178. Stormcaller
*
“Are you saying our target isn’t the Great Demon?”
“To be precise, it’s about opening a path to reach him, brother.”
Sadarkelisa is sealed. This is almost an absolute truth. He exerts some influence, and his minions still hold a place in Hell. It was clear that the Aesir of Valhalla had fallen, but Sadarkelisa’s seal remained unbroken.
The Temple of Mercury of the Five Towers, guarded by the Celestial Dragon Karadfel. Trapped deep within, he merely schemes behind the seal. This seal was broken at the end of the Great War in his previous life, so in this era, it could never be undone.
But if her seal were to break and she began to exert influence on the Material World, it would be too late. There would be no way to stop a fully powered Great Demon, at least not in the Material World. And the likelihood that she would be the only Great Demon to break free and act at that moment was slim.
Therefore, it had to be done now. The moment Sadarkelisa’s schemes became blatant. The moment the enemy’s most powerful pieces entered the board, it was the only chance to target her.
“He is sealed, but he is corrupting this continent through his minions. So, to defeat his true form, we must first open a path to him.”
“Is he in the Material World?”
“No, brother. But we have prepared a way to reach the gateway.”
Fernandez stood up after saying this.
“Let’s go, brothers. Local assistance is unavoidable.”
“We’ll follow, brother.”
Fabiano nodded with a stern face. The other Inquisition Officers followed him out of the tent.
*
Aeren rested her chin on her hand and scanned the room. The combat tent of Yarl was filled with clan elders, shamans, priests, and the southerners, along with Freya. They were all silently waiting for one person.
Soon, the man appeared, lifting the tent flap. Though he had only been in the north for less than a week, he had already made his presence felt throughout the entire clan.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Fernandez walked confidently through the crowd. His heavy footsteps were followed by the towering men behind him. The tent felt instantly crowded. Fernandez and the Inquisition Officers stood in one corner, looking at Aeren.
“Everyone’s here. Good. Let’s begin.”
Aeren nodded at Fernandez. He stepped forward and scanned the room. The fear of defeat, the sticky defeatism of refugees who had lost their homes, flowed through the air.
Some legion leaders often emphasize “spirit.” They say victory in war depends on morale. Of course, that’s not wrong. If you flee before fighting, how can you wage war?
But truly great commanders believe victory lies not in “spirit,” but in “information.” Fernandez was one of those people.
Mental fortitude is merely collective hypnosis to make soldiers obey irrational orders and illogical situations. To make them fight, you shouldn’t rely on such secondary factors.
Vision. Fernandez smiled as he looked at the map. To lift the defeated morale from the ground and turn numerical inferiority into victory, a vision of “possibility” was needed.
It was closer to agitation than strategy. Fernandez, or rather, Faijashi, was more of an agitator than a great field commander.
-Click.
Under everyone’s gaze, Fernandez raised his left arm. His bandaged arm seemed to grasp the air for a moment before snapping his fingers.
-Whoosh!
The neatly laid parchment tactical map on the large table was instantly engulfed in flames.
“What?!”
“What on earth… are you doing?!”
The elders murmured. Only Aeren, Fernandez, and the Inquisition Officers remained silent. Aeren looked at him as if testing him, while the Inquisition Officers waited with almost full trust in Fernandez.
‘Good. They didn’t question the magic.’
-Probably those fools think this is some miracle or divine spell.
‘I burned a piece of Rune Glyph. Thankfully, no halo appeared.’
The black halo of the Bronze Throne was too blatantly heretical. But Malerun’s shamanic system didn’t leak useless magical energy outward.
Fernandez smirked and waved his hand. The flames soon died down. The elders were still murmuring, but seeing their Yarl remain silent, they gradually quieted.
“What is this?”
Aeren spoke softly. The lion-like arrogance of violence was directed at Fernandez. He ignored it and turned to Freya.
“Freya. Can you do it?”
[This?]
Freya laughed boldly. Fernandez needed her only for her information. She had already been briefed on what to do before coming here.
-Pop!
Flowers bloomed impossibly between the wooden tables. Pop, pop. Roses, forsythia, mistflowers, and tulips. Regardless of seed or blooming season, colorful buds covered the table.
“Oh…”
The elders marveled at the goddess’s work. Aeren and Gunnar groaned for a different reason. This… is a map.
Beyond the crudely stitched parchment tactical map made by human hands, this was a divine map. The northern landscape as seen by the gods unfolded before their eyes.
“We are few in number. Even if we gather all our warriors, we barely reach five hundred. Mostly infantry.”
“Our clan’s warriors are worth a hundred each!”
“The enemy also has their clan’s warriors. Even demons among them.”
Ignoring the elder, Fernandez continued. He pointed at a blue flower on one corner of the map.
“Hazart Palan. Hazart Turan. Even if we gather all the warriors from these two clans, we’ll barely reach that number. If we recklessly expand our forces here…”
“There’s no future. Unlike them, we need a future.”
Aeren cut off Fernandez’s words and muttered. She was right. Victory in war wasn’t everything. This was a struggle for survival, and the northern winter was long and harsh. The clan couldn’t devote all its resources to war.
“You anticipated their goal isn’t unification?”
“Yes.”
“You’re quick.”
-Impressive.
Faijashi admired Aeren. The strength and justice of Sardiel. If Pieranel handled the Temple of the Gods’ strategy, she was the Archangel in charge of tactics. If her talent had blossomed, this level of insight was understandable.
‘Satisfactory. This will go smoothly.’
-Capturing the Great Demon? Haha, you’ve become bolder than I thought, Fernandez.
‘At least it’s better than a mission to save some incompetent woman. Having a shieldmaiden to stand with on the frontline and break through obstacles is preferable.’
-True.
Fernandez, without showing admiration, pointed at the red roses spread like branches across the center of the map.
“As you said, their goal is indiscriminate slaughter and the total collapse of the north. That means other clans won’t willingly join their forces or seek political alliances. They’ve made too many enemies. That’s our opportunity.”
“Unite the scattered minor tribes. Yes, that’s the ideal picture we envisioned. But how? In this winter, those fools are hiding in some mountain crevice, barely surviving. How do we gather them, spread the word, and form an allied force to resist?”
Fernandez shook his head.
“Forgot? We have a goddess. That means we can see the entire north. No one is easier to find than those hiding in the mountains.”
“Time is the issue, Southerner. Suppose we reach out and gather them. Three? Four? Maybe generously from here to here. We could cover this range and recruit up to five. But where do we find the time to gather refugees, select warriors, arm them, and prepare for battle?”
Aeren scanned the map, dotted with yellow forsythias amidst areas blooming with blue flowers. As she said, there was a physical limit to rallying clans on foot. The limit of ‘time.’
As always, time is an incredibly precious strategic resource. The time they take to unite the clans and grow their numbers. Before these swollen clans are fully prepared, they are nothing more than tempting tactical targets.
If a great army led by demons pushes into the refugee zones, mingling civilians and the wounded. If they scatter again. Then there’s no turning back. Would those defeated once again submit to Aeren’s authority?
“So. We must shift our focus.”
Fernandez pointed to the opposite side of the map. Red roses stretched across the north, symbolizing the territories they had burned. Beyond the long frontline to the south lay Hazart Turan, and on the opposite end, the northern wilderness.
Further north of the northern continent lies a land called ‘Jotunheim.’ It means the land of frost giants, though it doesn’t literally mean giants live there.
It’s a region of only cold and death. A place where no life can survive intact, a land of harsh cold and the terror of long nights.
And amidst it, purple flowers bloom.
“What’s there…?”
“Vanahiem. That place holds a gateway to the land where half of the Einherjar sleep. Not the Material World… not the world we stand on, but a world beyond dimensions.”
“…What nonsense are you spouting?”
“Nonsense? Did you think demons were native to this region?”
“…Hmm.”
The gateway to Vanahiem lies within the Ancient Dwarven Dungeon. According to Freya’s information, that’s where it is. To ensure that even if one falls, the other remains intact, the gateways to Freya and Vanahiem were sealed at opposite ends of the north.
In Vanahiem, her Einherjar reside. The warriors of Folkvang. Blades prepared for millennia to face demons lie dormant there. A crucial means to turn the tide of this war.
“Einherjar… fine. Let’s assume the myth is true. After all, the goddess is with us. It’s likely true. Then we can have them crush those demons, right?”
“No, they have forces of equal strength. They haven’t emerged in the north yet, but such forces definitely exist.”
If half of the Einherjar warriors swore allegiance to Freya, the other half obeys Botan. If Valhalla has fallen and the Aesir have begun worshipping Sadarkelisa, then those warriors must be considered minions of demons.
The barrier surrounding the Material World is called ‘Balance.’ It’s a delicate scale; if one side’s weight drops, the other side’s weight increases. If the gate to Vanahiem opens, the gate to Valhalla will surely open as well.
-Even if it doesn’t, they won’t stand idly by.
‘Right. Even if they tear open the gate to Valhalla by force, they’ll gather the forces to confront us.’
-Thus, bringing the Aesir into this world… splendid.
Then the war returns to a stalemate. A stalemate unfavorable to us, stretching across the north. As the purple flowers bloom, the red flowers follow, dyeing the Jotunheim region of the northern continent.
And from there, the red flowers began to descend towards the blue flowers in the south. Buds symbolizing conflict bloomed across the southern region.
“If this continues, won’t we be at a severe disadvantage?”
“Of course. If the forces in Jotunheim are deadlocked and unfavorable battles continue in the south, only ruin will remain at the end of this war of attrition.”
“What’s the point then?”
Aeren frowned and crossed her arms. Fernandez drew his dagger and slashed through the grass and flower buds without hesitation.
“Because encirclement or stalemate isn’t our goal.”
The dagger, cutting straight through the red rose garden, stopped at a certain point. The wooden table screeched as it was roughly scratched.
“If the gate to Valhalla opens and Botan appears, we’ll intercept them.”
“In the heart of enemy territory?”
“Deep strike. The Inquisition Officer’s battles are always like that.”
“Madness. Everyone must be itching to die. Better support the southern front. Your southerners’ strength rivals the demons, so you’ll be needed to hold the line.”
“The frontline can collapse.”
If blood flows there. And if chaos ensues. Fernandez’s specialty isn’t encirclement or stalemate. Conventional hammer and anvil tactics don’t suit his taste.
Only chaos. A more complex and chaotic battlefield. A tangled mess where the frontline is indiscernible. A battlefield where grand strategy becomes meaningless, only chaos reigns.
Not encirclement. Not hammer and anvil. Spears, spears, and more spears. A long frontline, a massive enemy force. Scattered potential allies. Rally them for a decisive battle? Impossible, and there’s no time.
So into chaos. As deep as possible, into an antlion’s pit of chaos!
“They won’t be able to focus on a single frontline. Small-scale skirmishes will erupt endlessly from all sides. The enemy will think the Einherjar of Jotunheim are our only variable. Of course not. That’s just one spear. Never our anvil. We don’t hammer. We just stab, annoy.”
“If we capture Botan… fine, killing a god sounds absurd, but let’s assume it’s possible. Suppose you southerners have the ability. Then you’re just assassins isolated in the heart of enemy territory.”
“Then the blood of gods, demons, and humans will flow.”
The battlefield of Jotunheim where Einherjar slaughter each other. The long southern coastline where humans fight humans. And the deep strike of the Inquisition Officers into enemy territory.
Unlike conventional perspectives, his grand strategy doesn’t mix feints with real moves. It’s a different kind of tactic, where every move is genuine, and every play leads to checkmate on the chessboard.
If Freya’s Einherjar triumph in Jotunheim, the war ends. Even if they only buy time, that’s enough.
With that time, if the southern remnants successfully unite and mount organized resistance to secure victory? The war ends. Even if resistance merely shifts focus, alerts the enemy, and expands damage, that’s fine.
Then, Fernandez and the Inquisition Officers’ deep strike. That ends the war. Fernandez doesn’t make a single move. Every move is a setup for the next, each a fatal blow to the enemy’s throat.
And amidst it, the flow of blood, death, sacrifices. The hill built from the blood, flesh, death, and souls of demons, gods, and humans.
The sealed Sadarkelisa, forced to manifest directly in the chaotic battlefield, cutting away her own power. Her most powerful puppets, the Aesir, crumbling. Her hurried manifestation will occur atop that hill of struggle.
Thus, his grand strategy reaches its conclusion. Countless, fatal checkmates are for that one moment. Fernandez’s move becomes the checkmate that tears out the Great Demon’s throat.
The gate to Valhalla will open. And Valhalla is thick with Sadarkelisa’s influence. This means the gate to her sealed domain lies somewhere within.
Then good. A strategy nearly identical to capturing Mumto becomes possible. To maximize the reduction of her power while sealed and strike directly at her true form.
-Crunch.
Fernandez’s dagger twisted, emitting a noisy friction sound. Aeren was overwhelmed by his fiercely glowing, gloomy blue eyes.
“Just make them bleed more. We’ll be the dagger that severs their roots.”
“Sigh…”
Aeren briefly met Fernandez’s gaze. Sparks seemed to fly between their eyes. After a moment of intense eye contact, Aeren laughed.
“No one lives forever.”
Only glory is eternal. As Aeren said, Fernandez nodded. No one lives forever.
Not even the Great Demon.
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