe really lost, did he? The man who strutted about under the grand title of Emperor’s Shield, and yet he let himself be tripped? Now that is something worth laughing at.”

In the next moment, a shrill peal of laughter rang through the room. Everyone’s eyes turned toward its source, where a strikingly beautiful woman sat. She had golden hair, sun-kissed skin, and a body that balanced feminine grace with sculpted strength. Undoubtedly, her beauty would captivate anyone who looked upon her. Beneath that beauty lay muscles that carried the supple energy of a great cat. But at the same time, most men would never dare to approach her as a woman. Her physique was nothing short of extraordinary, seeing she stood close to two meters tall. Even more than sheer size, she carried the unmistakable aura of a commander born to lead armies.

“What’s more, I hear he hasn’t even returned to the front but locked himself away in his chambers. Maybe he dulled his instincts as a warrior, wasting his time babysitting some green little girl whose only talent is scheming? Truly, His Majesty commits cruel sins.”

There was no need to ask who she meant by that little girl. She had clearly just mocked Princess Shardina, daughter of the emperor himself, right before the imperial chancellor.

How dare she utter such words against Her Highness, the true heir to our empire’s bloodline... Dornest’s fists clenched tight upon the table, trembling with anger at the audacity of such public slander. Shardina was not merely the beloved daughter of his sovereign. To Dornest, who had served since the days of the Kingdom of O’ltormea, there was only one person who truly embodied the qualities of a rightful successor to the Lion Emperor Lionel Eisenheit—Shardina Eisenheit. Only Her Highness Shardina bears the blood of the late empress, Bertrard Eisenheit, mother of our empire.

Naturally, Dornest burned with anger toward the woman who had so brazenly mocked such a figure. To make matters worse, she had casually gone so far as to criticize the emperor’s judgment itself. On top of that, Rolfe Estherkent was an old associate of Dornest’s.

To think this upstart dares to insult Rolfe.

As a military man and a civil official, Rolfe and Richard had often clashed in court. But ever since the days of the small Kingdom of O’ltormea, they had worked side by side to forge the empire that now stood. Theirs was not merely friendship but the bond of comrades in arms. Hearing Rolfe mocked was more bitter and infuriating than any insult Dornest himself had ever received. Perhaps he felt that precisely because he so often opposed Rolfe that he could not abide anyone else belittling him. Yet even as the fury welled within him, Dornest forced himself to smother it.

Endure it... Endure it... His fists, resting on the round table, trembled with suppressed rage. Were he to open his mouth now, the words that spilled out would be nothing but shouts and curses. But Dornest knew all too well that venting his fury would be utterly meaningless. The foe before me is a beast who bares her fangs without fear of the imperial chancellor’s station. To take her on directly would only end me.

Power, after all, was indeed a potent force to subdue others, but only under certain conditions. Foremost among them was the question of what underpinned that power, or what gave authority its weight. Authority functioned only when it was secured by violence. It was the assurance that defiance would be crushed without mercy that made it truly powerful. If a person were measured by the sheer scale of violence one could wield, Dornest was the weakest among those present at this round table. Had he raised his voice in anger here, the smiling woman before him might have seized upon it as the excuse to unleash her strength. Of course, Dornest knew better than anyone that the chance of that happening was slim. But no matter how slim, there was always the possibility.

With these mad beasts, even here in the imperial court, there’s no guarantee they wouldn’t pounce.

Any normal man would never dream of starting a brawl in the very palace where the emperor resided. Those who did would surely be executed for undermining imperial authority. In the worst case, the punishment might extend to their entire bloodline, who would be condemned and wiped out. With the target being none other than the imperial chancellor, the highest of the civil officials, such an act was even more unthinkable. But the beasts gathered around this round table might indeed make that impossible choice. The likelihood was vanishingly small. Yet the very fact that Dornest could not dismiss even that one-in-a-million chance meant that the balance of power between them was set. This situation might have resembled the sorrow of a small nation, forced to endure the tyranny of a great power in silence.

Even when Dornest knew this, he had not chosen the path of silence because he could not choose it. He understood well that silence often invited arrogance in the other party, driving them to greater excess. So Dornest glared at the woman without a word. Their eyes locked across the round table, and unseen sparks flew. This, perhaps, was the utmost resistance Richard Dornest could muster.

If you want to strike me, then strike. This is the imperial court. No matter that you are counted among His Majesty’s trusted Swords. Do not think you can lay hands on the imperial chancellor and escape unscathed.

Of course, Dornest knew better than anyone that this was mere bravado. But no matter how overwhelming his opponent’s strength, there was a line he could never yield. Yet it seemed his desperate resolve meant nothing to the woman.

“What’s that look? You’re awfully provocative today, aren’t you?”

The woman curled her lips into a mocking smile. Clear scorn lingered in her expression. This glare must have been nothing more than a weakling showing defiance without knowing his place, like a cat savoring the moment before it played with its prey. As if to intimidate him, the woman began to crack her massive fists. For now, it was still within the bounds of threat.

But should Dornest refuse to back down and matters escalate, those rocklike fists would inevitably come crashing down on him. At worst, it could even mean the death of Richard Dornest. Regardless, he refused to avert his gaze. To yield here would mean dragging Rolfe Estherkent’s honor deeper into the mud. The two glared at each other. Unexpectedly, someone else cast a lifeline to Dornest.

“Your tongue runs too far, Guinevere. Lord Rolfe Estherkent is a general deeply trusted by His Majesty. Even if he is the commander of a defeated army, show proper respect,” Julius Rosenwald, as cold as ever, chastised the woman.

The one called Guinevere only shrugged. Julius, the vice commander, was living up to his title. His words carried a weight that even a headstrong spirit like Guinevere could not easily deny.

“My apologies. Guinevere’s words went somewhat too far, but if you would take them as no more than idle talk for this occasion, I would be grateful.”

Julius inclined his head toward Dornest. Despite the display of humility, Dornest keenly sensed the faint undertone of mockery in the vice commander’s voice.

He likely has no intent to truly disgrace Rolfe, but it’s clear enough he considers him a disappointment.

In the O’ltormea Empire, which prided itself on meritocracy, weakness was a crime. Of course, the principle did not apply to common folk. But at least among the knights and soldiers who served the empire, the law of the strong had sunk into their bones. Rolfe Estherkent had been one of the foremost warriors of the O’ltormea Empire, praised as the Emperor’s Shield, and his loyalty was held up as the very model of an imperial knight.

And yet, such a man had been defeated. Precisely because he had been so highly esteemed, the word “defeat” inflicted a grievous wound upon his authority and his martial reputation. It was a stain Dornest could not defend, no matter how much he wished to do so.

If Rolfe had lost to the generals of the Kingdom of Helnesgoula or the Holy Qwiltantia Empire, then the matter might have been different, Dornest mused.

Had the armies of Helnesgoula or Qwiltantia defeated Rolfe,, it would have been far easier to accept. Even in defeat, one might excuse it by saying, Victory and loss are the fortunes of war.

After all, those two nations possessed lands on the same scale as the O’ltormea Empire, and their military might stood in equal balance. But in this case, it was harder to use such an excuse.

Although the Kingdom of Xarooda was renowned for its martial prowess, it was a middling state entrenched in the eastern part of the western continent. The Mikoshiba Grand Duchy was, on paper, nothing more than a noble house of the Kingdom of Rhoadseria. Based on the O’ltormea Empire’s might, both seemed like minor powers that could be crushed in a single breath. At least, that was the candid judgment of most people. Whether that was truly the case was another matter. In particular, the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy, though technically a noble house of Rhoadseria, was rumored to possess an economic strength that surpassed the entire kingdom itself.

Whether rumors of Mikoshiba’s wealth are true, the very fact such rumors exist means their military strength cannot possibly remain within the bounds of a mere noble family.

Indeed, House Mikoshiba had already expanded to a scale worthy of being called a duchy in its own right. At present, people referred to Rhoadseria, Myest, and Xarooda as the “three eastern kingdoms.” But it was only a matter of time before the phrase became the “four eastern kingdoms.”

But this is only the conclusion we’ve drawn from the costly fragments of intelligence we’ve managed to gather at great expense of labor and sacrifice.

Ryoma Mikoshiba had severed the flow of information from the Wortenia Peninsula. He had even gone so far as to refuse the establishment of guilds or banks—institutions that existed without fail in any city of significant size on the continent. His thoroughness in sealing off information was almost admirable.

Thus, the world at large inevitably reached its own conclusion.

For the vast majority of people living on this continent, the notion that the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy might be a state on par with Rhoadseria or Myest has never even crossed their minds.

Whatever the reality, most people who dwelled on the western continent held this belief. Therefore, Rolfe Estherkent had been branded a foolish general who lost a battle he should have won.

War is swayed greatly by fortune. No matter how meticulous the stratagem, no matter how flawless the preparation, there is no such thing as guaranteed victory... The outcome of war is unknown until the end.

There was always the possibility of an upset where a weaker foe struck down a stronger one. It didn’t matter how slim that chance might be.

Perhaps this was due to the possibility that people, even when they instinctively knew they were at a disadvantage, could still cast themselves into battle. They believed, with all their being, that the goddess of victory might smile upon them.

On the rarest of occasions, the goddess of victory grew whimsical and bestowed her smile upon the weak. But for the strong, such a smile was no different from a death sentence delivered by the reaper.

And yet, no one would sympathize with a defeated man who lost to the weak, nor would they ever understand the anguish of a commander who led his army to ruin. No... The only things awaiting a defeated general are mockery and scorn.

The question then became, who would take responsibility for Rolfe’s blunder? However, among the three who had been summoned here, the decision of who would march to Xarooda as the commander of reinforcements had already been made.

“Well, I don’t care about that pompous imperial princess. But hearing that Rolfe got crushed is something that really piques my interest.”

“Indeed, the one who defeated him was Signus Galveria. His partner, Robert Bertrand, is also quite the skilled warrior. To face both of them at once would prove troublesome,” Julius Rosenwald told Guinevere, confirming he had investigated the men.

“They’re called the Twin Blades of House Salzberg, right? I’d heard rumors about them, which seem to be true. Hah! This feels like it’ll be the first interesting battle I’ve had in a long while!” Guinevere turned her attention to the man who had not said a single word since the meeting had begun, remaining seated with arms crossed like a boulder. “Adolf, you don’t mind, do you?”

The giant called Adolf gave a slight nod, showing that he must have been an exceptionally taciturn man. He behaved as though speaking with a woman might cost him his life. Any ordinary woman would have taken offense at this. In truth, even men would have found it difficult to feel any familiarity with such reticence. Despite her colleague’s attitude, Guinevere showed no sign of being bothered and instead sought final confirmation from Vice Commander Rosenwald.

“Julius... You’re fine with this too, right?”

“Yeah. I’m busy with intelligence work in my post, and Adolf is essential for the defense of the capital.”

That left only one choice from the start.

“Then it’s settled. My blood’s already itching for this fight,” Guinevere said, showing she must have truly loved the battlefield.

Dornest raised his voice and gave his command to Guinevere.

“Very well. Guinevere Edelstein, as chancellor of the empire and representative of the great Emperor Lionel Eisenheit, I command you to prepare the army without delay and march for the Kingdom of Xarooda.”

A feral grin spread across Guinevere’s face. Richard sighed deeply as he watched her.

He prayed to the god of light, Meneos, that this bloodthirsty beast smiling before him would scatter the Mikoshiba Grand Duchy and the Kingdom of Xarooda and bring victory to the O’ltormea Empire. When the meeting concluded, Dornest hastily left the chamber, and Adolf rose from his seat. But Guinevere and Julius Rosenwald remained seated, making no move to leave.

“You tormented the chancellor quite a bit. Truly a pitiful sight,” Julius remarked.

Guinevere only shrugged. “Perhaps I went a little too far, eh?”

“No... I think it was just right. That way, the chancellor won’t see through our intentions.”

Julius grinned, mockingly baring his teeth at Guinevere, which suited the Ice Wolf.

“So things are unfolding exactly as His Highness the Crown Prince envisioned, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but don’t let your guard down. If you slip, the entire plan will collapse.”

Guinevere nodded deeply, then left the room with slow, deliberate steps. She went to fulfill her assigned role.

Afterword

Though I imagine there are very few, it’s nice to meet those picking up Record of Wortenia War for the very first time. To readers who have been with me since the very first volume, welcome back.

My name is Ryota Hori, the author, and I successfully delivered the thirtieth volume.

This time, the writing gave me quite a bit of trouble for several reasons.

The main cause was that at the end of last year, a family member had to be hospitalized for an emergency, and I underwent heart bypass surgery, which threw things into chaos. But even so, I felt my work still wasn’t quite satisfactory.

On top of that, I left the company I had worked at for eighteen years and transferred to a new one this spring.

Since last year my publishing pace has fallen into disorder. I felt nothing but apologetic toward readers and those involved for the inconvenience.

Things may have gone too smoothly up to this point. I really want to somehow maintain the pace of three volumes a year again this year. I’ve managed until now, and I hope I can keep it up from here on too.

Finally, I give my utmost gratitude to everyone who has supported the publication of this work and to all the readers who’ve picked up this book.

If all goes according to schedule, the thirty-first volume will be released in August this year, and I hope to meet everyone again then. I will continue to do my best, so I ask for your continued support of Record of Wortenia War.