The Dedolant Palace was filled with an eerie silence so thick you could cut it with a kn*fe.
Only a few years ago, this very place had been brimming with people shouting about the glory of the Deo Ethnic Group every day.
Everyone was convinced that a white-horsed savior would come and unify the entire west.
Indeed, they absorbed Artria, shattered Dugal, and even partnered with Benito to pressure Ross Tannika—Dedolant’s golden era. This wasn’t just some dream; it was proof that the Deo’s highest glory wasn’t a myth after all.
Maybe, just maybe, they could’ve even held their own against the Empire and secured dominance over the west.
But now, all of that is just a distant dream. Although they tasted early victories, the Empire refused to accept defeat. Reinvigorated, they pressed forward with terrifying force, successfully pinning Dedolant down.
The alliance with Benito crumbled too, with the kingdom handing over their capital. In truth, the real seat of Benito’s power had already shifted to the south.
What remained was a nearly insane Andrea II, alongside a handful of loyal nobles.
“…”
In this place, King Cassius II stood motionless, staring at the battlefield drawn on his map. The areas that had once proudly been Dedolant territory were now rapidly falling to the Empire. Vital defensive points and castles were disappearing one by one. The relentless Empire showed no signs of stopping, and Dedolant no longer had the strength to resist.
Troops? They still had tens of thousands of elite soldiers and conscripts. But war isn’t just about numbers; it’s also about supplies. For now, they’d managed to hold on, but they couldn’t keep it up. There was barely enough food, clothing, or weapons left.
“If only Benito hadn’t collapsed so thoroughly…”
The pandemic wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been so utterly devastating. Even though Benito’s contributions were helpful, their food supply chains were kaput now that the Empire had total control over the region.
And even Artria, once rich in fine iron, was nearing its end. Reports came in that the Empire had entered the royal road leading to Artria, and the castle guarding the route had fallen.
“…”
Cassius II, formerly Prince Georg, stared down at his trembling hands. Was it from the sleepless nights or sheer fear?
Contemplating this grim situation, he let out a bitter laugh.
“How did it come to this? At first, everything went exactly according to plan.”
Cassius had never expected to outright defeat the Empire, but surviving? Enduring? That seemed doable. Especially when they managed to lure in and destroy two whole Imperial Legions. If only his elite forces had continued their push to the border, the situation might have been different.
“Foolish of me. That moment of opportunity has now become nothing but dust.”
Initially skeptical, Cassius eventually realized just how fragile the Empire truly was—not just capable of collapse but practically begging for it. If only Dedolant had attacked when they had the chance instead of retreating… perhaps the course of history would have been rewritten.
What if Dedolant had seized the gates and swept through the Empire’s rear lines? What if they had captured the brilliant strategist Chief of Staff Kael? Ifs were meaningless now, but the thoughts persisted.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Cassius laid out the incoming points of Imperial forces, estimating their progress. He adjusted his army’s defensive positions accordingly. The Dedolant territories continued to shrink as the Empire pushed ever closer.
Their once formidable defensive positions and castles now meant little. Defense typically held an advantage over offense due to the greater burdens on attackers, but now the roles were reversed. The Empire had all the advantages here. Supplies were running out and reinforcements were impossible to secure.
War, Cassius thought, was like mortgage payments for a kingdom. You put your future on the line to gain spoils or become the spoils yourself. So far, Dedolant had been playing the former, but it was now slipping into the latter.
“Perhaps it really is over.”
When Cassius was first crowned King, he’d witnessed the cheers of the crowd and briefly clung to the hope that there was still a chance.
Even the Empire’s offensive had momentarily slowed, fueling his belief.
But now it became clear: the lull had been nothing more than a deep breath before the final assault. Maybe the Empire had just been preparing to punch harder.
“Your Majesty.”
Cassius turned his gaze to Gruber, the aide who had followed him since his days as a prince. Always faithful, always devoted to Dedolant’s resurgence and the Deo’s glory.
Even now, Gruber continued to urge the command staff, advising them to hold on, not to surrender, not to betray the cause. He insisted that believing in victory alone would see them through.
Looking at Gruber, Cassius felt a pang of guilt. How could he tell this loyal follower that the fight was over?
Perhaps he should be colder, but humanity prevented such decisiveness.
“Gruber.”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Was it all… a foolish dream?”
“Your Majesty!”
“Surely, I believed we could succeed. There was a chance. But at what point did it all go wrong?”
At this, Gruber fell to his knees, his voice filled with righteous indignation.
“Your Majesty must remain steadfast! Dedolant still has the strength to fight! We have warriors who are willing to d*e for the glory of the Deo people! The fight is not over until the very last moment! And as long as the Empire forgets that, they will leave an opening for us to seize!”
“Even as they strangle us from every side?”
“The Deo are strong! We are far from weak, unlike the Empire! We fight when hungry, we fight when wounded! Our will is unbreakable, and as it always has been, you only need to lead us!”
“…”
Cassius felt an odd chill. Something about Gruber’s words struck him as… strange. This man whom he’d considered so loyal now seemed distant.
Gruber’s loyalty wasn’t to Cassius—it was to the ideal of Deo glory, something that now eclipsed everything else.
“Have faith, Your Majesty. The rest of us, your loyal subjects, will gladly serve as fertilizer if it means rebuilding Dedolant! This cause is eternal, and it shall rise again upon our sacrifice!”
“…”
“Indeed, Your Majesty! Right now, we have tens of thousands of elite soldiers who are training every day, burning with anger and resolve against the Empire!”
For so long, Cassius believed he was the one guiding these people, this movement. But now, it was evident—these people were far more zealous than he ever was. What had started as a strategy had now become an unshakable truth.
Perhaps he should explore the option of a dignified surrender, but the words couldn’t leave his lips. He thought he was holding them back, but clearly, the opposite was true.
*
“Something’s off here…”
As I listened to the latest battle reports, I muttered it aloud without realizing. Sure, they’re fanatics, but that’s starting to fade. Moreover, there’s been no race-cleansing madness like in my previous life.
If they come to their senses, the King—being a capable strategist—would surely realize Dedolant’s days are numbered.
At the very least, they should be seeking some kind of hidden or informal surrender. Yet, strangely, it’s eerily quiet.
“Hmm? What do you mean, Kael?”
“So, here’s what I think…” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “It could just be… the stubbornness of people who know they have no way out. A tantrum. Maybe something like that?”
“Say what? Tantrums? They’re throwing a fit, and this is what we get?”
Look, I didn’t say Dedolant would survive. All I mentioned was that the royal family might be the only ones I’d have to eliminate. And even then, it wouldn’t mean total annihilation—just key figures punished while the rest receive lighter penalties.
In this world, surrender is more common than you’d think. If the cause of loyalty shifts or becomes unsustainable, it’s seen as a practical choice. And if a kingdom has suffered enough, sometimes surrender is the better option.
Remember Benito? Offer them a good enough reason, and they’ll fold. First the south, then the capital, and eventually the north.
Artria is still holding out, but even that’s temporary according to the war results and General Staff.
“Some people simply can’t accept reality. Others do, but refuse to acknowledge it. From what I’ve read of continental history, it’s not uncommon. It’s like… a mental illness among the elite. A sickness where they believe if they’re not victorious, everything must be destroyed.”
“…That makes things even more uncomfortable.”
Either they surrender gracefully, or they go mad. Cassius seems like the surrender type. The others, though?
Who knows?
