CHAPTER - III

THE COMMONWEALTH EMBASSY IN ILDOA, CALL RECORD NO. HFZ115

Z: Hello. I'd like to make dinner reservations for tomorrow at the dining hall. Please bring your finest champagne for a celebration— something nice and bubbly. Do you have any recommendations?

You know what, I think Ildoan wine would be appropriate for the occasion. I'd appreciate it if you could suggest a nice pairing for me. Let's start by hearing your recommendations for red and white wines.

T: I'm sorry, sir, but this is the Commonwealth Embassy. I believe you may have the wrong number.

Z: No, yours is the number I wanted to call. I'm calling to ask you to make arrangements for a feast tonight at the embassy. It's for the ambassador and me, after all. There should be plenty for us to discuss.

T: My apologies, but could I get your name?

Z: It's Hans. What's your name? You're on call for the embassy, and you don't know who I am?

T: Mr. Hans. I'm deeply sorry about this. Until we confirm your identity, I can't divulge any of our staff's personal information with you.

Z: You know what, I have no interest in your name. I'm simply asking to set up a dinner to commend this historic event. Is the embassy

unable to host a party?

T: I'm sorry to say that our embassy in Ildoa is currently suspending operations. We're busy keeping our personnel safe and evacuating our citizens as the Empire makes their advance. Besides, I'm not even sure who exactly you are…

Z: Listen to me, boy. This is precisely why I'm trying to make a reservation. Have you no wits about you? Your teachers at secondary school would be crying if they heard this call. I feel pitiful just thinking about it.

T: What are you talking about? Are you a citizen in distress?

Z: No, no, no. Though that's what you may be right now.

T: Me? Is this some kind of prank call…?

Z: Goodness, not the sharpest tool in the shed, are we? Here, make sure this exact message gets to the ambassador.

T: I'm sorry, but this really sounds like someone is playing a joke on us. I'm going to hang up now.

Z: Really, now? You're going to hang up on Hans von Zettour of the Imperial Army General Staff when he's simply trying to make dinner arrangements?

T: What…? What?!

Z: This is Hans, a good friend of yours. I'm planning on having dinner tomorrow at the Ildoan Palace, and I want the ambassador to be the guest of honor. In fact, why don't you come along as well. Maybe I could teach you some manners then. Prepare yourselves to become our prisoners. Now then, I'll be seeing you tomorrow. Make sure to bring your best champagne, at the very least.

T: Excuse me? Hello? Hello?!

-x-X-x-

DECEMBER 5, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE ILDOAN FRONT

General Zettour's entourage moved with incredible speed along the Imperial offensive line while on their visit under the pretense of an inspection. The group brazenly made its way to the front-most part of the line as soon as the cease-fire was lifted. Most of the officers, fearing the risk of being there, petitioned for the general to reconsider, but he paid them no mind. He had a small platoon of aerial mages guard his envoy as they continued south.

While this was no small task for the mages at hand, the fact that General Zettour was on the front lines was a sign to them that their army was in a position that allowed him to be there. His presence on the front lines was a huge boost to the troops' morale, as the Imperial Army held commanding officers who hung out in the rear in low regard.

Thus, the arrangements for his meeting with the many division commanders progressed swimmingly, and eventually, the mages charged with protecting him were finally relieved. On the other hand, his entourage of officers and those who went ahead of the procession were now busier than ever, running around to prepare for the big meeting that…they somehow managed to get done. They even managed to procure a building with a roof. Instead of a field tent, they commandeered an Ildoan school building for the meeting. With everything ready, the Imperial officers lined themselves up in the faculty room like so many elementary school teachers. As their seizure of the building was rather rushed, the room looked exactly like it had when it was a functioning school.

The aides and adjutants had cleared out textbooks and what were likely stacks of homework to make room for their maps, creating a decidedly strange setting for the war council. In what should be a place for shaping children's futures, the staff officers were ironically drawing up plans to use their own nation's youth as kindling for the bellows of war. Nevertheless, the meeting started with an upbeat tone.

"The annihilation of the enemy's field armies is progressing well."

General Zettour calmly addressed his staff from what was once the school principal's desk.

"Our forces launched an offensive the moment the cease-fire ended. We're currently silencing enemy resistance and advancing south while expanding our gains. The operation is progressing ideally."

The general's calm demeanor made it sound like he was discussing what

was for dinner tomorrow, but the experts he had assembled nodded in agreement with his assessment. Each and every one of the officers in the room held General Zettour, who had all but single-handedly pulled off this unprecedented success, in the highest regard.

"The enemy numbers a hundred forty divisions on paper, but only around seventy of them are meaningfully functional. We've already attrited their strongest units with our initial assault. We gave them a week's worth of time, but it appears as if we were the ones who made the most of it."

General Rudersdorf's unforeseen postmortem attack on Ildoa was progressing surprisingly well. The confusion the higher officers had initially felt toward the strategy and command was completely absent from their faces. The fact of the matter was that the Empire was winning its campaign in Ildoa. Therefore, all General Zettour had to do for this meeting was lay out the numbers.

"We've witnessed overwhelmingly positive results by abandoning key positions and focusing purely on destroying the enemy. We have successfully reduced the enemy's strength to approximately seven divisions. In contrast, we have twenty-two divisions that are still in fighting condition. Experience is truly great, gentlemen. We are handily winning this war."

The listeners responded to Zettour's inviting words with ambiguous smiles that seemed to be a mixture of bitterness and joy. For warriors as seasoned as them, his words created an indescribable emotion.

Is victory this easy?

The attack on Ildoa was a strategic surprise. No one had foreseen the timing of its execution. Setting aside the difficulties with the seasonal weather, the Empire launched their offensive almost immediately after Ildoa announced its alliance with the Unified States, something meant to keep the Empire at bay. Stunned by the attack, Ildoa was caught off guard in the initial fighting. The weeklong cease-fire should have given the country more than enough time to reorganize its troops, and yet, the Empire still maintained its victorious position.

The secret behind the Imperial Army's success was their ability to retain the initiative while causing absolute havoc with limited resources, allowing them to devastate the enemy's forces without tying themselves down to any given location. This was a strategic victory for the Empire, something the generals were eager to praise, even if only on the inside. These gentlemen

were, in the end, soldiers—generals, at that. Even if they were to allow themselves to bask in their current victory, they made sure to keep reality in the forefront of their minds.

"I have a question, General. While it's clear we've dealt the enemy field armies a crushing blow, isn't the seven divisions estimate a bit too… optimistic?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Time. It won't be long before the enemy's reserves inevitably mobilize. Furthermore, Ildoa, unlike the current combatants of this war that have exhausted a great many mages in previous battles, should have a considerable surplus of mage units."

"You're right about that. They are bringing in their reserves and deploying fresh mages as we speak. However, they will only raise their numbers."

The commanding officers showed a collective confused look at General Zettour's assertion. Evidently, his answer was beyond their imaginations.

"These new soldiers, gentlemen, will be completely unarmed."

"Unarmed? Is Ildoa having a hard time procuring equipment? Even if that is the case, it's only a matter of time before a problem like that is resolved."

"Precisely," General Zettour said. He already had the answer to that problem and gave the staff officers a light scolding. "You're right about time resolving the issue. Somebody will give them what they need."

This was where he corrected the gentleman.

"That time will not come as soon as you're assuming. I can promise this much, though I can't say exactly when it will be."

Now that he held everyone's attention, General Zettour paused for a moment as an easy grin appeared on his face.

"You see, we've commandeered all of their heavy equipment."

As General Zettour oversaw logistics and had a long-running insight into how his own nation functioned, he felt confident sharing his conclusion with his subordinates.

"We've taken the bedrock of their industry from them." "Does that include their means of production?"

He nodded.

"Of course. We have secured more than ten divisions' worth of artillery

along with their production lines in Northern Ildoa. We gathered enough during the cease-fire period to meet our own needs. Let's just say, it's a good thing we attacked the Ildoans before they attacked us." Though the general's eyes were roaring with laughter, he continued in a calm monotone. "If we include the outdated equipment and supplies the enemy left behind that we've destroyed, it's quite clear we acquired their newer gear."

Northern Ildoa was the nation's most developed industrial area. This applied to its infrastructure, factories, and people. Losing any one of these was a fatal blow to Ildoa's military-industrial supply chain. The Empire managed to obtain irreplaceable strategic resources that the Ildoans simply couldn't afford to lose. Their capture was more significant than it would be for the Empire to lose its industrial lowlands.

Were this any other war like the ones they had fought in the past, Ildoa's defeat would've been thoroughly decided at this point, but still they continued to resist. This was a dreadful fact—a fact that General Zettour knew in his soul that he alone regarded with true fear.

He had the misfortune of having no friends to share his concerns with, and what a lonely fate it was. He yearned for his old friend in moments like this, but this was the consequence of the crime he had committed. Therefore, the general was forced to keep his fear to himself, maintaining his composure as he pressed on with the meeting.

"We continue to enjoy local superiority."

General Zettour spoke arrogantly, just like he knew his friend Rudersdorf would have. He continued to speak with the confidence of the fearless general, an image he'd created for himself.

"From a purely military point of view, we have been able to enhance our ability to crush the enemy. This is a privilege that can only be capitalized on now. Therefore, we must use all our strength to cut down what remains of the enemy's field army."

Zettour paused, scanning the room for any objection. Were this politics, this would be the moment someone tried to stop him. Alas, such a sight was absent from this room. His peers watched with hopeful eyes, waiting eagerly for his next words.

Good, Zettour thought as he nodded with the slightest hint of resignation.

"Our objective is simple. We will ride this momentum to capture the

Ildoan royal capital." "Oooh!"

The room filled with a mixture of gulps and excited grunts.

Though maybe a bit repetitious, Zettour decided to drive the point home. "Let me be clear about this: I need you all to understand that our goal is

not to occupy their capital."

He paused, allowing the room to grow silent before sharing his intentions with them.

"Our true goal is what it has been this entire time—to defeat the enemy military. Therefore, it's important that the means serve the end. We must force the enemy into a defensive position, confining them within their capital. This is the key."

Confirming that his words had fully sunk into the minds of his commanders, General Zettour quickly shifted to discussing the situation at hand.

"As a result of repelling our reconnaissance in force elements, the enemy forces have bitten into the forbidden fruit of belief in their ability to defend their capital. Judging by the newspaper reports, they believe they're winning this conflict."

The Ildoan Army had managed to gain a foothold against the advancing Imperial Army. This alone was more than enough to give them a perception of impending victory. This went double for the Unified States, whose military was new to war… Its soldiers wanted to see a dream of victory.

"They snatched the bait right up from our excellent trap. The poison known as pride should be settling in their guts right about now. It's nice to know that all it takes is the wave of a hand to please these people."

They had made sacrifices for their "hard-earned" victory, so it definitely wasn't something they would give up easily. These coalition members had already won the war in their eyes, and no one was willing to let go of a victory they believed was rightfully theirs.

General Zettour was sure that both public opinion and the enemy's ego were under the intoxicating influence of the sweet ale of victory. That was what his experience in the Empire told him was happening. Even Ildoa, which adhered strictly to its raison d'état, could not escape succumbing to the monster known as public opinion. With this knowledge in mind, General Zettour was practically bragging to the staff officers.

"For the enemy, the capital is their white elephant."

It was a masterful trick the general was playing. The royal capital, in all its sanctity and status, wasn't something the enemy could allow themselves to give up without a fight. The illusion of honor was nothing more than a nonperforming loan that their opponents refused to abandon and would ultimately lead to their demise. History holds a wealth of knowledge to be learned from.

"The enemy will go to great lengths to protect the irreplaceable. This will prove quite painful for them, so it's only humane that we put them out of their misery."

No army would abandon the royal capital they fought tooth and nail to rescue. It was a well-known fact that soldiers were reluctant to even reorganize the front line if it meant abandoning a position they believed they were holding on to. The Imperial staff officers knew this well, which was why there was no room for misinterpreting General Zettour's intentions. Their goal was to destroy the enemy field army, and the royal capital was nothing more than a prop.

It turned out to be a younger, sharper officer who first raised his hand in question.

"I have a question." "Go ahead."

"Will we be withdrawing from the capital once we take it over? If our primary targets are the field armies, I feel as if abandoning the capital early may be prudent, depending on the scenario."

"Ahh." Zettour gave the young commander a warm nod. "That's a fantastic question."

It was a highly applicable question, given the parameters the commanding officers had to engage with the problem, one that showed Zettour that his war experts were brilliant in their own right. At the same time, such a question appeared to be the best they could come up with, so Zettour simply gave them the answer he already had in mind.

"To be square with you, it's hard to tell at the moment."

"Do you mean to say you're trying to have it both ways if you can, sir?"

The younger commander gave Zettour a dubious look, which was met with a shrug of the shoulders and jest.

"Withdrawing after our occupation is something I am indeed

considering. Ultimately, if it comes down to deciding between land or troops, we will prioritize defeating the enemy's troops. However, taking their capital would be akin to taunting the world with a red matador cape. This is something I want to take advantage of, if possible." The general maintained his composed tone. "That's why we're merely going to run the auction on the city, as far as I'm concerned. If the enemy takes the bait and is willing to place a high bid, we'll squeeze every last coin out of them before handing over the remains. We want to sell for the highest price possible."

Zettour then took out a cigar, as if to signify it was time for a smoke break. He took a few moments to scan the room once more to be certain that his words were settling in before proceeding once more.

"Everything depends on whether or not the enemy is willing to place a bid in the first place."

Zettour spoke as if he was a detached observer.

"If the New World, namely, the Unified States military, shows no interest, then there is no need for us to be a stickler about holding on to an empty capital. The city will have its peace, and it will amount to a slap in the face for us."

The most important thing for Zettour was that his opponents took this bait. If the enemy showed no interest in the capital, then he would have to figure out a way to make them interested.

It was his strategy against the world. He would lie and con every single person on the face of the planet if he had to. In the name of love and duty, Zettour would commit any deed necessary for the sake of the Empire.

"Whatever the case may be, the overarching objective of this campaign is to solidify the Empire's borders."

This was a big, fat lie, of course, but it came out smooth as silk.

"And our army has already achieved the first step toward this goal.

We've already won."

Thieves tend to be liars before ever becoming thieves.

Zettour knew that his words were brazen lies—that they were empty. He thought about how much his imbecile of a friend Rudersdorf must have acted the part…about how vulnerable he must have been behind his always- tough exterior. Zettour felt so alone.

What caused the general the most fear and sadness was how deeply

moved he could tell his commanders were just by looking at their faces. He met their shower of compliments and commendation with what could only be described as a vague expression. He had no qualms about fooling the world, but it was different when he had to deceive his own family. Nevertheless, this was his sin—his duty—to shoulder. He swallowed his doubts and continued to speak without batting an eye.

"We've delivered a heavy blow to our enemy, particularly the Ildoans. Our occupation of the north will impact not only the strategic depth of our campaign down the peninsula, but also the Ildoan Army's industrial foundation itself."

This campaign was the Empire's first success in a long time, which must've been why his speech was being received so well by the commanders.

Perhaps it was a sign of their confidence when it came to the realm of pure military tactics. Their expressions caused Zettour to let out an ever-so- slight yet strained smile.

"What's this? You're grinning, General." Zettour waved away the jovial remark.

"Sometimes it can be difficult to keep everything bottled up inside."

He and his audience shared big smiles with bright and shiny faces. Was the mood due to their presence in Ildoa? If that was the case, then Zettour worried he might really end up harboring a true hatred for this country… even if this attack was his own fault.

"I'm glad we came here." "General?"

"The air is clean. It's quite refreshing. And the weather makes you remember when we used to come out here to escape the Empire's bitter winters. But best of all, there's a war for us to win. I can't imagine there's a better place for us to be right now."

The entire room burst out in laughter. These grown men guffawed like young children. The general sat down in the school principal's chair, watching his comrades engage in friendly banter. Nobody made an attempt to hold back their unbridled laugher in the school building. It was a good spot for the middle-aged military men to share a dream of victory, this school building in a faraway land. Would these men—the Empire—be able to defy the laws of nature?

Ah, if only I were younger…

Zettour wore a wistful smile. It was clear to him that he had pretended to be human for too long—he hardly considered himself a person anymore. He didn't know whether to grieve, sneer, or laugh about this. So instead, he simply shook his head and banished those unnecessary thoughts. He reached for his army tobacco and began smoking. The puffs of smoke he exhaled conveyed an annoyance he couldn't express with words while he waited for the room to calm down before rising suddenly with the cigarette still in his mouth. Once he had everyone's attention, he spoke again.

"Now that we've won the first phase, the goal for the second phase is to establish a defensive line."

The assembled commanders gave him a knowing look. They all nodded to show they understood. To put it plainly, now that the threat to the south had been greatly reduced, the Empire needed to firmly secure its new territories. The problem was what came thereafter.

"We shall secure a deep foothold in the Ildoan peninsula. I'd like to create an environment where we can focus purely on the eastern front."

They were going to transfer their military from Ildoa to the other front after their victory. The dogma of the interior lines strategy was certainly familiar to military generals who had served in previous wars.

"That said, I won't hesitate if we can cut down our enemy when given the chance. It's always ideal to make the enemy pay dearly with minimal sacrifice on our part." Zettour intentionally showed his commanders a wicked grin. "That's why we'll be sure to teach the Ildoan upstarts a lesson before we head back east. The same goes for our friends from the New World. They must learn firsthand why the Empire should be feared. Therefore, I wish for each of you to understand that our attack on the Ildoan capital is nothing more than a small bonus for us."

It was a little treat for the Empire while they solidified their southern border. They would use their power to menace their enemies—that was all, really. Though it sounded simple, this would challenge each commanding officer to carefully weigh when to advance and when to pull back…a challenge each of Zettour's staff officers would be more than willing to take on. He could tell there was no need to be concerned after giving the room a quick scan before taking his seat in the principal's chair yet again.

He continued to smoke his tobacco while answering a few follow-up

questions. With that, this meeting came to an end without a mountain of ash piling up in the ashtrays. The empty ashtrays marked a peaceful meeting, one without shouting, anguish, or idle complaints about difficult tasks. Nothing like victory and quick progress to bring people together. It was evident that victory was a panacea that solved all problems. That was why it was so alluring during times of war. A military victory relieved an array of maladies and soothed otherwise unendurable pain, even if that comfort was fleeting.

That being said, it could be difficult to swallow a victory at times. From General Zettour's perspective, much of what he claimed to be in the name of victory was nothing more than a secondary objective plastered in a veneer of military rationale. Sweet, sugar-coated logic that made the pill easier to swallow for Imperial soldiers. The medicine they needed to take was a far cry from true victory. The reality was that Zettour personally sought to dig deeper into the abyss to establish a foxhole from which he would launch a much craftier assault.

He had no interest in whether or not the attack on the royal capital was a success. His only intention was to entangle the Unified States in this war to create a convenient, new enemy. He knew most of his commanding officers wouldn't be able to understand why. This was because it was more of a swindle than a feat of military might. A cool, wicked plot that would invoke an emotional response from his enemies…a political ploy.

Soldiers, especially Imperial soldiers, who knew little of politics, refused to pay any attention to the very politics that determined the fate of their nation. That was why their smiling faces seemed so bright to Zettour. He loathed the sight, though he didn't know why… Perhaps it was a manifestation of his own weakness.

After the meeting came to its end, the officers left the school building in groups of twos and threes, while General Zettour walked toward a vehicle that had come to pick him up…alone. Neither his adjutant nor any other staff officer was with him. Even his security detail of mages had been sent home. It wasn't a sight befitting the deputy director.

The car he was being driven around in was a small, civilian vehicle that

he had one of his orderlies scrounge up. The Ildoan car he had commandeered was built for comfort and certainly wasn't poorly made. It was not, however, the type of car one would expect the grand, wicked ringleader of the Imperial Army to be riding in.

It was like a game of pretend, where the army made use of what it had available to act out a campaign of military intrigue, and this was the supposed mastermind who was shaking up northern Ildoa? He didn't want to imagine how they would ridicule him in the history books. The military needed to do something about their chronic lack of funds, even if only in appearance.

I need to show history…the world…an illusion…

With that, Zettour realized that he was going to need to fool himself before he did the world. And the amazing road they were driving down certainly didn't make it easy! He sat in the back of the small car, pretending to enjoy his cigar while feeling utterly disgusted by the comfortable road he was being driven down. The pavement. The immaculate townscape. The beautiful, colorful buildings. Everything was different from the Empire. Different from the burnt-out Reich over which the sun was quickly setting.

He hated to admit it, but…

"Why is it so different? Where did we go wrong…?"

The Empire was good at one thing—the military—which left the fatherland in a bland shade of gray. The Ildoans' military was weak, riddled with waste. But their towns? Compared to the military superpower that was the Empire, they were incredible.

There was a time, once, when this color could be seen on Imperial streets as well. Zettour and his ilk had drained all the color from the fatherland.

Had they, the military, made a grave error in judgment when it came to prioritizing what needed protecting? The general was overcome by a chilling emptiness as he had this thought. The Ildoans used what little military power they had for politics. Conversely, the Empire used its oversized military might without paying politics any heed, and this was what had brought the two nations to where they stood today.

Zettour, sitting alone in the back of the comically tiny car, wondered whether or not the other staff officers realized the difference in color.

"Nobody questions this…"

He grumbled this to himself, but he knew it needed to be said aloud. The Empire needed to know that all that effort it put into war was coming back to bite it in the ass.

"It's worse than that…"

Imperial soldiers weren't idiots. If push came to shove, they could grasp the importance of politics, on a surface level at the very least. Even then, that was only if they were forced to. It would never occur to them to use politics on the battlefield.

"This is proper for an Imperial soldier."

Zettour refrained from saying any more in the presence of his driver, but he couldn't help but lament how unfortunate the situation was. It was okay to be wrong on occasion! The ability to know what was wrong, to allow for error, was what made everyone human, and what allowed them to live in peace.

He couldn't stop a sigh from escaping his mouth. The entire world was far too entwined in this war. With the Empire being long past the point of no return, Zettour was forced to focus on his countrymen facing a national crisis back home. Things were getting far too out of hand. The military experts he had around him were focused on nothing more than how to win the battle at hand. War, however, wasn't fought purely on the battlefield.

"This is total war, after all…"

The general sighed and shook his head. Total war. Totality included public image, mythos, and especially acting—when necessary.

"We have the numerical advantage and enjoy local superiority…"

The Empire was in a superior position all around the country, a fact that left the general feeling a nihilistic and cruel emptiness. In the east, the balance of power was critical. In the west, they had been forced to go on the defensive. As their enemies pinched them from either side, Zettour couldn't think of a single way to flip the hourglass that counted down to his nation's demise. Objectively, the localized superiority they enjoyed meant little to nothing in the grand scheme of things.

The general folded his arms.

Then again, objectively speaking, the inner workings of the Imperial Army weren't out in the open for a third party to judge on the Ildoan front.

"The Ildoan front is one of our last stages, and world news agencies are always looking for more juicy stories."

The general was ready to trick the entire world. He was going to be the clown that twisted the world like one big animal balloon.

"I need to put on a good show for them."

His casual monologue perfectly captured the situation he was in. He had come up with a new idea, the sort born from raw necessity. Knowing now what must be done made what he would do next unavoidable. The general spent his ride back to headquarters obsessively thinking up what kind of dastardly trick he could play.

This was a tall task but…there was a good precedent for what he wanted to do. Though it was a bit of an embarrassing memory for him, he decided to take a page from young Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff's book and announce his attack.

The same way she did back in Moskva. This was ideal. He chuckled as he remembered the announcement she made to Dacia. He would take a page from her book, combining the two attacks.

All General Zettour needed to do was play his role well, and it would be perfect. Well, more like his clear insight forced him to accept the sad fact that playing the part was the only option left for him.

With this resolution in his heart, he finally returned to the temporary headquarters, where he was escorted by guards to his next location. There he found his trusted subordinate, Lieutenant Colonel Uger, waiting with everything prepared perfectly for his return. There was so much moving around on the front line, and despite sudden changes in plans having become a daily occurrence, the temporary command headquarters was fully equipped with all the necessary functions to smoothly operate the army's command system, and this was all thanks to none other than Colonel Uger.

"Colonel Uger, perfect timing. I need you to set up an itinerary for me." "Okay, I'm assuming there was a change in plans?"

Uger's honest response to please his superior was met with the casual dropping of a bomb on Zettour's part.

"Send a message to the commanders on the field. Tell them to begin operations. Let them know that I will be on the field as well. That is all."

"Y-you'll be on the field…?"

Uger had learned to have certain expectations for what the general was going to ask. His intuition was right about it being trouble, to say the least. The order made him visibly wince, something he knew wasn't appropriate.

He quickly collected himself, putting on his best face for the general.

Zettour watched the show he'd put on for him, laughing it off.

With resolution in his heart and a false sense of playfulness, he was going to toy with the world.

"Get me a telephone."

He picked up the transmitter with a grin and called the operator. He made sure to follow the rules set by the military, though his call was hardly going to be official business—not for the army, at least. Zettour was using the phone for something personal. Seeing as it was a part of his grand scheme to deceive the world, his personal call could be seen as patriotic— superficially, at least. That said, could a personal call like this be placed while he was on duty? Even during times of peace, this was certainly breaking a litany of rules and regulations—this was during an operation in wartime. The call definitely wasn't something that would ever make it through the system.

But the general was allowed to proceed. "Headquarters? Yes, it's me."

A request was all it took. He didn't even need to explain himself. The usually particular phone operators didn't say a peep when it was a general

—the deputy director, no less—on the line. Zettour was in charge of communications, after all, which was why they didn't pry into his business, and why General Zettour was allowed to proceed with his soon-to-be historic phone call.

"Do you have their number in Ildoa? Yes, thank you."

He asked them to transfer him, and his request was fulfilled without hesitation. He was placing a call to the Commonwealth Embassy in Ildoa.

"I wonder how the ambassadors will react."

To be frank, while Zettour recognized how childish he was being, he placed his hopes in the wit of whoever ended up taking his call—the same kind of hope a child might have when they go see what's inside a toy box. He would try to stand out even more than he probably needed to, given the circumstances. The Commonwealth diplomats having a little awareness shouldn't be too much to ask for.

General Zettour, however, placed the phone back down with a bored look on his face.

"The Commonwealth has been at war for far too long. To think that lot

of tea-chugging gents would ever lose their sense of humor."

The general grumbled to himself. He knew it was arrogant for him to think his fun trick would play out smoothly, without a single issue. Either way, he left the call learning one thing: that he didn't have the power to govern fate. A single call was all it took for him to understand this.

He could move freely through the bureaucracy of his own army. His prowess and skill allowed him to turn the military officials and their regulations upside down as he saw fit. Even then, heaven had forsaken him. For even if by coincidence, his foreign counterparts never seemed to meet his expectations.

"Well, that man sure was a stickler for the rules. Must still be wet behind the ears. I hope he's there tomorrow…"

The person he had spoken with was one of the Commonwealth's bureaucrats—a group once known for their quick-wittedness—and yet, not even they could supply him with entertainment.

He let out a sigh upon this sad realization, before Colonel Uger, who'd been watching this entire time, finally exclaimed to the general.

"G-G-General! You just divulged classified information by telling them we're going to attack!"

That was arguably the correct reaction to have at a time like this. It was clear to Zettour that Uger was being completely serious by the look on his face. Though he was a highly capable officer, he was still naive when it came to things outside of his area of expertise.

"Are you familiar with theater?" "What's that have to do with—?"

"It's important to understand the meaning of plot, or perhaps I should call it the intricacies of human psychology."

"General?!"

Colonel Uger's panicked shout was met with a casual shrug. The colonel was acting so human and naive, with his obsession over always being serious and sane. The colonel's lack of experience almost made the general want to laugh.

At the same time, in comparison to Hans von Zettour, his purity almost shined like a bright light. His subordinate's ability to maintain his sense of right and wrong made Zettour feel a bit jealous—even if it was out of inexperience.

The general had been whittling away at his own soul all day long, so he opted to shake his head and stop himself from thinking any deeper about the subject. Instead, he explained the context of his actions in a way that Colonel Uger would understand.

"I, a well-known con artist, called the enemy's supreme commander.

And not even to Ildoa, but to the Commonwealth Embassy." "I have no idea what you're trying to do…"

"Exactly. And neither does the enemy." "What?"

Colonel Uger stared blankly; he was likely very confused—the same exact response Zettour intended for his enemies to have as well. He could only hope that was exactly how they were feeling at this moment.

They needed to think of him as an eccentric, inscrutable figure.

"It feels strange to not understand something, I imagine. Doubt is a breeding ground for more questions, and more doubt."

This was how anxiety was created, and anxiety gave birth to fear.

Zettour wanted them to fear him—not the Empire, but he himself.

"It's the Commonwealth we're dealing with here. They take pride in their espionage. With the ghost of possibility haunting them, their thinking will grow rigid."

It was a small trick in his enemy's territory of expertise, as low-budget a production as it was. Nothing more than a quick con, and a dirty one at that, not something a respectable general would ever employ. But for Zettour, who loved his nation, he needed to use any card he could play. Logic and logic alone defined his actions. He gave a self-deprecating laugh to Uger and continued.

"The goddess of fate has forsaken me, after all." "General?"

"As long as I leave nothing to luck, then I can win."

It was hard to tell if he said this in self-admonition or deprecation. It was an unconscious confession of how he truly felt. Though, after saying it aloud, he had no choice but to be conscious of it. Zettour took the resentment that had become pent-up in his heart and cursed his enemies.

"I'm taking out my frustration on those damn Albion diplomats." "You are?"

"In the way a gentleman would. They do love their espionage, so I gave

them something to think long and hard about. Mighty gentlemanly of me, if I do say so myself."

Colonel Uger, showing a look of utter defeat, had many things he wanted to say. This was no mystery to General Zettour, who carried on before the colonel could get a word in edgewise.

"Well, we can't let them have all the fun now, can we? We have to enjoy ourselves, too."

Zettour invited the staff officer, who looked appalled by all of this, to play a nasty game.

"And what do we do best? War is to the Empire as espionage is to the Commonwealth. Let's have some fun with this."

Colonel Uger squinted at Zettour as if his eyes were out of focus, which was when Zettour nonchalantly announced…

"I'm going to see the battlefield for myself, and I have the best seats in the house. I'll be a spectator as well as an actor on the stage of history."

Though Colonel Uger's confusion was reaching a boiling point, talk of seeing the battlefield was clear-cut enough for him to get an idea of what the general was getting at.

"I'm sorry, but what exactly are you trying to do, General?"

Zettour smiled widely as he gave his subordinate the declaration of intent he had been asking for.

"The front lines need to be visited every once in a while."

"Do you realize what you are saying, General?! Without you, the chain of command will…!"

Again, this was the correct argument to make, for the correct reason. Zettour's logic affirmed Colonel Uger's words in the fullest. But, alas, the times were changing. With the flames of total war burning away at the general, there was no argument to be made. Words and rationale didn't matter—the general needed to shock the world.

"We need to kill what people call fate. It is man who creates history, and we're going to let that damn goddess know it."

Which is why I ask you, world, to fall for this trick. I need you to recognize me as the enemy.

-x-X-x-

THE SAME DAY, AT THE SALAMANDER KAMPFGRUPPE IN THE IMPERIAL VANGUARD

When problems occur, it's almost always out in the field. However, the root of the problem may lie elsewhere. In fact, those out in the field are oftentimes innocent victims. Major Weiss wrestles with this strange sentiment in real time when he hears the dreadful news. And how does he receive said news? Well, his expression alone is worth a thousand words— the major's agape mouth is the picture of disbelief.

"What?! He's coming to…rally the troops…?!"

"That's right," I say with a nod. I've never seen Major Weiss this thrown off by anything before. Evidently, he's having a hard time accepting this is happening. His reaction makes sense, since it really is unbelievable. I'll have to lay it out for him as clearly as possible.

"General Zettour wishes to inspect our forces. Here, with us." "Wh-why here?! We're as far forward as you can get?!"

The first officer's doubts are legitimate. The Kampfguppe has continued to advance to stay close to the Ildoan troops, poised to attack whenever the orders arrive.

We're standing in the eye of the storm. A bad place to be for a certain someone who is trying to come at a time like this. If only this were a scene out of a novel. It's almost difficult for me to maintain my composure as this disaster is about to befall Tanya and her troops.

"Calm yourself, Major Weiss. I'm well aware that this isn't some military parade back at the capital."

"Then you need to change his mind! If anyone can convince him, it's you!"

"I won't be able to."

My first officer isn't going to give up easily, but a wave of my hand is all it takes to let the major know resistance is futile.

"You must remember this, Major. General Zettour is a completely different species."

"You make it sound like he's an animal… Either way, coming to the

front lines is far too dangerous."

"You're not wrong about that. Scouts are a daily occurrence where we are. A sniper would cry tears of joy if they caught a glimpse of the general." I cross my arms and sigh. "But tell me, do you think that means anything to the man? Do you honestly believe he'd change his mind over something so glaringly obvious?"

It's easy for me to picture the general dancing his way to the front lines fully aware of this fact. General Zettour is an intelligent and understanding man. On top of that, he's always given Tanya a fair shake. This makes him a superior who's hard to come by.

He has but one fault—and a critical one at that—in the form of his overbearing love. He loves his nation, the fatherland, and other imagined communities far too much. From my perspective, this isn't rational by any means. Which is why, on occasion, it is difficult for me to understand General Zettour's motives. Being unable to discern my superior's thoughts is a point of distress. There are times when she just can't come to an agreement with his actions.

"We must accept the fact that there are people out there willing to dive even deeper into the front line than us if deemed necessary."

The general is, in effect, a warmonger. In fact, he may well have morphed into something even more severe by now. Honestly speaking, I've always thought of General Zettour as an intellectual associate on a personal level… Has the stress finally gotten to him? This is yet another testament to the cruelty of war. Be that as it may, Major Weiss disparaging the top of their organization is disrespectful, even if he is Tanya's number two. Realizing that there isn't much use in trying to pull the wool over his eyes, I take on a tone that won't sound too severe.

"I, too, have a hard time believing a man of his intellect would ever do this… Something tells me he wants to see live combat as opposed to a conventional inspection."

"I just can't believe it. Does he think he can leisurely walk into the front line like this?"

"Remember the eastern front. There's a chance he'll happily pick up a gun."

"It's scary, but I think you're right." I nod, fully in agreement.

"It's the general we're dealing with here. If there's a stage and a podium, there's a good chance he'll take it."

Major Weiss winces. He looks like he has something more to say but swallows it. Perhaps he's finally facing reality. With that, my first officer and I silently accept our predetermined fates and mobilize to get things done.

First things first. We hold a meeting with the officers who share the responsibility of hosting the general. This much should be obvious, but none of the officers are elated to hear the worst news of the day—that General Zettour will be inspecting the front line. Captain Ahrens gazes up at the sky in disbelief while Captain Meybert keeps himself propped up on a cannon. First Lieutenant Tospan distracts himself from reality with meticulous plans to fortify the current positions. Perhaps each of them represents their branch of the army with their different reactions, but regardless, they're still soldiers. Knowing the inevitable gives them the chance to steel their nerves, at the very least.

Tanya von Degurechaff is a being from another world. She has a second set of values that she can compare and contrast with the Empire's militarism. A set of values constructed in a peaceful, civilized society, with exceedingly unremarkable norms. This set of values is what allows her to be certain that if she has to choose between going to war and placating her superior, then ten out of ten times, she will choose her superior. That isn't to say that it is ever enjoyable to have your work schedule thrown for a spin, but she understands that freedom isn't something a person who is part of an organization can enjoy forever.

Everything comes with a price. For the army during a time of war, the sad fact is that freedom is far too extravagant to afford. When it comes down to the two options of combat and entertaining a superior, it isn't a difficult choice; of course Tanya chooses her superior. Who wouldn't? Entertaining a boss is ten billion times easier than assaulting an enemy base. This is why I have a smile on my face when it's my turn to see the general. My people and I stand up as straight as we can to welcome him. It isn't too big of a deal for an upstanding member of society to line up with

my subordinates to welcome guests.

This is what I tell myself as the general and his entourage appear, traveling surprisingly light. There aren't even that many of them to start. His security detail consists of nothing more than a few military police on bikes. As for the bike the general is riding, it appears to be a civilian vehicle. It isn't difficult for me to imagine the gastrointestinal pain his entourage collectively feels. I can almost feel it just looking at them.

The scariest part, however, is the general's expression as he dismounts the bike. With a smile on his face that is comparable only to the bright Ildoan sun shining down on us, General Zettour appears to be as happy as can be.

"Why, hello there, Colonel. I couldn't be happier to see you on this fine day."

He offers a wave with the same friendly smile. What's more, he practically skips right up to me. Something about it all feels like an act. I can hear an alarm going off in the back of my mind. It's the same level of danger I feel when an air control operator suddenly changes his tone and calls for an emergency scramble to respond to the highest threat level.

"How have you been? It feels like a nice spring day, despite it being winter."

"Why hello, General!" With every cell in my body on high alert, I answer in the most diplomatic way possible. "It must be this amazing weather, but you look so vibrant. It makes me so happy that you're here to see us!"

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A smile needs to be met with an even bigger smile, and empty, flowery words will be met with more over- the-top gestures.

"Well, that sure is nice of you to say. How have things been lately?"

"We have a lot to worry about due to this incessant sunshine. The unfortunate lack of clouds makes for great artillery weather."

General Zettour quietly listens and acknowledges Tanya's concerns.

"I suppose even good weather comes with its disadvantages. Though, you must admit that it is beautiful here, is it not?"

"What do you mean?"

"This is the prettiest time of year, just before the flower petals begin to fall."

This comment is so jarring that it becomes incredibly difficult to maintain my smile. What an ominous thing to say. There certainly is an elegance to the falling of beautiful flowers, but it's a bit strange coming from the man wielding a chainsaw in Ildoa's proverbial garden.

"The flowers we're here to pluck? It makes me sad to see them go."

"So sentimental. You're an elegant little flower petal on the battlefield yourself."

The only way I can respond to the light teasing is to act dejected. "I'm nothing compared to you, sir…"

"Why do you say that? I'm trying to pay you a compliment."

"And it is an honor! But I'm merely one more soldier. A cog in the machine, loyal to my nation's will. I'm nothing in your presence."

I bear no responsibility for this! I'm simply following my legal orders! Anyone who's studied law knows these words hold little water in a court. Anyone who's studied a bit of law history, however, benefits from knowing how the laws changed over time.

For example, the phrase "I was only following orders." This was used by both sides of the First World War as a justification by various people on trial for war crimes. It was used so much, in fact, that it created the need for a court where such an excuse wasn't enough. A court that wouldn't be established…until the next major war. Which is why I, currently mired in the first of said wars, am not too worried about it. My use of this phrase is perfect. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

While I mull over all this as a form of escapism, General Zettour ruthlessly forces me to face reality.

"I'm glad it's an honor for you. This may be the last beautiful flower season Ildoa sees for a while, but that's none of our business. I want you to really rough them up."

The gaze he shoots me makes it clear there's no way to worm my way out of this one.

Yes is the only acceptable answer. Keeping this insight to myself, I maintain my dignified posture, standing at attention exactly the way it's shown in military textbooks.

"Just give the command, sir."

"And so I shall. The orders should be on their way now. Our priority is to devastate our enemies."

When it's put as clearly as that, the boots on the ground aren't left with much of a choice. I prepare to accept the unavoidable orders.

"Understood. Well then, General, I must go command the vanguard."

Now, if you excuse… Before I can say goodbye, the Empire's highest- ranking general appears to hold his left hand out toward me with a smile.

I stare at the extended empty hand, and Zettour grins.

"Before you leave, there's something I want from you." I don't even have time to get a huh out.

"I need bodyguards, Colonel Degurechaff. For my security detail… I understand it's a bit unreasonable to insist on something so difficult, so I'll make do with a single mage company. Please make the necessary arrangements."

Bodyguards.

An entire company's worth. At a time like this.

The words appear in my brain with a size and intensity that's equal to the shock I'm feeling. This is an earth-shattering request.

"What was that officer's name…? Ah, Grantz. Lend me the first lieutenant. It should be easier for me to work with him as he understands my temperament."

"General, if I may… I've only just received orders from you to attack the enemy. You made it clear that their destruction takes priority over all else, correct?"

I object… Even if there's only of a fraction of a chance of him changing his mind…I need to take it. I'll do everything in my power to resist this. Such is the nature I've acquired resisting with all my might in a futile war.

"That's correct. I need you to accomplish both orders."

I let out a sigh. I know how these things work. These are orders, and he is Tanya's superior. This explains why he came here without much of a security detail. He planned on acquiring one at his destination, which is why he brought the bare minimum for the trip here, and it falls on Tanya to provide it for him, as per direct orders.

In the Imperial Army, General Zettour's orders are law. Thus, there is only one thing a middle manager in Tanya's position can do, and that is deliver promptly without question.

It only takes a glance up at the general to realize that, in contrast to the

big smile on his face, there isn't a hint of a smile in his eyes. This isn't an environment where she can cry out, "Nein!"1 As much as a headache this is for her, she must comply.

"Bring Lieutenant Grantz to me! General Zettour is calling for him!"

Lieutenant Grantz, who'd been studying the war map, was suddenly overcome by a hard-to-describe chill that caused him to let out a strange cry.

"Whoa!"

The first lieutenant felt the chill creep down his spine. Even if this was Ildoa, it was still almost winter. While the time of year could have explained the strange feeling, there nevertheless was something ominous about the sensation as he took his eyes off the map and reached for a warm drink.

"Lieutenant Grantz…? Are you all right?"

"Ah, yeah. I felt strange for a second there. I'm fine, though."

Grantz waved off First Lieutenant Tospan's concerned look while he drank the warm tea.

"It was just a shake. The sun may be warm, but the air's still cold outside."

"Maybe you should see the doctor."

"It's just a random shiver. If I went to see the doctor every time I felt cold, I'd be stuck in the medical tent."

"Nothing wrong with spending a cold winter in bed now, is there?" "The only real winter threat is the Kampfgruppe leader."

"Good one!"

Ha-ha-ha. The two first lieutenants shared a brief laugh before focusing on the map once more. It was important for them to keep the map as updated as possible since the battlefield continued to change by the minute. It was their duty to keep the freshest version of the map memorized at all times. It took quite a bit of focus to do this, which the two maintained by sipping the cheap tea that came with their rations, making sure to load it with sugar while they scanned the map. This time, however, it didn't seem like there were any major changes since they last did this sugar-charged

ritual. They didn't expect the enemy to move anytime soon.

Once they finished updating the map, they would have some time to themselves. They could enjoy some of the snacks they'd purchased with their own money to go with the tea rations, and maybe even play some cards if they could find enough people. In this way, their job was easy. Once they were finished with the map, only Captain Meybert and Captain Ahrens would need to bring it to the headquarters.

The first lieutenants had a bit more leeway in their schedules, which was nice as they could take some time to relax.

This, of course, was bearing in mind that General Zettour was visiting the Salamander Kampfgruppe—there was a unique tension spread throughout the camp. Grantz, who had no aspirations to rise through the ranks, was resigned to letting the higher-ups deal with the general, though.

The majors, colonels, and generals would be in charge of tending to the general, while Grantz and Tospan hung back and handled the rank and file. They had no business mingling with the nobility, save for the off moments at military parades. Even then, they would only see them from the parade lines.

There was no need to go out of his way to see the general unless he was particularly keen on brown-nosing.

Grantz took another look at the map, committing each and every geographical feature to memory… As bland a job as it may be, he found comfort in it.

In a word, it was tranquil. In more words, he was a man who liked structure, and he couldn't ask for anything more predictable than a post like this! The good soldier that he was, Grantz was even able to find a sense of fulfillment in this position. Which was only natural, as this comfortable job was his and he made sure to do it well.

Being able to mess around with Tospan over some card afterward was just a bonus. After finishing up, the two of them set out to find the other soldiers to join them in a game, but they ended up being stopped by a single soldier, who came right over to them. For Grantz, who motioned to invite the soldier to their card game, what came out of the soldier's mouth was like a bolt from the blue.

The soldier came with orders for Grantz to report to the Kampfgruppe HQ. Orders like these were usually given over the radio if they were urgent.

The fact that a soldier relayed the message verbally usually meant that it wasn't too high priority. What was strange was that the soldier came on a bike with a sidecar to bring Grantz back with him.

"Did something happen to the colonel?"

He asked the driver of the bike, but he was informed that it was the colonel who called for his presence. Being the experienced officer he was, this was enough for Grantz to know that either new enemy troops had arrived in their area of operations or there was a change in strategy. There was also a chance their battalion was volunteering to participate in a major offensive.

Whichever the case may be, there was a reason the wise Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff chose not to use the radio to contact him. Something big was happening. This much was certain. Whatever that may be, Grantz's experience allowed him to predict that he would need to be ready for it.

His long-sought peaceful sabbath would have to wait. Grantz could feel that an intense job was coming on the horizon, and being the impressive soldier he was, he wouldn't retreat from his duty. He took a deep breath. This was all it took for him to steel his nerves. No matter what the task was, he refused to falter. It was his way of preparing himself for battle; nothing could shatter his mental armor now.

Ready for whatever trials and tribulations awaited him and his companions, he entered the tent only to be immediately met by a wall of tension that could be cut with a knife. What shocked him the most was the stiff expression the commander showed, as if she had an intense decision to make. This was enough to terrify Grantz.

What could possibly make Colonel Degurechaff look like this?!

It was only her and her first officer, Major Weiss, in the room. It must be something highly classified. And yet, while these thoughts ran through his head, a new question tugged at his mind.

If this was the case, why had someone like him been called here? Why not Captains Meybert or Ahrens, or any of the other first lieutenants?

Just as the confusion was setting in, his superior turned to him with a smile.

"First Lieutenant Grantz. Congratulations." "What?"

"You've been selected by my superior… He's taken a liking to you."

Grantz stared blankly at his own superior when he felt a hand clapping onto his shoulder. Startled, he turned to find the face of an older gentleman. He must've completely hidden his presence, because Grantz didn't realize there was anybody behind him until that very moment…which only added to his confusion, but this was when he realized he recognized this face.

And before his brain could even fully manifest an answer, it instinctually shifted to reject whatever reality this was in an instant.

Sadly for him, soldiers are a part of an organization with strict standards. He averted his gaze, only for his eyes to fall on the gentleman's lapel, which clearly showed the rank insignia that decorated it.

With the general insignia triggering his instincts, Grantz stood at attention. This conditioning was likely a product of Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff's training.

He turned his entire person around on his heel, standing up straight in attention. This much done all on autopilot, Grantz's consciousness itself finally caught up to who exactly the gentleman was.

"Hello there, Lieutenant. I haven't seen you since the eastern front. How have you been?"

General Hans von Zettour addressed Grantz with a smile, which would be a blessing for anyone with aspirations to climb the ranks.

Aspirations First Lieutenant Grantz didn't have. "Ah, I, uh…"

Perhaps having pity on her subordinate, who was clearly at a loss for words, or maybe as a friend, Degurechaff jumped in to take the focus off Grantz.

"General, please try not to bully Lieutenant Grantz."

"I'm simply greeting an acquaintance of mine. You know, there aren't that many pleasantries left for a man my age to enjoy. I have to keep my nerves sharp somehow, don't I?"

"As I am still young, I tend to sympathize with the trials of the younger soldiers."

Grantz had seen his superior's heroism on the battlefield many a time, but seeing her fight like this in an official capacity was deeply moving. Watching her provide cover fire like this made her seem like a shining beacon of light—her back imposing and powerful despite her small frame.

"You've got me there. Well, let us get to the thick of things."

The general nodded nonchalantly—his easygoing attitude suggested this whole exchange was well practiced…which quickly brought Grantz back to his initial question.

Why had he been called here? He had an inkling…and if he was anywhere close to the mark, then Grantz would have to pray that his worst fears wouldn't come true.

This short-lived hope that this was in any way possible was ruthlessly shattered by his benevolent superior.

"Even among my battalion, First Lieutenant Grantz is one of my most capable mages. That being said, he leaves much to be desired in terms of attentiveness and organization. He is not fit to be an attendant or first officer, in my opinion, which is why you should perhaps reconsider…"

"Are you recommending against using a hunting dog as a sheepdog?" "This particular hound is a bit too finicky to be a sheepdog."

"Oh? It sounds like you wish to say…that Lieutenant Grantz isn't fit to be my personal guard?"

Grantz, who couldn't flat out say he didn't want to do it, could only stare hopefully at Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff, who was evidently willing to go up against the nobility for the sake of her subordinates.

"I do question whether or not he is suitable for the role. The mages who make up my battalion are more like the tips of spears. Even when it comes to defense, they use not a shield but their honed points."

"That's fine by me."

"Different mages have different aptitudes, is all I wish to say."

The proud commander of the Salamander Kampfgruppe made a heroic display of resistance. First Lieutenant Grantz's adoring eyes watched her as she stated her case. Her bravery made her back seem much larger than any child could possibly possess.

"He is a necessary part of my battalion, General. He is most useful to our nation on the vanguard. I only wish to have the right soldiers in the right posts."

"So you're against lending him to me."

"I am unable to fully agree with your allocation of our resources."

It took immense bravery for a field officer to say words like this to a general—to disagree, object, and resist. Nevertheless, Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff proceeded to do everything in her power to defend Grantz as

he watched from the rear. The gratitude he felt knew no bounds.

He knew she was a superior who wanted the best for her subordinates, but never had he imagined she'd go this far!

He was immensely moved by the whole scene, and her efforts would prove successful…in helping him accept his inevitable demise.

"Colonel Degurechaff. I'll make note of your advice for the record.

Now, is there anything else?"

The general's authority gave him an overwhelming advantage.

"General, as the commander of the General Staff's mage battalion, it is our duty to serve the Empire and our nation, and not—"

"I'll bear in mind that you were down a single company when reviewing your performance during this campaign. That said, I somehow doubt missing a single company will have that large of an impact on your battalion's results."

"Every single man counts, General."

"Sadly, this is a war. We must make the most of what we have." "And I believe it is my job to do my best to maintain what I have."

General Zettour gave Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff a stern glare, but she continued to fight for Grantz nevertheless. Honestly, she was up against the general. With there being nothing Grantz could say or do at all, he was expecting her to give up much sooner than she did. The grave reality, however, continued to loom over them as this exchange went on. Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff was a lieutenant colonel, and General Zettour was a general. One was the subordinate, and one was the superior.

"Do you have any other concerns? I apologize, but I'd like for you to understand that this has already been decided."

The lieutenant colonel fell silent. She gave Grantz a glance, her eyes filled with pity, which made the situation all too clear—there were no reinforcements coming. For the first time in his military career, Grantz was cut off and alone.

As if to announce the results of the negotiation to the dumbfounded lieutenant, the old gentleman with glittering stars lining his jacket turned his attention to him with a glaringly forced smile.

"Well, Colonel. It seems all that's left is getting the lieutenant's consent."

"Yes… You are correct."

Grantz's superior gave a reluctant but clear nod. His last and only line of defense had fallen, and no reinforcements were coming. Standing before Grantz was an eerily smiling general. He beamed at him from the pinnacle of his organization, the army. The gaze with which he waited for Grantz to speak was like a sharp blade wrapped in cloth. He knew from experience that this was it. That resistance was futile… It was time for him to raise his white flag.

"I—I look forward to being able to accompany you again and help in any way I can!"

"That's the spirit, Lieutenant Grantz. I expected nothing less from a man such as yourself. I'm glad you're willing to volunteer yourself for the important task."

He had no recollection of volunteering for this, and he was overcome by amazement. The general's hand felt heavy on his slumped shoulders.

"Let's try to enjoy ourselves, Lieutenant. There's nothing to worry about."

"Do I look worried?"

"I intend to add to your achievements with this assignment, not leave a black mark on your career."

-x-X-x-

THE SAME DAY, THE ILDOAN GENERAL STAFF OFFICE

The moment the man walked through the door of the Ildoan Army General Staff Office, he realized an undeniable difference between the current state of affairs and what the office once was.

"Look what this has done to the world…"

After stepping into what was once his office, Colonel Calandro lamented to himself.

"The insanity that is total world war…"

The Ildoan Army used to laugh at the Imperial Army. They thought the Empire must've been insane to ever engage in total war. It was what the soldiers used to talk about at the salon, with a glass of wine in hand. It was

hard for any of the soldiers to imagine their nation engaging in something so idiotic, given its raison d'état. To them, war was just an extension of politics, and to fight a war for the sake of fighting a war was completely out of the question. If they had to fight, then it should be in the interest of their nation. The opposite—a nation becoming a slave to war—was a sick and twisted concept.

That was what the colonel always thought, at least.

"The world looks different when you're the one at war."

So what happened to their army in an actual war? Ildoa, which had once ridiculed the Empire, was now being burned by the flames of its war… The office's aloof outlook, which had been like an elegant fragrance that lingered in the old General Staff Office, was completely gone. The expressions of the civilians and soldiers who came and went through the office doors were as grim as could be. They were the expressions of people forced into oblivion roaming aimlessly through the world.

From an observer's perspective, their looks garnered unbearable pity.

The Ildoa of plenty was no more. "But…it's understandable."

Calandro muttered to himself about the dreadfulness of their inescapable reality.

The core of their military had been devastated, and they lost the equipment needed to arm their reserves before they could be mobilized. It was difficult to reckon with what was happening, but there was no fooling himself about it. This wretched reality was Ildoa's.

As a result of the vicious Imperial attack, the Ildoan Army was on the verge of collapse. The colonel didn't even want to imagine what things would've looked like without the weeklong cease-fire.

Given that most of the immediately deployable divisions had already been lost, they used their very limited time to scrounge up enough troops for some twenty-odd divisions. The sad truth was…that these divisions were hardly battle-ready. Whatever they had was a shell of what it should've been.

The oft-ridiculed, warmongering Imperial Army that fought on for no reason was continuously proving that it was indeed good at one thing—war. What was happening to Ildoa was the result of its silent ridicule.

The colonel didn't even want to think about that monster Zettour. The

fact that he spoke with the general only a short while ago was still mortifying. That man and his army were going to do what they did to the Federation to Ildoa.

"I thought I'd built up an immunity to him in the Empire's eastern front, but I guess not."

It was clear to Calandro that he'd lose this battle before it started if he let his enemy get to him. He also knew that it was more than just his problem at this point. The situation was grave. The Empire was rampaging down their peninsula with the momentum of a victorious army, and the Ildoan Army was stuck fighting with less than half their regular numbers.

The only reason their collapse hadn't already happened was thanks to their largest hope at the moment—their alliance with the Unified States. The presence of the expeditionary force that had quickly reached Ildoa was cause for relief for the Ildoa officials. They simply needed to bide their time while they waited for the rest of the Unified forces. Which would be their strategy from the moment the cease-fire ended on out.

Colonel Calandro shook his head.

"We're going to need confidence in our forces if we're going to bide our time."

Calandro had seen the devil known as Zettour in action before… He doubted whether his countrymen had the fortitude to endure that devil's viciousness.

"Do the higher-ups know what it means to go up against the devil himself…?"

Needless to say, Calandro told his superiors this as soon as he returned from meeting the general. He warned them in every way he could.

Sadly, however, he was always met with the same answer: "We understand your concerns."

In actuality, under the leadership of General Gassman, the commanding officers charged with defending the capital did manage to heed one of the colonel's strategic warnings in their own way. When they noticed the Empire's advance slowing, they committed to stopping it by setting up fortified defensive positions. Using what was left of the shattered divisions, they set up bases along the defensive line. This was arguably the correct decision. The planners had a solid grasp of what their current army was capable of and did what they could.

The soundness of the decision was what left Colonel Calandro alone in arguing against the idea. His reasoning was that it was far too dangerous to defend territory. Calandro even made his case to General Gassman himself. "We don't have the strength to fight back if it comes down to a pitched battle. Putting down roots is essentially giving the Imperial Army free time

they need…"

Colonel Calandro's appeal was shot down by conventional military logic. Holding the line took priority over all else. The Ildoan Army chose to defend what it thought needed defending, and both military and political reasoning supported this plan of action.

Thus, Colonel Calandro was left to become Ildoa's Cassandra. He was the prophet of tragedy. No matter how prescient his warnings, they would not be heeded by his peers.

-x-X-x-

DECEMBER 6, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE ILDOAN FRONT

After offering a living sacrifice in the form of Lieutenant Grantz, Tanya and the rest of the Salamander Kampfgruppe officers finally have the freedom to return to business as usual. They still have the grueling order to give the enemy a bloody nose, but now they can carry these orders out on their own terms, without the watchful eyes of a high-ranking officer peering over their shoulders.

With that, Tanya assembles her officers to begin the final confirmation of the operation before carrying out the orders. First Lieutenant Serebryakov acts as her assistant, with Major Weiss, Captains Meybert and Ahrens, and First Lieutenant Tospan representing each of their respective branches of the army. Together, the group collectively gives a difficult look at the war map laid out before them. Tanya has Lieutenant Wüstemann sitting in on the meeting, too, for his own studies.

"Tell me, my Kampfgruppe officers. What do you think of the enemy?"

It's Captain Ahrens, heading the panzer unit, who takes the initiative to answer my question.

"It's the same every time we look at it. Judging by the map alone, their strong points are dug in and leave few openings."

Captain Meybert nods in agreement and continues.

"The enemy has prepared well for this engagement. It's likely that they have positioned their artillery units in the rear for concentrated support fire. The challenge lies in their camouflage, making it difficult for our reconnaissance units to pinpoint their exact location."

Though likely unimpacted by the difficult assessments made from the armor and artillery perspectives, Major Weiss shows a similarly difficult expression as he lets out a sigh.

"What do you think, Major?"

"Full frontal assaults are never easy, but…the more recent bases we've encountered have proper anti-mage countermeasures in place, making them harder to blow through."

"I see… And what about you, Lieutenant Tospan?"

The man in charge of the infantry simply shakes his head at my question.

"I have nothing to add. We'll see what we can do, but I believe charging a base is always going to come with hefty sacrifices."

More pessimism. While it's never good to underestimate your enemy, this shouldn't be a blanket outlook. I look at the three of them with a grimace.

"You three sure are cautious… You mustn't forget that it is human beings who carry out war. Taking this into consideration, we should look at the Ildoan soldiers."

I'm a former HR expert and I take pride in my ability to communicate sincerely with modern man. My lifetime's worth of experience is what tells me that my interpretation is correct.

"Ildoa's war council is made up of intelligent planners. Luckily for us, however, they have little experience when it comes to actually fighting a war. You should all be happy."

"We should?"

The first reply I get is a dubious look, but I shrug it off. Good and bad luck are two sides of the same coin.

"First, Ildoans have lived a life without war. Second, their lack of experience combined with high intellect will make them easy to defeat."

"Uh…"

My officers silently try to find words to reply with, but I calm them down with a wave of my hand.

"It isn't that hard to understand. Our enemies have spent a lot of time studying this war from afar. That said, there are many things one simply can't comprehend without actually experiencing them, such as the momentum defeat carries with it."

This is true whether talking about organizations, humanity as a whole, or just individuals. In other words, the enemy doesn't realize they're in a downward spiral.

"An army that goes on the defensive while it is on a losing streak has already lost the battle."

It doesn't even have to be a big battle to start the streak. A single random encounter is enough. Had they a small victory, something to stir up a sense of bravery in their soldiers, then the defense laid out before them would most definitely be something as impenetrable as steel. But if their forts are filled with hiding badgers…? Then they are weak, and their weakness needs to be capitalized on.

I know this from experience.

"The only cure for defeat is victory. An army full of soldiers who don't believe in themselves is surprisingly weaker than what numbers alone would suggest."

Even the most well-built base will amount to nothing if its soldiers are hiding inside it, protecting themselves until the end of the battle.

The Seige of Odawara is a good example of this. The same goes for Osaka castle. After losing their will to fight back, the defenders of Odawara simply surrendered its castle to the attackers. Even with all the planning and effort that went into raising the grand Osaka castle, it fell due to having subpar defenders. Soldiers who are certain of their victory are hard to contend with, but soldiers fearing their impending doom will often crumble on contact.

After thinking for a moment, staring at the well-made enemy fortifications while I imagine the mental state of its soldiers…I reach an easy conclusion. The soldiers inside are most surely a mess. If this is the case, then we only need to amplify their fears and destroy them while they are a panicked mess.

"Captain Ahrens, I require you to undertake a difficult job for this operation."

"Seeing as my orders for most operations fit that description, what will you have us do this time?"

There is an honorable resignation in his casual response. It seems these soldiers have adapted to unreasonable demands in a way that is helpful. As Captain Ahrens's superior, and more importantly, as a good middle manager, I'm proud of the fact that this is the level of trust we've established.

After a brief chuckle, I give him orders in a deliberately calm manner. "I want you to have your tanks really make some noise."

"Why, may I ask…?"

"Ideally, they'll mistake you for Colonel Lergen's 8th Panzer Division.

We'll scare them with a false sense of numbers."

Dummies and decoys. There are entire chapters on this diversionary tactic written in the military textbooks.

"It will use a lot of fuel and artillery…"

"That's fine. I need it done, Captain. If the enemy mistakes the armor formation for our main forces, then it is a small price to pay. I want you to throw everything you've got at them!"

If the enemy believes there is a panzer unit at their doorstep, then their defensive line will most certainly falter. To put it simply, the soldiers will get scared, and their commanding officers will show hesitation.

The base will surely grow disillusioned by the division.

"Captain Meybert! You'll be charged with covering Captain Ahrens with support fire. I'm expecting you to use just as much of your arsenal as the division does."

No bars shall be held to maximize the enemy's fear. We must take the initiative to do what the enemy fears the most.

"Major Weiss and Captain Tospan, you'll be given the lofty task of accompanying the tanks. You'll be going on a quick drive with me."

The two men nodded before Weiss took the lead to ask a question for both of them.

"Where will we be driving to?"

"The enemy base. It's almost suppertime, and something tells me Ildoan bases are much tastier than whatever's in the Federation and the

Commonwealth."

-x-X-x-

THE SAME DAY, THE ILDOAN ROYAL CAPITAL/ILDOAN ARMY GENERAL STAFF OFFICE

The commander charged with overseeing the capital's defense had a clear understanding of the largest problem at hand.

"They chose the wrong man for the job."

The commander—General Gassman—mumbled to himself. The general was well aware of how unsuitable he was to defend his nation's capital. He knew himself well and would be the first to admit that he was more suited for military administration. The first thing he did when he was put up to the task was acknowledge that he belonged in the rear, and a strategist belonged in his position—something he even tried to relinquish. Sadly for him, however…General Gassman was too skilled a military administrator for his own good.

Perhaps it should be said that the heavens abandoned him, in a sense. Namely, over the course of his career, he had successfully gained the trust of his nation, its government, the palace, and the people, almost too well. The politicians saw him as an honorable general, the palace a general that knew the ropes, and among Ildoans, there was a general consensus that he seemed like a trustworthy man.

It didn't help that General Gassman looked good in his suit as well. The outfit he wore to acquire funds and make political arrangements during a time of peace offered an easily understandable sense of security in Ildoa's time of need.

So what happened when he tried to transfer this power to somebody more capable than himself? His letters of resignation and recommendation were both seen as a form of modesty, and the position of high command was more or less forced onto him.

Which brought him to his current predicament—being worn down by a never-ending chain of decision making he just wasn't used to.

The worst part was that he had absolutely no clue what the enemy was thinking. Every strange turn the Empire took amounted to a terrifying fog that only grew thicker with time.

"I have no idea what they're doing…"

General Gassman, alone in his office, moaned to himself. "My usual strategies just aren't going to cut it."

He'd asked his staff their opinions and reviewed countless reference documents on the war front, finding several different assessments, each correct in their own way, which he compiled into one…like he always did. Somehow, however, this didn't translate into a clear strategy.

What he was doing was administrating. A process that was taking far too long for somebody who needed to make immediate decisions. Gassman was good at coordination and administration, but it was clear to him that he had no talent when it came to being decisive. He knew this better than anyone else, but knowing this didn't help him—it wasn't as if he could ask someone else to make the decisions for him. He was the leader, and he needed to make the decisions on his own accord.

That was exactly why Gassman was conflicted. Were he up against a more regular enemy, this much wouldn't have been a problem for him. In this regard, his biggest mistake was trying to learn about his enemy. He tried to understand what made the crafty Zettour tick, thinking from the perspective of the Empire…but he had absolutely zero clue as to what they were trying to gain from all of this.

"Do they really intend to attack our capital? Or is it merely a threat to obtain more leverage in negotiations, just like the cease-fire? Or perhaps… they're after something else?"

The general wasn't convinced by what he saw. He stared at the map, but his opponent's attacks made less and less sense as the reports came flooding in from the front lines.

There were two powerful panzer units that were making their way toward the capital. These two units were powerful, but only in the sense of individual strength.

"This alone won't be enough to truly threaten the capital. The Empire knows better than any of us how poorly tanks fare in urban warfare."

These units were a threat out in the open and certainly had the potential to break the Ildoan defensive line, but…two units operating independently

could be handled.

Gassman took into account the comparative weakness of his own army, and considering the multiple, in-depth warnings his subordinate, Colonel Calandro, had provided him with, he had no intention of underestimating the military threat of the Imperial Army.

Even after taking all this into account, military logic brought him to the same conclusion every time.

"It feels fair to say we shouldn't be in too much danger."

They were fighting a defensive war, after all. Between their intricate contingency plan, posing counterattacks when appropriate, and initiative within their camps, things seemed to be going according to their plan. At least, enough for them to keep the Empire at bay.

"They've learned their lesson on the Rhine and in the east. A frontal assault against a fortified position requires numbers, and always comes with great sacrifice."

Going on the defensive gave the attacker the initiative, but the defender a positional advantage. In other words, a defensive war was a difficult war to lose. This reality was something the general knew from countless analyses of the reports on the Empire's war in the Rhine…or at least this is what the general told himself.

"Calandro's concern seems fairly ungrounded. He's an excellent soldier, but his time in the east must have clouded his judgment."

The general felt regret for having subjected his subordinate to the Empire's vicious onslaught in the east while going over the numbers in his head.

The Empire had been engaging in total war for a long time. It was facing severe shortages due to chronic losses of blood and iron. The Empire had fought the world for far too long. Even if it was a military powerhouse, it was surely on its last legs as a country.

Going over this in his mind brought up a new question. After using what felt like an unlimited amount of their resources in the east…what could the Empire possibly gain from shedding even more blood in Ildoa?

"Colonel Calandro's concern for a frontal assault is likely a red herring, a trick they're trying to pull, knowing how we operate. Which may mean… that the US experts are correct in that the Empire will bypass the capital and attack the field troops."