VOLUME - 12 ( CHAPTER - I)

Loria was furious. "Zeeettooouuurrr."

He was determined to erase that con artist turned wicked tyrant from the face of the planet.

"You…you dirty!!! Rotten!!! Bastard!!! You filthy fraud!!!"

Loria knew nothing of honor and justice. He was a hunter who embraced the insatiable emotions that drove him.

Exploiting his position as the head of the Federation's secret police, he picked his prey at their ripest and lived his life as he pleased.

This changed, however, the moment he discovered true love. Now, Loria was filled with nothing but a singular thought.

"Aaaah! My purest feelings! My swelling love! How dare that disgusting man ruin our happiness!"

Naturally, the beloved he spoke of was a certain fairy. And the villain who had the gall to steal Loria's joy in picking his precious flower was an absolute bastard who had no problem ruining the perfect love story.

Loria was well aware of the identity of the towering pile of shit that stood in his way—Zettour. That bastard was an unforgivable being of pure evil.

"Huff, phoo, haaagh…"

His breaths came hard and fast.

Although the hunter's rage was fueled by a true and noble love, he knew he couldn't allow his mental fortitude to lose ground to his burning passion. He slowly let the air fill his lungs before whispering his newfound resolution.

"I'll kill you. I swear I'll butcher you. You…you scoundrel…"

Loria clenched his fist until it was angry red. He had slammed it against the wall before coming to the realization that his rage was growing borderline illogical.

"I must accept it…"

I, too, have been had.

The Unified States boasted the world's largest industrialized economy and was currently waiting on the edge of its seat for an opportunity to enter the Old World's war. The opportunity finally presented itself when the Empire attacked Ildoa. This was the perfect justification for a preemptive, preventative attack.

From the outside, it looked like the Empire had made a mistake—shall we say, screwing the proverbial pooch—and it was true. The entire world watched in shock.

Despite being bogged down by their war with the Federation, the Imperial Army executed their attack with lightning speed, which was a spectacle in and of itself. However, what should've been very obvious to the Empire was that its invasion of Ildoa came at what seemed like mere days after the forming an alliance of armed neutrality with the Unified States.

Thus, it was only natural for the Unified States to rush in and aid their new ally. This outcome was as plain as day to all observers. The Imperial leadership would've had to be sick in the head if they assumed the Unified States would sit by and idly watch the blitzkrieg play out from the sidelines. That was why the world was shocked by what had transpired. Everyone was in awe of the war maniacs known as the Imperial Army.

Now, it should be made clear that even Loria couldn't figure out what the goal was at first.

The Empire had achieved nothing more than a tactical victory, or perhaps a series of Pyrrhic victories.

But nevertheless! Even so!

Whether it be plotting, scheming, conspiring, or whatever one may fancy—Loria had a bit more experience in the trickery department compared to the general populace.

With the unwavering compass that was love guiding him, he would not be outdone.

It was his pure, unclouded eyes that allowed Loria to quickly deduce the truth, and this was why he was furious…at that piece of shit, Zettour!

What a terrible, vile scoundrel!

"How could I have missed this?!"

There certainly had been a sign, though only one, and it had come in the form of an ominous turn of events. This fact was what annoyed Loria to no end.

It happened just the other day. At the time, Loria was processing a ludicrously thorough report he'd received from a certain gentleman mole he had planted in the Commonwealth Intelligence Agency.

He remembered the exact moment he received the report from one of his subordinates, and the exact words he said in response.

"So the Albion chaps pulled off their assassination? And you're sure about this?"

"We have five separate sources confirming this information. Apparently they've eliminated a group of real troublemakers."

Loria let his numbskull subordinate's tactless "congratulations" slide because he was giddy at the fact it was a group assassination.

"A group, you say. Splendid news."

"Yes, Rudersdorf will no longer pose a threat to our great nation."

Wait. Loria's brow heavily furrowed.

"Comrade, were both threats dealt with? Or only one?" "What?"

"Rudersdorf and Zettour. That pair of devils. Both of them are dead, yes?"

"No…only the deputy director, according to our intel. However, he was killed with his entire entourage of General Staff officers."

Loria was openly disappointed by that answer.

"What a pity. Those boys from the Commonwealth should've made the con artist their target."

He still remembered the long sigh he gave before treating the news like any other and giving the usual orders to his subordinates to send along thanks to their mole in the Commonwealth…

That was it. He'd already lost interest in the entire ordeal.

This was only natural. For Loria, the death of a random strategist meant nothing if it wasn't the vile con artist who so trampled all over his love. This apathy, however, was a massive failure on his part.

It was actually in the same room he had received the news of Rudersdorf's assassination where Loria finally grasped the entire picture.

"That…that filthy con artist! Zettour! He returned home the minute his

friend died! How did we let such important information slip through our fingers… And now…you…!"

Zettour now had full control over the Imperial Army, and he was the one who had spearheaded the full-scale attack on Ildoa after the announcement of an alliance with the Unified States.

"You attacked Ildoa! Zettour, you insufferable piece of shit! You went and attacked Ildoa?!"

At this specific stage of the war. At this specific timing.

For Loria, who was preoccupied with both his love and the war, the cunning and underhanded motivation of the attack was as clear as day.

"You've raised yet another obstacle on my path to love!"

Loria was a simple man. He lived for his passion. He wanted to do one thing and one thing only: to taste the fruits of his love with a certain fairy before the passage of time ruined her.

"Why must you and the world reject my purest of feelings?!"

Loria cursed the wicked and evil embodiment of humanity that was General Zettour.

"What a tragedy. We… I don't have much time left."

Loria was left with a looming feeling of unease. His heart was plagued with anxiety as he wondered just how much time he had left.

"Time is my enemy. This is always the case."

It was a race against the clock to pick his fruit and consume it before it was too ripe. He certainly wasn't one for rotten apples.

Oh, how few things compare to plucking a flower in full bloom!

There was a specific flower Loria had in mind, one that could only wait so long before it was too late. She was a cheeky little flower, who loved playing tricks on him—his thorny little angel. Degurechaff was her name, and she was ripe for the plucking. God forbid she grew too much and her petals fell before he got his chance.

"I'm running out of time!"

Loria was literally shaking at the thought of his ideal prey vanishing off the face of the earth.

From everyone else's perspective, it would be much better if his love never saw fruition. Loria himself was a stain on the world, objectively speaking. The perverted predator cried out in agony because his bottomless lack of self-awareness painted him a picture in which he was somehow the

victim in all of this.

"If such a thing came to pass, it would be nothing less than a tragedy."

Should he miss his chance, the regret would surely be the end of him. At the very least, he was losing hair over it, mostly because he kept pulling more out due to stress.

"Ah, damn it, I need more time."

-x-X-x-

NOVEMBER 21, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE GENERAL STAFF OFFICE AT THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL

In the innermost room of the General Staff Office, General Zettour sat quietly. He was using the Army's bastion of tranquility and intelligence as a spot for a quick breather.

Though hardly comparable to the eastern front, the capital was growing increasingly colder. Winter was upon the Empire. Before the war, those with wealth and standing would often go abroad, seeking warmer climes elsewhere.

Unfortunately, the war raged on. With the current state of things, not even the nobility could hope to take their annual trip down south for the winter months.

It was so bad that there was even concern as to whether or not there would be enough fuel for civilian use this year.

The General Staff Office was already feeling the cold. "I suppose I'm lucky."

General Zettour muttered to himself with a wry smile.

Luck had nothing to do with it. Thanks to the war, he would be one of the few who got to head south this year for the Ildoan campaign.

Under different circumstances, it probably would've been an enjoyable trip.

"That's it for the paperwork. All that's left is my luggage."

He scanned the room until he spotted a wicker trunk. One of his orderlies had prepared it for him.

"I told him to make it light."

Zettour grimaced at the trunk.

His orderly likely thought that a trunk was the limit. In fact, a ranking general of the Empire traveling so lightly would've been unheard of prior to the war.

Were those still the times they lived in, Zettour would've complimented the packing job. Alas, there was no room for praise.

"Well this just won't do. There's no room for an entire trunk on a fighter."

He rubbed his chin and let out a sigh before reaching for the tightly packed trunk. He was satisfied to find his orderly had at least done a good job organizing its contents. It didn't take more than a few minutes to repack what he needed into a single rucksack.

"That should do it."

With his preparations now finished, the general had a little free time until his next and final appointment before his departure. It wasn't much time, but he could afford to take a smoke break. It would be his last breather before he crammed himself into a fighter headed for Ildoa. The flight would be a stark difference from the luxurious train ride that once connected the two friendly nations. He would no doubt be as tightly packed into the plane as his belongings were in his rucksack. The fighter in question was an instrument of war, after all. They weren't built with roomy interiors in mind. It was pretty much the most uncomfortable means of transportation that could be found. But…the discomfort was a small price to pay if it meant he could get to his destination in one piece.

That being said, this would be his last cigar for a while, seeing as smoking was absolutely not allowed on board.

"I'd better smoke while I still can."

He took out a well-maintained case of cigars from his desk. The attention to humidity control was a sign that even the idiot Rudersdorf was capable of paying attention to finer details when it came to things he liked. Zettour recalled his old friend's face as he blew out his first plume of dark gray smoke with an unpleasant expression on his face. Then Zettour watched the smoke dissipate as it reached the ceiling of the General Staff Deputy Director's office.

Given the time of year, the fact that the only visible wisps came from his own cold, white breath made for a sad sight. Zettour yearned for the sound

of a crackling fire in the hearth. When the cigar smoke disappeared, all it revealed was the same old lifeless roof he sat under.

"I really wanted to decorate the ceiling with a nice painting, but it doesn't look like I'll get the chance."

He had no time to be picky about his office's appearance. "Things are bound to get busy soon enough."

Time, time, time. Time was the law that ruled over all. Zettour effectively spent his days running away from time as it relentlessly chased him down. The Empire was like a train about to leave the station, and it was his job to make sure the horribly sluggish train that finally began running its course did so on time.

Would it make its trip on time, or would it suffer delays? Could he even keep it on the tracks? The point of departure was now, and the destination was tomorrow, but where would it go next? The answer to that was as painfully clear as it was terrifying should he fail in his role as conductor.

The weight of his duty made him want to tremble, so much so that he even began to grow antsy during his brief smoke break.

His train's final destination was the Heimat's future. Derailment meant the end of the Reich.

It was a heavy burden for him to bear. His shoulder gave a quick spasm that was unrelated to the cold office temperature. He continued to fill his lungs with cigar smoke.

"My word. This really hits the spot."

Another sigh left his mouth as he glanced at his watch.

It is funny how time seems to move so slow only when you're feeling impatient.

There was still a bit of time before he had to go see Counselor Conrad, the person waiting for him at his next meeting.

He was set to meet him before departing, but as their appointment was scheduled immediately before the flight, this idle moment felt annoyingly long.

Everything seemed to be like that as of late. The general was overcome with an unshakable restlessness whenever he found himself at a standstill.

"I'm starting to understand why that idiot Rudersdorf was always so uncharacteristically in a rush."

Zettour would carry this burden on his own. He had the weight of the

entire Imperial Army pressing down on his shoulders.

"In the end, we've made mistakes at every turn up until here. We started a war we shouldn't have. Then we failed to end it when we needed to. And had the wool pulled over our eyes by the prospects of victory only to be forsaken by the Lord."

And yet, the war marched on. He couldn't even muster up a chuckle at the hubris of a country that refused to end a war it couldn't win and cry about how unfair the world was. He knew he couldn't deceive himself. The Empire was alone in the world.

General Zettour shook his head and gave the frigid room a good look before flashing an intrepid grin. He was ready to shoulder any burden he needed to. He was receiving direct orders from necessity, and orders were orders for an Imperial soldier.

Goodness. The grin on Zettour's face widened. "This, too, is war. But what is a war?"

Zettour unconsciously began rubbing his chin as he launched into a monologue.

"War is the use of force to bend an opponent to your will."

This was the textbook definition that all officers learned. Back in the good old days, a young, pure Zettour once blindly believed in these very words when he studied them with earnest aspirations to one day become a good little Imperial soldier. Now, however, he was beginning to question whether he believed in them at all. He recognized that he had only ever taken the words at face value.

It was something he reflected on whenever he was alone with his thoughts. When there was only winning in his mind, he believed that through power and victory, he could create desirable results.

"That is why I always sought after victory…why I always saw victory as a panacea."

He had been wrong. In the worst way possible. And as a result, he could no longer save his patient, the Empire, be it with a panacea or not.

"If only I'd realized this a few years sooner. I've been saying that a lot lately…"

Ironically, Zettour had his suspicions about the prescription after using the every last bit of his will, his ability, and his talent on the eastern front.

He was challenging the value system that he had originally placed so

much faith in. Accepting the discomforting reality made it painfully clear that decisive victory was no longer possible.

Zettour could only shake his head.

"The Empire is no longer salvageable. The majority of our nation, even our military, is still chasing after an ultimate victory."

It felt as if the scale that balanced their objectives against their capability was completely broken. Some might even argue that the Imperial citizenry were quietly allowing their ability to face reality to fall apart.

The Empire defied reality for nothing more than a possibility. A heroic yet sad fight where the military didn't know when to throw in the towel. Of all the people they could've fought, they chose to fight against the entire world.

General Zettour stared at the ceiling of his office. Looking at its bland colors almost made him nauseous. He lamented once more to himself.

"A ceiling really isn't complete without a good painting."

It could be a depiction of their fleeting, glorious past, or something that sparked hope. It didn't matter; he wanted something. Something with color. Staring at the stains on the monotonous ceiling was beginning to take its toll on him. It made him feel like he was staring at the future of the fatherland.

The general sighed, then shook his head once more.

It was the hour of twilight in the fatherland. He had no idea twilight could get this cold.

He could accept his role as the general of the losing side. It would all be for naught, however, should he fail to minimize losses. If he allowed the Heimat to lose its youth at the current rate, his final days would be spent pitifully. It shouldn't need to be stated that the general hoped for victory as much as anyone else.

It was something he wanted—were it attainable. But he knew it would come with a price.

"When you buy land, it comes with rocks. And meat with bones. Now, what price will my countrymen set for our victory, and what by-products are they willing to accept in the exchange?"

Would the goddess of destiny sell it to them at an affordable price? "Even the worst victory we're willing to sell isn't something the world

will agree to buy."

A frontal assault was out of the question. They needed to sign a deal

with the devil, then scrap the paper their deal was written on just to make it even.

Zettour knowingly asked himself a somewhat childish question. "Can I outsmart the devil?"

The general planned on doing everything within his power. He was far from omnipotent, but he was confident in his ability to keep himself a step or two ahead of his enemies. There was also no lack of sheer determination. Honor meant nothing to him. He was willing to give up his soul if that was what it took.

But he knew the truth. A praying mantis with an ax didn't stand a chance against the world.

"I doubt it… I don't have enough cards to dine with the devil, never mind deceiving the world. I'd better find a long spoon."

A spoon made of silver, if at all possible.

"Enough with this nonsense. It all means nothing."

Entertaining aimless thoughts like these was nothing more than a way to soothe his mind. The Empire was shrouded in a stifling, cruel reality…and navigating out of this quagmire fell to none other than Zettour.

"A soldier… A mere soldier for an entire country."

When he thought about how ill-suited he was for the position, an incredible sense of emptiness filled him. It was like admitting he wasn't smart enough to win. He thought this as he sat with a cigar in his office.

Nevertheless, he couldn't allow himself to lose. In order to cheer himself up…he repeated his words from only a moment ago.

"War is the use of force to bend an opponent to your will."

The Empire didn't possess the power to force anyone to do anything.

The foundation for the strength required for that no longer existed.

Any chance of achieving this was long gone. Zettour folded his arms and blew out some more smoke as he sat in contemplation.

"I suppose there was a time when victory had been within reach… Then again, there's no point wallowing in the past."

It was time to do away with this self-pity and embrace harsh reality.

Zettour could accept his defeat…his strategic failure.

"This isn't about victory or defeat anymore, but a third path—an acceptable outcome for the Empire. I need to maximize whatever small gains the Empire can eke out of this war."

What concessions could the Empire, in its weakened state, compel from the superpowers it was fighting? Those hostile superpowers would be the true victors while the fatherland would be…the vanquished. There was no changing this. Praying wouldn't amount to anything because even divine intervention wouldn't be enough to save them.

That being said, the fact that the fatherland was on the brink of bankruptcy had yet to be made public information. This small detail afforded Zettour just enough wiggle room for one last desperate act of resistance.

"This may be our final breath, but it also presents an opportunity— however small it may be."

The pride of the Empire, its instrument of violence, still had its fangs. Its soldiers still had the will to fight. And Zettour was ready to accept whatever was to come. So why not fight tooth and nail until my very last breath?

"If we can't win, then we will force our will on the world…without winning. So long as I understand the rules I must abide by, I can think of a way or two to make that happen."

There were prospects for success. Even if the odds of success were incredibly slim and the road ahead would be brutal.

General Zettour knew that on the other side of that seemingly insurmountable challenge, there was a slightly better future awaiting the Empire. It was a hellish future nevertheless—a far cry from paradise, but anything would be better than hurtling straight into the deepest pits of hell. It would be the most minor of improvements, but that meant the world when it came to the future of the Heimat.

"That is why I reject fate. I refuse to let the worst come to pass." His own words reminded him of something.

"I really did believe…"

That I was always making the best choices.

Zettour missed the good old days. They were like a fleeting dream now

—a dream where he could wholeheartedly believe in the Empire's victory. These days felt more like a haze, but he remembered being utterly shocked by the mere thought of defeat when he first heard mention of it from a small girl who approached him in the corner of the General Staff library.

"Even now I can remember how caught off guard I was by the notion that avoiding defeat was true victory…"

He wondered if she somehow foresaw this moment back then, considering how she placed so much emphasis on what true victory meant. Or had she been operating under a different logic back then?

"I suppose I'll never know."

It doesn't matter, he thought as he continued to stroke his chin. "Accepting the notion that there are relative levels of victory makes

everything so much easier."

There was a big map plastered on the wall next to him. It showed the latest developments along the front, and the fact that the front lines were beyond the Empire's borders told a story. Every expansion outward was a victory for the Empire. These occupied territories, however, were nothing more than tactical victories—tactical victories that would have no impact on the ultimate outcome of the war… Empty victories.

The Empire had won every battle it fought, but this string of victories would eventually lead them straight to their own demise.

"We paid dearly for this land, for all this dirt and rock. So why not put it to good use?"

This space was Zettour's trump card. He needed to use every last resource the land had to offer if he was going to have any chance of achieving an acceptable outcome.

"I am a soldier of the Reich. There is something I must do for the children of the Heimat. Even if it contradicts my duty as a soldier…"

There were words waiting to come out of his mouth as he murmured this to himself. Hans von Zettour could tell himself whatever he wanted, but bold words meant nothing… He simply had two options before him: accept defeat, or refuse it.

His heart wanted to reject defeat with every fiber of his being. His pride shook and his sense of honor wavered… The mountain of bodies behind him made it nearly impossible to do anything besides cry out in denial, but no matter how much his heart desired victory, the only force that could move the world was cold, hard facts.

For him personally, there was a way around this. Zettour could flatly reject his impending defeat until he found himself dead on some battlefield. That way, he would never need to see whatever fate awaited the Heimat. Doing so, however, would be an absurd dereliction of duty.

For a soldier with great responsibility and stature to escape the war by

dying…would be nothing less than desertion. Throwing away his life to satisfy his personal desires was a luxury he could ill afford. Zettour was a leader, and he needed to act like one.

"It's at times like these when I start to envy the field officers."

Zettour knew that these were words an officer in the rear should never say out loud, especially after considering all the special privileges they received. Nevertheless, it was something he thought on occasion.

He remembered fondly what it was like to be a commander in the field whose only worry was completing the task at hand.

"Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff once jested about missing desk work in the rear… I imagine she was just trying to be considerate in her own way."

How tactful of her. Or perhaps it was just the clumsiness of a career soldier who didn't know how else to think.

In any case, General Zettour was pulled away from memory lane by a ringing clock. He looked at the time and saw the second hand hovering over the twelve mark. The general chuckled wryly when he heard a knock on his door. Impeccable timing. He wondered what lengths his visitor had gone to in the name of perfect punctuality.

This was indeed the man Zettour had been waiting for.

Right. General Zettour cleared his mind and prepared for his next task. "Hello there, Mr. Conrad. Or should I say, Counselor Conrad. You're

just in time. You have my thanks."

"How could anyone possibly be late when personally meeting with the general himself?"

The man replied in all seriousness after showing up for their meeting on the dot.

Zettour nodded in amusement because that made it sound like the head of the General Staff was capable of controlling time itself. Even if he did have access to such incredible power, it wouldn't change the fate of his nation. That was the miserable truth. And for better or worse—probably worse—the general had grown so accustomed to absurdity that it barely fazed him anymore. He flashed the gentlest of smiles.

"I've been looking forward to speaking with you for a while now. I have high hopes that we can come up with some good schemes together."

"No, sir. The honor is mine to finally make your acquaintance."

He was a true gentleman. Such pleasantries were refreshing, given the strange times they lived in. The two men shook hands firmly before Zettour showed the counselor to his seat and, as a sign of good will, offered a cigar to his guest. Counselor Conrad graciously accepted. The odor of the cigars left behind by General Rudersdorf permeated his old office. They were good-sized cigars. The two men savored them as they exhaled trails of smoke.

If an outsider had seen them, they probably would've chastised the pair for being too easygoing.

General Zettour took his cigar out of his mouth and gave Counselor Conrad a big smile.

"To think a quiet smoke break like this would come to be seen as such a luxury."

"War takes away whatever room we have for leisure, I suppose."

There was a clear detachment in the way Counselor Conrad spoke. To suggest this is just how war is felt blunt. This was simply because he only pointed out the obvious. The days when the Reich was lauded as the strongest nation in the world were no longer.

"It's what happens when war drags on for far too long." Necessity, necessity, necessity.

The cold, logical principle offered no room for play, and its rules had to be obeyed until the end of time.

Imperial citizens had become synonymous with the word necessity in the most extreme of ways. There was no longer room for play even in their minds. The Empire had often been considered a nation of straitlaced people even before the war. Now? The Empire was a completely different place. The war had changed it from top to bottom.

"A superpower with no time to enjoy a cigar is a lonely place."

"For a man in your position, there isn't a soul who would dare reprimand you for merely smoking a cigar. If there was, they'd be going out of their way to see you in a bad light."

General Zettour laughed grimly at Counselor Conrad's directness.

"Bullets on the front lines don't discriminate between officer and soldier. Though, I suppose the Federation's snipers do, if we're being pedantic. I have no doubt they would do their best to pick me out in a crowd."

Zettour demonstratively puffed out his chest, which was decorated with medals.

"I take pride in how much Federation snipers obsess about me."

"That's an awful joke. Should I be laughing? Or would you rather me tell you that all the attention they give you makes me a bit jealous?"

"You can do or say whatever you wish. It's not as if it matters anyway." The general's curt response caught Counselor Conrad by surprise.

Though it was nearly undetectable, he allowed a somewhat troubled expression to show while thinking about how to respond.

The middle-aged diplomat was used to a little verbal sparring, but this seemed a bit much… By the time the counselor had started pondering the meaning of the general's remark, Zettour simply shook his head and grabbed another cigar before continuing.

"Shoot a man, kill a man—it's all the same because they're destined to die from the day they were born. It doesn't matter how they go."

His words left his mouth accompanied by cigar smoke. It was merely small talk—an icebreaker to get their conversation started.

"Have you ever thought about death before, Counselor?"

"These are the times we live in. It's a reality I'm forced to consider, on occasion."

"That is mighty noble of you. I, for one, find myself only worried about the deaths of my friends."

He shot Counselor Conrad a glance before flashing another vague grin.

The general could tell by the tense expression on the counselor's face that he was trying his best to find a good response. Diplomats were tough in ways soldiers weren't. This is good, Zettour thought as he smiled on the inside.

"I probably don't need to say this, but I only ended up here because my predecessor met an unfortunate end, so it's hard not to think about death when you're in my position."

With sadness in his tone, Zettour showed his anguish when he mentioned a fallen friend.

"To think he would meet his end in such a way. Fate can be so ironic."

The general glanced at Conrad once more to see a knowing look. These diplomats sure are clever. The counselor wore a grave expression, as if he were compelled by a preestablished harmony.

"It is a tragedy that General Rudersdorf is no longer with us. I never imagined we would lose a man of his standing."

The counselor gave his earnest condolences as a representative of the Foreign Office, and it occurred to Zettour that a diplomat could probably cry on command over something they didn't care about in the slightest. It was part of their job, after all.

Just look at his face!

At a glance, it really did seem as if the counselor felt a deep sense of loss for the deceased general. It almost made Zettour want to clap.

"He died an honorable death on the battlefield, the greatest sacrifice any soldier can make. I want you to know that we mourn every day for the devastating loss."

Even his timing for lowering his head as he spoke was impeccable. It was the slight quavering in his voice that really sold it for Zettour. As every vestige of tension drained away, Zettour couldn't help but clap his hands. He gave the counselor a small ovation. That was the natural reaction to seeing such a spectacular performance.

"That was an excellent show of diplomacy, my friend. You are quite the actor."

"My apologies, but come again?"

A tight expression came over the counselor's face, making it clear he took offense at the remark, but Zettour pressed on with a laugh.

"You see, I've heard about you from Colonel Lergen. I simply decided to be straight with you instead of entertaining this masquerade ball."

A friend he could scheme with. Someone to commit treason with. Or, at the very least, a person who he could grieve with. It didn't matter to Zettour what historians would go on to call them, so long as they made sure to mark them both down as patriots who acted according to the times and endured as best they could.

There was only one important detail.

"I see you as a friend, Counselor Conrad. Let me answer the question currently on your mind before you need to ask it."

He grinned as he enjoyed his cigar before loosening his shoulders and speaking softly.

"It wasn't me."

It truly wasn't. Well, that was true in a certain sense.

Zettour couldn't stop his grin before he spoke up.

"The goddess of fate is so cruel. She is a benevolent witch."

Zettour had the intent. He had been more than willing to do the deed. He even had his orders ready. Everything had been ready, but alas.

The goddess was a devil. Despite refusing to save this nation from its future, the whimsical little witch relieved Zettour from the need to bear the guilt of having murdered his own friend.

"I almost wish I could feel responsible for his death. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have no right to."

He was certainly ready to commit the act. To quietly bear his guilt under the guise of duty, grit his teeth, and do what needed to be done for the Empire. And yet, it was unclear as to whether or not he was in a place to feel any guilt. He didn't need to shoulder it in the first place. This had to be some form of salvation. But now that he didn't have this burden to shoulder, he only felt emptiness. What kind of salvation was this supposed to be?

"I'm certain of one thing: This world has gone to shit. I almost want to become an atheist."

"General Zettour, does God not stand with the Army?"

"Unfortunately for us, if there even is a God, he is rotten to his core. As someone who only wishes to make the world a better place, I believe the only objects worthy of faith are our nation's guns."

Zettour closed his eyes and shook his head as he jested. This much he always understood—that there was a higher power, something more significant than artillery, that ruled the world. Figuring out whether said higher power was pure chance, a god, or some sort of universal natural order was the work of the pious. Zettour only needed to understand how the world worked as a soldier. And he knew well that the God they knew was an incarnation of supernatural evil, not unlike the devil.

It was repulsive to even think about. Whether it be fate or chance, it brought a fearsome cruelty with it.

"I want you to listen to me, Counselor. I'm under the impression that… something a bit more presumptuous than a deity is controlling our fate. I'm not quite sure how to best describe this something, but…as it is less a god and more a vague existence, I suppose we could call it Entity X."

"My apologies, General. Are we discussing theology?"

Zettour looked up at Counselor Conrad, who had fixed him a dubious

stare, and shook his head.

"I don't need you to understand. I'm simply talking to myself. You can write it off as aimless grumbling."

"I'm sorry, but I don't quite follow… What exactly are we talking about right now?"

"I'm merely trying to open myself up to you to gain your trust. If I must add something to convince you, then let me acknowledge that I considered doing what you suspect me of."

"You what…?"

Still standing at attention, Counselor Conrad asked this with profound interest. Zettour responded with a firm, almost self-deprecating nod.

"Your suspicions aren't so misguided. Everything was in order for me to dirty my own hands. But before I could do the deed, our kind friends assumed the role of executioner for me."

It was all too convenient for the general. God, you truly are despicable.

Zettour quietly cursed the heavens within the confines of his mind.

"I only wish our creator would save the Empire instead of using such boundless power to bring about miracles as unpleasant as this. I cursed our God and praised the Empire. Quite a few firsts in my life. How much better it would've been if the opposite were true."

"Are you serious…?"

Counselor Conrad's gaze told the general that he didn't believe him. "It is the truth. I swear on my mother and friends."

"Then that means…?"

The answer that would dispel the doubt and anxiety in the counselor's gaze was simple. For this all to have turned out so well was an act of pure deus ex machina. It was almost as if everything had been scripted.

If this were a play, this would be where the audience laughs. As this was reality, though, the general sneered instead. After all was said and done, this much was well known throughout the office.

"They are decrypting our messages. The entire world likely knows our secrets. Thinking back on it, we lagged behind the world in one of the most important ways."

-x-X-x-

[Image]

-x-X-x-

Zettour had his suspicions that their messages were being cracked. Their internal communications were essentially being broadcast to the world.

"I shouldn't have shrugged my doubt off, thinking it was impossible. I don't know if it was a sign, but when our war hound Degurechaff caught the scent that something was off, I should've paid more attention. Oh, there I go again. Regretting what's already been settled."

He accepted this unpleasant reality with a dry chuckle.

Everything discussed in the Imperial Army could no longer be kept a secret from the Commonwealth. The General Staff had access to the strongest ciphers available in the Empire.

Would their enemies pry open the nation's toughest lock with their thieving hands only to ignore the others? Especially when the information inside those vaults was worth its weight in gold?

The logical conclusion to this question was obvious.

"They've even seen our secret telegrams. It's safe to assume that they know the Foreign Office's ciphers as well."

He glanced at the counselor and saw the distress of a man who intimately knew the way things worked.

"You think they know about every message we've dispatched…?"

There was what sounded like a hint of resignation in his tone as he voiced his thoughts. Either way, Counselor Conrad fully grasped the gravity of what Zettour was trying to say. He emitted a sigh before continuing.

"Did you see the documents detailing the transfer of power?"

"Ah, yes. Of course I did. They contained a secret telegram meant for a foreign embassy. Something about subversive actions abroad?"

In response, Conrad offered a dry grin and nodded. Of course, that was no reason for Zettour to let the topic pass without comment.

With an expression that was both solemn and dry in the same way the counselor's was, Zettour gave his frank assessment.

"It's quite the achievement, really. I wouldn't be surprised if the nations of the world send that embassy a special thank-you and some flowers. You really gave them the best fuel they could ask for to ignite anti-Imperial sentiment in their respective countries."

Conrad let his shoulders fall, offering no rebuttal. He was likely already aware of this mistake before he came here. There was no attempt to defend his organization. Feeling a strange sense of satisfaction in this, Zettour

extended his hand.

"It seems we're a good match for each other, as two friends who made the same error."

"Can I consider you a friend?"

"Why yes, of course you can. We can even think of clever nicknames for each other if you'd like."

Zettour had offered a hand and a big smile but was politely rejected. "Let's stop. I'd prefer not to discuss this."

"Oh? And here I was thinking we could become companions who could trust each other."

"I plan on living long enough to go to my grandchildren's weddings. I'd rather not make friends with someone who will bring me closer to a random encounter with Commonwealth forces. Please, understand."

Zettour, who was caught off guard by this response, started shaking. Without putting too much thought into it, he unconsciously began laughing loudly and heartily, like he was having the time of his life. The counselor was simply being logical. Considering what had happened to Zettour's last friend, this was the natural reaction.

Not only that, but the diplomat sitting before him intended on living a long and full life!

This civilian was being quite brazen about living a carefree life in front of a soldier destined to die.

One could only laugh in the face of such glaring absurdity. No matter how warped the notion, anything that could replace the immense pressure Zettour felt daily for even a moment was more than welcome.

That was why Zettour chuckled to himself, alone.

"A spectacular answer. I appreciate it. As thanks…when I'm forced to end the Foreign Office, I'll make sure you die last."

"How terrifying. Are you going to murder us?"

"Not at all! I need you to live as long a life as possible to serve the Heimat. You need to be worked to the bone."

Zettour whispered this to the counselor with a devilish grin. There was a strange cadence to his speech. It must have been because he was enjoying himself. Unable to resist his urge any longer, he took up his cigar once more and took a nice, long pull. It was exquisite. A good cigar was enough to make even the toughest of times enjoyable. What a wonderful thing.

With some reluctance, Zettour placed the cigar back onto the tray. After letting go of that last bit of smoke, he looked again at the man he considered his accomplice.

He could tell Counselor Conrad had guts. At the very least, it was clear to Zettour that he had a good sense of humor. There was nothing more for him to say.

All he needed from the counselor—his would-be accomplice as a fellow public enemy—was for him to return the handshake.

"I think we understand each other."

"Likewise. I believe we've gotten to know each other well enough."

Counselor Conrad gave an unexpectedly firm handshake before showing a somewhat surprised expression.

"A General Staff officer is quite the force to be reckoned with. This may go without saying for yourself…but you all seem out of your minds."

He really emphasized that there had to be something wrong with the institution known as the General Staff while also expressing his awe for them.

"You may be the Empire's best and worst invention."

"You think too highly of us. Though I must admit I'd like to ask why you think that way."

"I once met a Lieutenant Colonel named Degurechaff." "Ah, her."

That was all Zettour needed to hear.

"Between you and her, it's clear this institution is off the rails. It brings into question what they're teaching you over at the military academy."

"The two of us like to stick to the basics." "Oh? The basics?"

Zettour knew the perfect response to the question Counselor Conrad asked.

"It's much easier than you'd expect, really."

"Because it's the basics we're talking about?"

It was embarrassing to say out loud something that everyone already knew. Zettour hesitated to answer but he could see Counselor Conrad was patiently watching and waiting. If he wanted Zettour to say it out loud, then he would.

"Precisely. You've probably heard them at a Sunday mass."

"Well then, it seems I may not be devout enough because I'm having the hardest time figuring out exactly what you're referring to. Please do share any useful passages from the scripture."

"Of course," General Zettour said as his expression became solemn. Then, like a preacher speaking from atop a podium, he intoned, "Take the initiative to do what people hate the most."

"Come again…?"

"Simple, isn't it? At every opportunity, you must do whatever your enemy fears most. It is a virtue drilled into us at church from a young age."

Counselor Conrad blinked twice with his mouth agape before the general's words finally sank in.

"How moving… It is almost twisted how much neighborly love I can feel you exuding."

"Precisely. I consider myself a fundamentally good person, after all." "Are you one to turn and offer your other cheek after being slapped?"

"But of course. Which is why we're spreading the bodies of our fallen youth around the continent. I actually regret the amount of unbridled neighborly love I've spread so far."

He answered the counselor's joke with a joke of his own, offering a semblance of pleasant banter. Perhaps such a jest was the manifestation of their new friendship. Their lighthearted conversation was all laughs and smiles. Were they not at war, Zettour would surely be enjoying this moment with a glass of wine or champagne. It would've been the perfect winter night for a nice dinner. He would much rather use firewood to light his fireplace instead of throwing so many of his nation's youth onto the fire as kindling.

The reality was that all he could do was bark and howl at the setting sun. Still, people found ways to enjoy themselves, no matter what times they lived in.

"Counselor Conrad, I've enjoyed our conversation." The diplomat nodded in full agreement.

"It's been a long while since I've had to use my wit in such an entertaining way. A conversation with raison d'état is always as bittersweet as it is fresh. How very bracing."

"Yes, Counselor. It is likely a grave misunderstanding." General Zettour showed the smile of an innocent child.

"For you see, it's not our wits but egos that we used here today." General Zettour bumped his fist against his own chest before continuing. "We're not thinking with our minds, but our hearts. I know I'm no

longer an officer who operates solely on logic."

Counselor Conrad took a moment to think about what Zettour had said before responding.

"Then what do you devote yourself to?"

"My gut. My feelings. Or maybe it should be called an attachment to a nostalgic illusion."

"Well, I must admit I wasn't expecting an answer like that." "I love the Heimat."

Cigar in hand, Zettour shared his innermost feelings with the counselor. "I love my life here, the people of this nation, and our livelihoods. That

is why I'm a soldier of the Reich. A loyal citizen of the Heimat, if you may."

There was so much love in his words. It was a common sentiment throughout the Empire. All who worked in the Empire also lived there. And yet, strangely enough, Counselor Conrad found himself straightening his posture as he listened.

Where exactly was Zettour going with this? Whether or not Zettour knew the counselor was listening intently, the general paused to take up his cigar once more and wedge it between his lips.

His next words would leave his mouth behind a thick veil of smoke.

"The Reich's soldiers should crumble into dust along with the Reich."

The general spoke without any hesitation. The passing comment almost made it seem like he was casually commenting on the weather. Ignoring how much his words shocked Counselor Conrad, General Zettour picked up his coffee and continued.

"But can the same be said about the Heimat?"

It was clear what he was trying to say. Despite the general's crescendo into a question mark, his remark made it clear that he would never allow the Heimat to end. It was intense how clear his intent was even though he never touched on it directly.

"Old men are here to protect the future of the babies still being held by their mothers. Which is why it's our job to change their diapers."

"Is that…something the enemy will allow us to do?"

"Counselor, the true nature of war is quite simple, really. Tell me, what do you think war is?"

Zettour coldly answered his own question with his usual answer.

"War is the act of using power to force an opponent into submission. It could be considered a continuation of politics by other means. If this is the case, then let us secure the best loss we can win from the world. That is how we will ensure a future for the Empire that is better than a living hell."

"That's quite the defeatist's ambition. I suppose reality justifies it, though."

"I suppose we'll see about that. Whatever the case may be, there's a next best plan. If we lose our place in the Heimat, then we shall walk another road."

"May I ask which, if you don't mind?"

General Zettour gave a light nod as if to say, Of course.

"If we won't make it beyond the war… If we're unable to acquire a future for the Heimat, then we won't die alone. We'll take them all with us. The entire continent will burn."

The lone soldier, Zettour, stated his intentions plainly.

Any patriot would wish for this. For the fatherland's future. To give the fatherland a future.

And if this was unattainable… If, in the future, there was no place for the fatherland, then it was his prerogative, as a patriot, to reject the future entirely. Such a world was unthinkable for a true patriot like Zettour.

"We'll threaten the entire world. Either let us live, or fall with us." "Are you serious…?"

"You be the judge of that."

General Zettour stood up, then placed his hand on Counselor Conrad's shoulder.

He then brought his face close, so that they could stare deep within each other's eyes.

"I want you to take a good look. Do these look like the eyes of a man who's joking?"

"General…"

"I am a patriot. And a good person to boot."

Counselor Conrad nodded, showing that he understood the general's resolution while also expressing his admiration for the man.

"General, I understand this is a decision forced upon you by necessity.

Allow me to show my respect."

For Zettour, who had a bloodcurdling look in his eyes, any mention of

necessity was the last thing he wanted to hear in that moment. "Necessity… I'm getting so tired of the notion."

"General?"

"I'm tired of being forced into my decisions."

He slowly brought his cigar to his lips and fiddled around with the lighter as he lit the cigar. Then he continued with a clear note of annoyance in his voice.

"I've done everything in my power for the goddess of necessity. This is different. It's high time for that wretched hag to do her part for the future of the Empire. I'll grab her by her hair and drag her out of the sky if I need to."

"How ungentlemanly of you."

"This is the opinion of a man who's undergone one trial by fire too many at the hands of this so-called goddess of necessity."

All but scorched by the flames of total war, the con artist's voice had become hoarse. And for this, Counselor Conrad had no words.

-x-X-x-

NOVEMBER 22, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE ILDOAN FRONT

Colonel Calandro, who led the Ildoan army's last stand against the Empire, had been able to achieve all of his tactical objectives by fighting a delaying action.

He had succeeded in buying as much precious time as possible.

That wasn't all, though. Through fierce resistance and scorched earth tactics, he'd managed to push back the Empire, even if only temporarily. His performance was worthy of being studied in future military textbooks as a prime example of how to use time and space on the battlefield.

At the same time, he would most certainly go down in the history books in a very different manner. He would no doubt be remembered as the

commander who turned the land he was supposed to protect into mountains of ash. Setting aside the prior, Colonel Calandro knew the latter would become his legacy in the annals of history.

How could one who loved his nation so much go on like this?

The colonel simply had to set aside his personal feelings while he labored to parlay his tactical victories into political victories. The fact that he maneuvered on the political side of the war even as he fought on the battlefield was what made him a balanced, and arguably ideal, officer.

He had repelled the initial Imperial offensive, creating a brief pause in their advance as they quickly reorganized their forces.

Not letting this chance pass him by, Colonel Calandro brought a limited armistice proposal to an old acquaintance who just so happened to be leading the Imperial forces. Using his personal connections and the law, he tried to acquire a resource more valuable than diamonds for Ildoa: time.

Being the good Imperial citizen he was, Colonel Lergen was more than happy to cooperate. With his assistance, a provisional twenty-four-hour cease-fire was scheduled to come into effect the next day as they began negotiations for an armistice.

While tensions were high on both sides, the two armies scrambled to collect their dead and tend to their wounded while avoiding one another. The attempt by Colonel Calandro to buy as much time as he could during this lull by initiating negotiations with the enemy commanders was the perfect strategy from a tactical standpoint.

Thus, in order to acquire more time, the colonel made his way to the Imperial Army base.

His efforts would turn out to be quite a success. An incredible coup that achieved much more than anyone had expected. Despite bringing about these utterly shocking results, Calandro himself quivered as he rushed to send a telegram back to the capital.

"The Record of the Armistice Negotiations with Colonel Lergen"

As the title of the report suggested, the forces on the ground agreed to a temporary armistice.

- Agreement to evacuate the citizens in the north.

- The establishment of a seven-day cease-fire period.

- A continuation of the current cease-fire.

- The allowance for temporary surveillance to be performed by both

sides.

- Military operations to recommence after the seven-day period.

- More detailed report upon return to the capital.

It was a sweet and simple report that left out far too many details.

The man who received everything he could've hoped for from the negotiations found himself looking up at the ceiling and sighing.

"That monster…"

He questioned who came up with his moniker.

"The Great… What a crock. More like the Terrible."

The colonel recalled what he had witnessed only moments earlier and shuddered as a chill ran down his spine. He took out the cigars he'd received from the enemy during the talks and began smoking in an attempt to quell his trembling. He could taste the high quality of the cigar as its smoke filled his lungs. It was a provoking feeling.

As he blew out a stream of smoke, he thought:

Ah, the people of the Empire truly are the masters of surprise attacks.

He should have picked up that something was off when he encountered an old mage officer acquaintance of his, standing at attention and awaiting his arrival.

Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff.

He could still clearly remember the days when he was placed under her care as a military observer visiting the eastern front.

He'd let his guard down. Regularly bathing in the blood of her enemies, Degurechaff was the Imperial Army's most highly prized warmongering mage to ever exist. She was a grizzled veteran known better by the name Rusted Silver as opposed to her official title, White Silver.

Why was she attending a commanding officer? Calandro should've realized then and there what he was walking into.

And yet, because this was his one and only chance to make some much- needed gains on the war front, he happily danced in the palm of his enemy's hands.

"Allow me to show you the way, Colonel." "Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel."

Her working directly with the General Staff must've meant that she had a close relationship with Colonel Lergen.

That was the extent of the suspicion he felt as he made his way to the house where Lergen was supposed to be waiting for him. Except, when he arrived, the man he found waiting for him was much older than he had expected.

"What's this?"

Calandro was met by the gaze of an older general who was smoking a cigar, which seemed to be his posture for the coming negotiations.

Then he saw him grin.

"You must be Colonel Calandro. My apologies, but Colonel Lergen is busy in the field. I hope you'll accept me as the Imperial Army's representative for these negotiations."

Before him sat a man he'd read about over and over again in the reports. General Zettour, the Deputy Director of the Imperial Army General Staff who had ordered the Empire's offensive on Ildoa.

It was shocking to see the very man who was the root of all of Ildoa's problems just sitting in a chair and smoking a cigar at his leisure. This was the enemy commander who had forced Ildoa to burn its own countryside.

He was sitting right there, out in the open. Right as that thought crossed Calandro's mind, so did another. He quickly realized the significance of a mage officer being present for the negotiations. Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff was this man's guard dog. With a guard dog like her at his side, General Zettour had nothing to fear from a lone middle-aged Ildoan. It was sad, but this was reality.

Calandro definitely wasn't suicidal enough to throw his own life away in exchange for the enemy leader's. He knew the instant he reached for his sidearm, Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff would turn him into minced meat. He'd seen it happen enough times on the eastern front.

He also knew full well what would become of the negotiations should he point a gun at the other party.

His rational mind was all that kept him within the bounds of the law after coming face-to-face with his sworn enemy.

But still…as an Ildoan, Colonel Calandro needed to ask one question.

Why?

He didn't expect an answer, but he still wanted to ask nevertheless.

"Why did you do this?"

So he did, and the man, sitting with his cigar, sneered at him. "Why? You're asking that now?"

The disappointment and astonishment in the general's tone was visceral. He wore a bitter grimace, something he barely made an effort to show.

What struck Calandro the most was the general's eyes. How they ridiculed him with their gaze. Despite his astonishment at Calandro's question, the monster known as General Zettour bared his fangs.

"That's a silly question. It's so ridiculous that I can't even bring myself to laugh. There's a proper time and place for jokes, Colonel."

"What do you mean it's a silly question?! I want to know what you were thinking, General Zettour, when you started…"

"When I started what? Hmm, I suppose that's a further testament of your stupidity." Calandro was at a loss for words as the general continued holding his cigar out in one hand. "It was your nation who squeezed the trigger. Armed neutrality, my foot. I can swear to you in good faith that, from a purely militaristic standpoint, we never wanted to invade Ildoa."

"The armed neutrality alliance was meant to keep the Unified States neutral! It was meant to keep countries outside of the continent from meddling—"

"—Listen."

General Zettour was grinning. With a polite tone, he had cut Calandro off mid-sentence.

It was the exact same way a teacher would treat a rambling student. There was a kindness in his tone and gaze reserved only for a mentor trying to help a delinquent student.

"Colonel Calandro… You, and your country, are the victims of a grave misunderstanding."

Calandro fidgeted in his chair as he watched the intellectual representative of the Empire nod to himself and take out a box of cigars.

"Here. Have a cigar."

"With all due respect, General, I don't think we're in a position to enjoy pleasantries right now."

He rejected the offer, bearing in mind that the two nations were at war, but all this did was make the old man sigh once more.

"How remarkably un-Ildoan of you. The call for diplomacy is at its

highest during open conflict. You should know this. I won't demand you pay your respects to an Imperial general, but I probably should ask you to do so for an elder."

"I shall graciously accept…"

Calandro let his head hang low, which drew a response from General Zettour that was neither comforting nor self-deprecating despite the words he laid out in his hoarse voice.

"It's strange for a failed citizen of the Empire to have to talk down to a successful Ildoan. Now, I suppose I should think of a proper answer to your question."

"Then…why did these hostilities come about?" "It's simple."

Smoke blew across the table. In contrast to the veil of light smoke he blew out, General Zettour shared the all too grim truth with the colonel.

"You pulled the trigger. This much is simply fact. From my standpoint, your country started all of this. You really went and did something entirely unnecessary."

Maintaining the same tone from the very beginning, General Zettour held his cigar between his lips. Slowly, he took another pull. There was something grand and magnificent about his bearing.

The monster that dominated the meeting was the essence of a true general. Without even taking a bite of the prey that presented itself before him, the devil known as Zettour continued to flaunt his own thoughts on the matter.

"And so we simply reacted. You forced our hand. The most one such as I can do after you've set the stage is play my humble part."

"General?"

"We are on a tight timetable and you tried to delay our plans. If you mess around on the tracks, you get hit by trains. Do you understand yet?"

He looked at Calandro with the same disappointed eyes meant only for a delinquent student. Without even attempting to his hide his astonishment at this point, General Zettour furrowed his brow.

"You're quite narrow-minded, aren't you, Colonel Calandro…? You would've never made it through the Imperial Army General Staff curriculum. Do they just hire anyone around here?"

As if thinking of something on the spot, General Zettour turned his

attention to Degurechaff to his side.

"What do you think, Lieutenant Colonel? I know you have a strong opinion when it comes to education. Do you have any advice for your Ildoan friend?"

"Each country has its own education system and standards. It isn't my place to comment."

He glanced back at Calandro once more, turning away from Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff, whose firmly attentive posture never wavered.

"Yes, I see. It appears things are peaceful enough in Ildoa…for this to suffice. I must say, I'm jealous."

The general was laying on the sarcasm thick. On a surface level, it was nothing more than a snide remark. And yet, Colonel Calandro could detect hints of actual jealousy in the man's voice.

"Should I take this as a compliment? Though your words are quite cutting… For some reason, it feels like your jealousy is genuine."

"That's because I do envy you, from the bottom of my heart." "Come again?"

"For you are still a person. You still have your humanity. I'm sure of it."

The friendly old man flashed a pleasant smile before offering the cigars again.

"Now, allow me to explain why your nation's actions incurred our wrath."

Calandro sat on the edge of his seat, watching the smoke leave General Zettour's mouth as he touched upon the truth that was far too bitter to accept at face value.

"It's quite troublesome, really, for the Federation to get so bigheaded." "The…Federation…?"

Calandro blurted out his question but stopped immediately when he saw the general's intense gaze that screamed, Silence. It was clear he wouldn't allow any interruption. Calandro quickly piped down, and the great general nodded in satisfaction before continuing his story.

"This was why I was against General Rudersdorf's plans to invade Ildoa. Why on earth would we even consider kicking our only channel for diplomacy out the window?"

This was the rational reading of the situation. A simple conclusion anyone could make. Even a child could see that attacking a friendly

neighboring country despite being on the brink of collapse was a terrible idea.

"The Empire will be closing up shop no matter how this turns out." General Zettour said this like it was a joke, but it was exactly as he said.

The most the world's enemy could do was fight back. But, as they wouldn't be able to win in the end, all that awaited them was their eventual defeat.

Calandro saw this.

So did all the experts of the world.

And even the Empire, if only it could take a step back to look at the bigger picture, would've seen this as well.

So how had this come to pass?

"Let me tell you something. To greedily devour our flesh is no small task. If the world seeks to consume us, then we won't go down before giving the world a dose or three of poison."

They wouldn't die without a fight.

Did this mean they would embroil the world into a quagmire, dragging whoever they could down with them? General Zettour could tell Colonel Calandro was a bit confused by the very notion.

"The world is my enemy."

Those strange words left his mouth not in a frenzy or deliriously, but with complete presence of mind. There was something strange about all of this, but the colonel couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"I refuse to let the pathetic Federation beat me. Let me promise you this.

I would rather die the world's enemy."

These were grand words. Practically absurd if they had been said under almost any other circumstances. Colonel Calandro's instincts were screaming out at him.

General Zettour must be a broken man. How could any sane person speak like this?

Despite what his instincts were telling him, Calandro could see that the general was rational and lucid.

There was a visible intellect that could be observed in his gaze alone. As terrible a monster as he may have been, this general of the Empire was nevertheless a monster defined by his great mind. General Zettour was sober as could be. An intelligence officer as trained as Colonel Calandro—

one of Ildoa's foremost agents—couldn't deduce anything more than the fact that General Zettour's mental state was incredibly stable. His fanatical words and ruinous argument came from a man with the eyes of an enlightened saint who spoke from a place of absolute purity.

If there was anything ever to fear in the world, it was this gaze. Realizing he was being overwhelmed, Colonel Calandro silently smoked his cigar, puffing out smoke as he attempted to collect his thoughts.

The small diversion helped him switch gears. Gathering his emotions in an instant, Calandro made a heroic effort to glean the true intent of the monster before him.

"I won't let the Heimat perish, no matter what happens, what I must do, and what stands in my way. I refuse to let anyone or anything stop me."

The colonel was beginning to understand. He could almost sympathize with the general's plea. The frightening planning that went on in this man's mind was born from the purest of hopes.

"Whether he be God or the devil, I will show no mercy to him if he defies the Heimat. Remember this, Ildoan. This is the true nature of a con artist born from the depths of total war."

He was serious.

General Zettour's words made this abundantly clear.

"I will be borrowing the northern part of Ildoa as my playground. I'd really like to fight a clean battle there, if I can."

It was clear what he was getting at when he mentioned "clean." Of course, it was difficult to accept his promise at face value.

"Do you…honestly expect us to just believe you…?"

"I only told you this much to make up for all the trouble I've caused so far. If you wish to ignore me, I'm not so narrow-minded that I'd try to force your hand. Though I am quite livid at the way you tried to use the Federation against us."

"When exactly did we ever affiliate with the Federation, General?" "Don't play coy with me. The moment you tied yourselves to the

Unified States through armed neutrality. The Federation will get far too bigheaded…if the Unified States delays their entry into the war any longer."

The way he said this was so nonchalant.

By the time Calandro processed what this meant, his mind had frozen. The colonel knew what each of the words the general said meant. He

understood what they meant as a sentence, what their context was.

And yet, the conclusion he needed to reach was all but lost on him. "But… General! You don't mean to say…?!"

"Mean to say what?"

"That this is all just to get the Unified States to join the war?!" General von Zettour responded to this with nothing but a smile.

His expression alone made the answer clear even if he didn't say anything in response. The eyes communicate just as much as the mouth. The answer was undoubtedly yes.

"I'm a man willing to burn his own Heimat down to the ground. Strange. I figured you of all people would understand considering what you've done to your nation."

An urge born from sheer panic to put an end to the monster sitting before him flashed through Colonel Calandro's mind once more as he watched the general smile again.

And without missing a beat, the guard dog sitting behind the colonel chimed in, as if to reassert her presence.

"I'm surprised, General. I didn't expect you to speak this much with the colonel."

"I'm sorry for keeping you here so long for such a tedious assignment, Colonel Degurechaff."

General Zettour playfully shrugged his shoulders as he spoke.

"That being said, I wish to maintain a good relationship with Ildoa. I hope that we can find a mutual point of understanding and eventually cooperate to build a better future."

There was the thinnest veil of sarcasm in their exchange.

It served as a terrible reminder for Colonel Calandro that this was the man who had shaped and molded the infamous Devil of the Rhine.

"Please excuse my subordinate, Colonel Calandro."

The colonel looked behind him to find a small aerial mage bowing her head in apology. At a glance, she appeared to be nothing more than an amiable young girl with a small frame, but Calandro knew that she was a hellhound more than capable of ending his life at any moment.

"What do you say? Do you think we can build a future together? The Empire won't ask for everything Ildoa has. If we can guarantee our safety, we will limit the damage as much as possible."

"Y-you want me to trust you?"

"You're free to feel however you want. But bear in mind that I am public enemy number one. Try and picture what will happen if you choose to refuse our hand."

His eyes were so gentle as he spoke. With the same soberness visible in his gaze, the general continued to warn Calandro.

"You don't honestly believe I'll go down without taking an Ildoan peninsula or two with me, do you?"

He could probably do it—no…he definitely could, if deemed necessary.

Likely without any regard for morality, justice, or military law.

"I don't need your trust. You're free to believe that I'm just some hopeless villain who will set the world aflame. A heartless monster that can't be reasoned with."

He was a monster. The monster who had brought the flames of war to Ildoa.

"Or you can believe that this is all a frantic bluff made by an old man asking you to fight against the world alongside him. Either way, you're free to try and fight us the good old-fashioned way as well."

The general had likely seen right through Calandro's desperate attempt to appear calm. The monster stood up with a suave bravado, carrying a small box as he approached the colonel.

"I'll tell you what, my Ildoan friend who was once our ally and now our enemy. You're free to do whatever you wish. The Empire will respect whatever decision Ildoa makes. As such, we will accept the terms of your cease-fire."

"What? You'll accept all the terms…?"

"But of course. We're here to fight war the right way. I must say, it was quite the successful negotiation. Good work, my friend. Whether as an ally or an enemy, I appreciate your desire to fight this war like a true gentleman."

As he said this, the general placed a box of cigars on the table before Calandro.

"I see you must go. I'll lead you out."

This was Colonel Degurechaff's way of telling the colonel to get the hell out.

The pure oxygen that entered his lungs as soon as he exited the camp

tasted so utterly sweet. Calandro quickly made arrangements for his report to be sent via telegram. As soon as he finished writing, he whispered out loud, "That monster…"

The only thing human about him was his appearance.

His logic, his cunning, and his forked tongue had to be signs of the devil.

"The Empire…"

Chills kept shooting down his spine. "Did the war…create that monster…?"

Tanya is here to attend her boss's meeting with an important business partner. A person in a position of power would only ever assign a task like this to somebody they highly trust, for the most part. This means Tanya being present for the negotiations with Colonel Calandro is likely a good indicator of her boss's evaluation of her. Nevertheless, this isn't necessarily cause for celebration. You see, being called in to perform such a task means that Tanya is deeply entrenched in this organization.

For someone who's currently considering a job transfer, it's a complicated position to be in.

"Thank you for your vigilance during our meeting with Colonel Calandro."

That being said, it's a great opportunity for Tanya to learn how her boss truly feels.

Which means this is a perfect moment to take advantage of the opportunity by showing appreciation and sharing in a bit of lighthearted banter.

"It was my pleasure. By the way, what did you think of the colonel's health? He seemed awfully pale during the negotiations. I only hope it isn't flu season here."

It's not uncommon to catch a flu during the winter months. My superior responds with a knowing nod.

"I believe he may have a case of common sense. Fortunately for us, we're fully immune to it, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Do you suppose you may have gone a bit overboard with your

threat…?"

"I merely stated the obvious."

Tanya nods in agreement while keeping her incredulous remarks to herself like the good subordinate she is. There was no way to avoid being caught off guard by her superior's train of thought. To think anyone could look this far into what would become of the country after the war.

His is a perspective that already took into account nearly all the events leading up to this moment. It would be a bit more understandable if he was also from another dimension. Just like the Cold War, the Federation and the Unified States will likely be at odds with each other after the conclusion of this war. The power that plays the largest role in bringing this war to an end will have immense political influence when it comes to deciding the new world order.

The fact that my boss has the foresight to understand the imperative of keeping Communism from being the sole victor of this war is nothing short of incredible. I'm truly impressed.

Even as a person from another world, I feel a profound respect for General Zettour's vision of the future. He really is an amazing boss.

If I could get a letter of recommendation from a man like him, it would be a real asset in jumpstarting my second career.

If only we lived in a regular society.

I'm sure you'd be the magnanimous type to send your subordinates off in comfort.

"Is there something wrong, Colonel?"

"It's nothing, sir. I was just reminding myself how incredible you are." "Look at me, Colonel. Do you see a tail anywhere? I'm but a man.

There's no fork in my tongue now, is there? I'm just a normal, honest man." "You are also a Zettour, sir."

Seeming to have taken a liking to my retort, General Zettour smiled. "Hopefully it will take on the meaning of devil in the future. I'll pray

that it does."

He seems very pleased with himself.

A quick, clever response always stimulates an intelligent mind.

If the name Zettour becomes a common noun, then there must be a lot to look forward to.

"Our future prospects seem quite exhilarating, don't they? You shouldn't

compliment an old man too much, Colonel. I'm satisfied with leaving my mark on history as the world's greatest enemy."

"I think that much is a given for you, sir."

Tanya says this from a place of exasperation. But for General Zettour, who has fully committed to his chosen path, it's apparently the highest praise he could hope for.

I'm sure it came off as me giving my blessing.

Which would explain why General Zettour wants to share his exuberance with Tanya.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, one can only hope! Look forward to it, Colonel. The same goes for you, too. You could leave your mark on history in the grandest way. Let us carve our names in history, together."

Unfortunately for my elated superior, I have little desire to join him in this particular endeavor.

"I have no intention of leaving my mark on history."

"It's too late for that… Any books worth reading are bound to have scathing comments regarding us."

Does he want us to be eternalized as symbols of hate for good people to fear for the rest of time?

He must be joking.

That may be acceptable for a patriot such as General Zettour, but for an individualist like Tanya, this sentiment is incomprehensible.

"That's a dreadful future to look forward to."

If my name ever shows up in a book, I want it to be as a famous author. This is the moment where I reminisce about a past promise I once made.

It wasn't meant to be anything more than just playful words.

But compared to General Zettour, General Rudersdorf was such a thoughtful man. There aren't many superiors out there who would recommend their employees live off royalties!

"Speaking of books, General Rudersdorf was supposed to sponsor a picture book I was going to write after the war. That is sadly something that will never come to fruition now."

"A picture book?"

Tanya nods to her boss, who was surprised by the sudden remark.

"It will be a story about a poor girl, me, who is afraid of the war. The General Staff was going to fund it. He made a promise in jest to publish a

book about poor little Tanya. I was hoping to target a home with children who wish for peace."

"Rudersdorf? He agreed to such an entertaining business endeavor?" Tanya nods with a grave expression.

"I was hoping to one day live purely off the royalties from my best- selling books."

"Life doesn't always go as planned now, does it?"

It sure doesn't, I think in agreement while giving the deepest of sighs. "I'm always asking myself how things got to be this way."

"I feel the same way, Colonel." General Zettour shows a somewhat lonely expression before continuing. "But that is why I've chosen to forge my own destiny. I will solemnly see my duty through like any good person would."

"What is your plan?"

"We'll concentrate our divisions. Secure local superiority. Employ mobile warfare. You can expect good results, Colonel. We have twenty-two divisions operating in Ildoa."

That's top secret information he's nonchalantly sharing… Though I guess regular information pales in comparison to General Zettour's true intentions.

The soldier in Tanya thinks deeply about the plan Zettour has calmly spelled out for her.

"You could also say we only have twenty-two divisions. Though I suppose twenty-two is an impressive number considering the state of the war."

General Zettour smiles at Tanya as she shares her expert opinion. "Should Ildoa manage to mobilize its entire army… They would have

somewhere in the region of one hundred forty divisions if we're looking purely at numbers."

"That is a ratio of seven to one in terms of our manpower difference. The General Staff sure is unreasonable to pit the Imperial Army up against an enemy seven times larger."

"You're one to talk, Colonel. Need I remind you who was responsible for Dacia?"

"I was quite the rascal in my youth. Not only that, but fighting with the Grand Duchy's forces was more like target practice as opposed to an actual

battle."

"That is correct. It wasn't the quantity of their soldiers, but their quality.

The same will ring true for Ildoa."

I wouldn't be so sure… And I share those suspicions with General Zettour.

"Allow me to detail my experience in engaging them thus far, sir. The Ildoan forces are far superior to what we faced in Dacia."

"That will be true for forces arrayed on their border, and perhaps along their coast as well."

General Zettour rubs his chin in a pleasant manner before shrugging his shoulders.

"But mobilizing reserves isn't something that can be done overnight.

Tell me, has our army been sticking to schedule?"

This, of course, reminds me that our army has in fact not been able to maintain their schedule. As usual.

Even perfect mobilization plans always find a way to go off the rails.

That goes for the Empire, which had its train schedule in order thanks to plans for a civil war. It's a convincing argument, but with Ildoa being nowhere near as worn down as the Empire currently is…

"You believe there will be holes in Ildoa's mobilization plan as there were in ours?"

"My guess is their military is in dire straits right now. Their equipment is state of the art. Should they manage to get the people they need mobilized, they may be able to get fifty-five divisions' worth of functional soldiers. According to what can be gathered from Colonel Lergen's reports, the forces they have available on the front lines are quite limited."

Supposedly, more than half of Ildoa's one hundred forty divisions are just for show.

Compared to that, all twenty-two of the Empire's divisions are battle- ready.

Which makes the power ratio two to seven.

The Empire has a clear advantage when it comes to actual combat experience. On top of that, we do enjoy what is admittedly limited aerial superiority, and we've already penetrated several key points in their defensive line thanks to our surprise attack. All things considered, victory isn't impossible.

And while it's technically doable, this is a moment where Tanya should push back against her superior.

"Even if their forces are just for show, they should be able to promptly establish and maintain a rudimentary defensive line. Look no further than the eastern front for a real-world example. We're all too familiar with their ability to scrape together a ragtag defensive line even in defeat."

The soldiers the enemy can call upon are far from ideal—they can barely move in tandem with one another.

But what if the ragtag band we're about to fight is fully committed to defending their country? I can tell the answer just by looking at First Lieutenant Tospan. Should he receive the orders to defend his post, a serious officer like him would stand and fight until new orders demanded he retreat.

As difficult as it is for me to understand, the man possesses the spirit of a true patriot.

"A human is an animal that is willing to die for its country. As long as they can fire a gun, they can pose a threat."

"For the remaining seventy divisions, it'd be praiseworthy if they can even hold their ground with their guns. The lion's share are nothing more than conscripts forced to serve."

General Zettour brushes Tanya's remark to the side, which makes her come up with a new, wholehearted concern.

"Those seventy divisions, however, are still a part of a larger organization. Their patriotism and love for their homeland may bring about a reckless tenacity."

"Colonel, you're assuming the seventy divisions will command any real stopping power."

That's right, I think with a nod.

"Should they have the personnel necessary to command the divisions, it will be possible to mobilize quickly. While actual mobile warfare may not be possible, they will certainly be able to hold a line. With their standing army as the core, they may even pull off counteroffensives."

They are, in a sense, similar to the Salamander Kampfgruppe. With the aerial mages at its core, their unit could accomplish missions on a provisional basis. It's true that Ildoa's front line is disorganized…but this is only because their line collapsed under our first assault.

"What makes you think they have the capability?"

"So long as the enemy has the framework to bring a division together, they can hold the line. All they have to do is put guns in the reserve soldiers' hands and position them in bases and villages."

Tanya's advice, coming from a place of experience, draws a lighthearted chuckle from General Zettour.

"Ha-ha-ha, so you wager that's what the Ildoan Army will do with its divisions?"

"What else can they do? I believe they have their numerous division command centers set up for a reason, and what other reason could there be besides domestic defense?"

"They're posts." "I'm sorry, sir?"

A possibility beyond my wildest imagination catches me by surprise. "So their divisions, instead of representing combat-ready units…they're

just a posting?"

"It may be difficult for a soldier as decorated as yourself to process this, but you'd be surprised how much trouble can come from high-ranking officers who wish to remain in the army."

For someone like Tanya, who's desperately trying to make a career change, there's absolutely nothing attractive about such a post when she's doing her best to leave the company. In fact, now that I think about it, the army is kind of like a baseball team that doesn't allow free contracts.

Does a player who wants to become a free agent have the same perspective as a player who wants to renew their contract no matter what? Of course not.

"There are a large number of officers in Ildoa. Now, to have enough spots for all of them…they would need, what…seventy? A hundred forty divisions? But what if all they needed was the command post?"

"I'm astonished. They have no soldiers or weapons, but still have the gall to call themselves commanding officers?"

I've seen managers without direct reports before, but to think there would ever be a command with no troops!

General Zettour flashes Tanya a comforting smile. "Let us begin bullying the weak, Colonel."

"Just give the orders, sir."