“Krhack! Hack! Alcohol! Bring me more booze! Quick!”
For those in power, despair truly sets in when they lose their actual authority.
Even if they lose their family, their subjects—no matter what they lose—they don’t grieve. But when what they thought was theirs without a doubt vanishes, the emptiness turns toxic. And that poison erases even the brightest minds, destroying all traces of confidence.
Take King Andrea II of Benito. Sure, he had his fair share of excesses, but let’s not ignore the good he brought to the table. If not for him, Benito would’ve remained just another insignificant southern kingdom.
With relentless ambition, he worked to place Benito at the center among the southern realms and even made moves to break away from the influence of the Holy Kingdom altogether. Despite his flaws, Andrea II wasn’t entirely devoid of merit.
But now, all that he built has disappeared, consumed by the poison of futility. The southern territories of Benito have surrendered, the capital has been seized, and his very title as king lies in tatters. All that remains are parts of northern Benito and a small group of loyal nobles.
“Your Majesty! Urgent news! The Empire, having captured the capital, is preparing to move again!”
“Our troops are wavering. The commanders and nobles are doing their best to hold them together, but Your Majesty must personally intervene if we are to maintain control!”
Still, some loyal subjects remain and attempt to give Andrea II sound advice. In this situation, the king himself must step forward to demonstrate his resilience. The situation is dire, but it’s not over yet—there are still supporters to be rallied. Northern Benito retains many who are loyal to Andrea II, so total recovery isn’t entirely impossible.
If the king steps forward to rally morale, the turmoil could be quelled. An alliance with Dedolant might not secure the capital’s return, but maintaining the status quo is a possibility. Most importantly: life must come first, right? Staying alive is the priority.
“You figure it out! A king? Ha! They’ve already installed their own ruler! Maybe I should bow to the gods instead!”
But Andrea II, already poisoned, focuses solely on the alcohol. No matter what his advisors say, he brushes them aside, leaving all decisions to them. All he’s left with is the futile recollection of past glories.
“Khh… If only we hadn’t failed in that battle. If we hadn’t lost there! It wouldn’t have come to this! Stupid commanders! They’ve devoured my once-proud army! Ughhh!!”
While the commanders’ mistakes were real, the ultimate fault lies with Andrea II himself. Overconfident and reckless, he moved without caution and provoked the Empire. In the chaos that followed, a brilliant eastern strategist intervened, sealing Benito’s fate.
“It’s my fault that I’ve elevated Benito to this point! You incompetent fools! Traitors! I curse you. I curse you all!”
As this continues, even those who’ve clung to hope with barely a shred left begin to falter. After all, no matter how much loyalty one feels toward the royal line, it only has value when it’s worth showing. In this bleak scenario, devoid of hope or dreams, pursuing something as futile as loyalty is unsustainable. Both servants and nobles have responsibilities to their own people. Ignoring one’s own while standing by a collapsing leader leaves only two possibilities—either one is a paragon of unshakable loyalty or simply foolish.
Unfortunately, Andrea II was left with neither. Loyalty has its limits, and foolishness does not apply. In the end, humans will always seek survival.
“Chief of Staff, urgent report from the southern front. Some factions in North Benito have secretly indicated their intention to surrender.”
“Didn’t we already say the carriages have passed?”
“We relayed the message clearly, but they replied with this: If we send back carriages loaded with grand offerings, will that be enough?”
“…Huh?”
A carriage-sized “grand” offering. The implication is clear: These people are suggesting they might bring back their former king as part of the deal.
Utterly baffled, even the princess standing nearby sighs dramatically, exclaiming, “Haa!”
“Even if that’s the case, is it really proper for subjects and nobles to simply capture and deliver the king who once symbolized their nation?”
“It seems they’re trying to invoke the justification that the true king resides in the south.”
“It still feels wrong, regardless. Even if Andrea II surrendered outright, having subjects and nobles hand over their former monarch doesn’t reflect well.”
I completely agree with Princess’s sentiments. This world operates under an absolute monarchy. Imperial authority, regal power—these are law and truth. Even as enemies, we still respect each monarch’s dignity. Emphasizing the sanctity of a sovereign is something we can promote across nations.
To see subjects or nobles manhandle and hand over their own king—no matter the context—feels distasteful. And from the perspective of our Empire, home to the Continent’s sole emperor as the divine representative? It’s even more awkward.
His Holiness established legitimate rulers across the lands; the emperor and fellow kings hold near-divine standing. Allowing monarchs to be mishandled would be like spitting in our own faces.
‘At one point, I considered subtly encouraging them to bring the king over and then dealing with them later. But establishing a precedent for treating surrendering factions in such a manner would create problems.’
This isn’t just a regular war anymore—it’s a new age of conquest. We must carefully discern between acceptable actions and those that cross the line, ensuring long-term stability.
Apparently, I don’t have full discretion on this matter, so passing it up the chain to the administration feels like the right move. Soon enough, we received a definitive answer from the capital.
[Declined]
Unsurprisingly, even as enemies, delivering their own king feels off. This would only push the remaining northern Benito factions into a desperate final stand. But let’s not forget: the Empire is a well-oiled machine, and they added another note.
[Permit other means for North Benito to separate themselves from their king.]
[An offensive on North Benito, headed by the southern Benito nobility and their forces, shall soon commence.]
When the attacks begin, we expect their forces to feign retreat or refuse coordination. This avoids drawing unnecessary attention and ensures a quiet victory. The kingdom falls without stories of treason or betrayal, while the nobles find their ways to survive under our rule.
‘So it’s coming soon.’
In a month, Benito will fall completely. Once the southern fronts are wrapped up, only Artria and Dedolant remain as challenges. Technically, Artria isn’t faring much better.
Upon reflection, hearing about the capital’s fall and Artria’s last-ditch attempt seems like a reckless move. My younger sister is there, after all.
Initially, I worried, but now it’s more like amused resignation. Each report paints terrifyingly vivid pictures: Kaya swings her sword, and four Artria knights fall. She charges in with a spear, sending dozens of enemies flying from their mounts in under ten minutes. The more I hear, the more I wonder if ‘genius’ better fits her rather than me.
“Fire! Fire! Hey, are you people asleep?! Launch it! LAUNCH IT!!!”
“Woohooo!!”
The Wulver unleashes its fury, the walls of Artria’s fortifications crumbling with its roar. Artria’s soldiers behind are obliterated without even a scream. Each time this happens, the soldiers from Nobogorod and the northern Imperial Legion cheer wildly.
It may seem cruel, but this is war, and they’re the enemy. Watching them fall isn’t just gratifying—it’s exhilarating. And when it’s not you personally doing it but instead being aided by a siege weapon? Even better. Even more thrilling when that weapon is the biggest, most powerful one around.
“Ha ha ha! d*e, you Artria bastards!”
“Load the next round! We’ll keep the fun going until they surrender!”
The Wulver performs above expectations. The creation and transportation costs are enormous, but the results speak for themselves. Not a single fortified position or castle withstands its might for even a day. Proven effective, the Nobogorod forces and the northern Legion have already placed orders for more units.
“Ten Wulvers could crush Artria and Dedolant together!”
Now war and finance ministries are in a strange position. It would’ve been easier if it were useless, but alas, it’s a hit with both our legions and the Demon Race. They heap praises on this monstrous war machine.
And who wouldn’t? It’d feel embarrassing not to order more, especially during a victorious campaign. Refusing to bolster our forces with more money-saving when we’re already winning makes no sense.
Meanwhile, Artria, having encountered this horrific weapon, panics upon seeing the extravagance of it. Whatever inspired its creation is beyond them.
“Fine! We’ll surrender! Just don’t fire that thing!”
Too late. Orders from Kael dictate at least a token shot to crush morale, no matter the plea. If they revoke the surrender, the Empire’s wrath fully descends.
With its lines shattered this easily, Artria had no choice but to take action, deciding to gather all their forces for one last counterattack.
“Artria shall launch a counteroffensive right here in Erden Forest!”
“If we encircle and annihilate the Nobogorod army, we still have a chance!”
The one unfortunate thing for Artria? The very same fearsome figure, their dread nemesis, resides right where they aim to strike.
