Chapter 360

359. Operation Name: Wintering

In the port city of Escalaplanche, a small nation within the Eastern Union, a trade ship was anchored 20 nautical miles north of its territorial waters. It was a majestic transport ship in the style of an imperial galley, but instead of the imperial flag of Leviathan, a single crimson flag hung from its mast.

Late at night, the only lights around were the crescent moon in the dark sky and the flickering reflections from two lighthouses near the port. It was a rather lonely and picturesque scene.

At least, that’s what Fernandez thought. The absence of screams made the surroundings even quieter. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the distant port. Even for someone like Diemonica, it was impossible to clearly assess the port’s condition from this distance, but one thing was certain.

A building in the port was on fire.

“Hey, Sernard. Do you even have a conscience?”

“Where did that come from?”

Aeren, who had approached him, chuckled mischievously. When Fernandez turned to look at her, she spoke in her usual husky voice, softly.

“Look at your position. You’re just a pawn leading northern barbarian raiders to pillage your homeland, aren’t you?”

“Already done it before, so it’s not that thrilling.”

“Guess it’s true that those who’ve sold their country once sell it better the next time?”

Though her words were harsh, there was no malice in them. Fernandez smirked and retorted.

“Didn’t you say it yourself last time? The reason civilized people are rude is because they don’t face the risk of death. You seem quite rude yourself right now, don’t you think?”

“Haha, typical of southerners.”

Aeren giggled and stood beside him. Her pale blonde hair swayed like paint in the night breeze. She gazed at the burning port and spoke.

“There’s a legend… or a folktale… something like that among us. It says that if you cross the great ocean to the south, you’ll find warm and fertile lands. Of course, with all the tribes tearing each other apart, we couldn’t do much, but we all wanted to set foot on the southern lands someday.”

“Why a folktale? Surely there have been people who crossed over to the south before?”

“If you send out twenty longships, only five will cross the ocean. And if five ships start sailing back from the south to the north, not a single one will return. Twenty ships can carry about four hundred warriors. Isn’t that an absurd number for a single tribe to handle?”

Fernandez nodded at Aeren’s words. The northern situation was far from ideal for gambling four hundred elite warriors, whose combat abilities were guaranteed, on a venture with uncertain success.

In closed tribal societies, population is a strategic resource. For farming, hunting, fishing, and even inter-tribal warfare. No single tribe could afford to lose four hundred able-bodied adult men to battle.

But not anymore. Just as Erik had unified the north and begun the southern conquest in the past, Aeren was now the ruler of the entire north.

“Well, it’s not bad for us. We can bring back supplies to survive the winter. And they’re giving us this sturdy ship too.”

“Once the first raid is over, when do you think the next deployment will be?”

“At least three months. It’ll take ten to twenty days to wreak havoc in the south, and even with full-speed sailing, we’ll need time to regroup once we return to the north.”

“Winter will come.”

“We’ll be back before the year changes.”

Fernandez shrugged. He already knew this operation couldn’t last long. Until winter. That was enough.

The autumn harvest raids would undoubtedly inflict terrible damage on the small kingdoms. The entire economic foundation near the ports would be shattered, and farmlands would collapse. How many would die from hunger and cold?

Fernandez’s mind was already coldly calculating. The Eastern Union consisted of four major powers, fifteen small kingdoms, and even more smaller principalities.

Principalities, closer to city-states, often lacked or had very limited food production capabilities. For a city to be recognized as an independent state, it typically needed to be a trade hub rather than agricultural land.

With all eastern trade routes frozen and nearby farmlands burned during the harvest season, these small principalities and kingdoms wouldn’t stand a chance.

Fernandez smiled bitterly as he watched the burning port. At least half. Half of the Eastern Union would disappear from the map. He couldn’t even begin to guess how many would die in the process, but one thing was certain—

‘Only the innocent will bleed.’

In times of chaos, those who survive are usually the wealthy, the powerful, or the guilty. The scripture’s verses are fundamentally wrong. Most trials only save the guilty.

‘This is why.’

Fernandez stopped looking at the sea and turned around. He shuffled toward the cabin. What difference was there between him and Erik?

When the dark Erik invaded the south in his previous life, half of the Eastern Kingdom disappeared from the map. This is no different from that day. No matter the purpose, the result will be the same.

He felt like a finely crafted cogwheel moving on its own, binding him. Perhaps there was such a thing as fate in this world.

When Erik died, he reenacted the southern invasion.

When Karadskar was killed, his father ascended as the Great Kagan and began the northern campaign.

When the 100-year war ended 50 years early, the emperor became corrupt, and the empire suffered the same level of damage as in the previous life.

When he, Fernandez, moved to save the world, Daryan, who had remained unmoved by any means in the previous life, suddenly betrayed and ran to destroy the world.

When he tried to prevent the corruption of the Phaeirn Royal Family, Phaeirn found a completely different way to encourage corruption.

‘But.’

As he opened the cabin door, Fernandez stopped his thoughts. The rusty hinges creaked noisily as they were pushed open by the sea breeze. Inside the dark cabin, his eyes glowed a cold blue.

‘That much is not allowed.’

Even if all fate flows as predetermined. No matter how, even if the celestial gods themselves exert their power to twist its direction, the fate of the First Realm cannot be stopped.

Absolutely. That much is not allowed. Absolutely. No matter what it takes, absolutely.

This world will not fall. He could almost hear an old voice in his ears. A joke that Faijashi often made.

[If a grand magician says something is possible, it is definitely possible. But—]

“But if that magician says something is impossible, they are most likely wrong.”

It was a maxim taught to those learning magic for the first time. Magic is the study of manifesting concepts into reality, so one should not set limits on their thoughts.

And at this moment, nothing comforted him more than that sentence he had learned in his youth. Fernandez let out a deep sigh and stretched out in the dark cabin.

* * *

The first report was of indiscriminate port raids by unidentified pirates. Two ports had been completely burned, and the pirates had scattered toward nearby granaries.

“Granaries…?”

“Yes, my lord. Granaries.”

“Pirates targeting granaries?”

It was clearly bizarre. What kind of pirates would target freshly harvested wheat? The ports were surely filled with gold and treasures…





After capturing the port, they immediately scattered and left in search of food.

The second report that followed was that all the villages along the coastline were suffering from simultaneous plundering. Farms, trade routes, and small settlements—no one was spared.

“What are the soldiers even doing? How can bandits still be running rampant in this country?”

“Well… it seems that as soon as our forces arrive, the bandits withdraw a day later.”

It was impossible unless our military intelligence had been completely compromised. No matter how much loot remained, these unidentified bandits fled just before our troops arrived.

Like a swarm of locusts, all the farmland near the North Sea coast was collapsing. The Duke of the Principality of Luminon clutched his head in despair. With winter approaching, they were crumbling under untimely raids.

Just a short while ago, he had been ambitiously planning to secure a position amidst the tension between Dane and Phaeirn. The war between the two powers was an opportunity to swallow up the surrounding small kingdoms. But now, he had to prepare for winter while suspecting internal spies colluding with the bandits.

“Request reinforcements. Hurry…!”

“Where… where should we send the messengers?”

“Anywhere!! Anyone! Phaeirn, Dane, Baras, Mardun! Send envoys everywhere, and if we can’t get troops, at least secure relief supplies! At any cost!”

The Duke shouted angrily. The chamberlain bowed deeply and retreated, and soon several riders scattered from his castle in different directions.

A few days later, a messenger rushed into the Duke’s audience hall. It was an envoy from Mardun. Expecting a response to his earlier request for aid, the Duke was stunned by the unexpected news.

“Your Grace, our country is currently under attack by unknown bandits. Following the ancient traditions of the east, if Your Grace could lend your elite troops, our king would be deeply grateful…”

As the envoy spoke, the Duke burst into laughter like a madman. He stared blankly at the envoy and said,

“We’ve been caught in a game we never meant to play…!”

* * *

-Bang!

“Fernandez!!”

The door to the cabin swung open violently as Abel stormed in. She stomped over and glared at him fiercely. He had been found out. Fernandez turned around with a bitter smile.

“Freya. After retreating the 3rd unit to District 4-B, take a break.”

“The goddess is going to die…”

Freya, who had been meditating in front of the map, finally slumped and muttered. She wriggled like a worm and began crawling toward the sofa by the table.

As Fernandez turned back, Abel, filled with rage, quickly approached and shouted,

“What on earth are you doing? Weren’t you supposed to help Dane and attack Phaeirn?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“What kind of…! How does plundering this land indiscriminately help anyone? How many will die? How many will starve?”

Abel trembled with betrayal as she shouted. Even if this was inevitable, facing her anger made his chest ache. Fernandez sat at the table and poured a cup of warm tea.

“Care for a cup?”

“Answer me first!”

“And if I don’t?”

“…What?”

“If we don’t plunder, what changes? Help Dane? Dane’s main force has already crossed Phaeirn’s border, and Phaeirn’s troops are scattered across Dane’s ports and coastline. If we want to strike from behind, we need to reach them first.”

What is the most crucial factor in war? Fernandez could assert it without hesitation: distance. The distance a spear can reach. The distance a cavalry charge can cover. The distance an arrow can effectively strike. Or—

The distance an army must march. The distance needed to catch up to an advancing force. And in terms of units, distance equates to time. With Phaeirn having taken the initiative, Fernandez, who had to sail from the Empire’s northern port to the eastern edge, lacked that distance.

All he could see chasing behind was ruins. But at least, Fernandez had the ability to grasp the situation from his seat and the skill to precisely coordinate scattered forces.

With Freya and Piel, Fernandez’s battlefield vision surpassed that of a mere field commander.

“If we try to protect Dane, by the time our main force reaches Dane’s outskirts, Altberth will already have fallen. If we attack Phaeirn, by the time our main force steps on Phaeirn’s border, the Knights of the Round Table will have already occupied all of Phaeirn.”

“Even so, isn’t this plundering pointless? It means both kingdoms will have already fallen and collapsed!”

“This war won’t end with the fall of two kingdoms. Phaeirn and Dane. Both kings are moving with the assumption that their kingdoms will fall.”

“…What?”

Phaeirn’s King, Zigismund, abandoned his homeland to attack Dane. His plan was to capture Altberth and, with the surrounding small kingdoms, strike Dane’s isolated main force.

Dane’s King, Vicente, left minimal defensive forces and embarked on an expedition. He too hoped the war would end before winter and planned to reorganize the borders by mobilizing the surrounding small kingdoms after Phaeirn’s complete surrender.

Whatever their intentions, their attacks were already aimed at each other’s hearts. The fall of the two kingdoms was an irreversible river crossed from Phaeirn’s first move.

Then, the best Fernandez could do, having started a step late, was to block the next moves of both kings. Namely, to prevent the intervention of the small kingdoms and the reorganization of the eastern alliance.

“Until our intervention, the secular monarchs were toeing the line. Dane or Phaeirn. What profit could they gain from this war where one of the two kingdoms must fall? But not anymore. Our plundering has left only one goal in the monarchs’ minds.”

Surviving the winter.

“Now, the secular monarchs have lost the ability to sustain the war for at least three months.”

“Then isn’t this a disaster?! If Dane falls, and Phaeirn falls too. If the small kingdoms starve and the people die of hunger… The eastern alliance is finished. With hellish magic spreading and demon followers lurking, if the state collapses, there’s no turning back!”

“The collapse of Phaeirn and Dane, the small kingdoms stepping into the fray—wasn’t that Zigismund’s plan?”

“…So?”

“Then what should the next move be?”

Fernandez stared at the bewildered Abel and continued.

“The Empire’s granaries can supply enough food for the entire Empire and still have surplus for foreign trade.”

“What…?”

The Empire’s strength doesn’t lie in short-term battles. The Empire’s true strength lies in its near-perfect supply network and endless capital.

Typically, scorched-earth tactics are among the worst strategies, completely destroying a nation’s foundation. Yet, Bülrang took less than half a year to reestablish a minimal administrative network after thorough scorched-earth tactics.

The Elector’s territory was as vast as a decent-sized kingdom. Even after such a domain was reduced to ruins, Bülrang is now being rebuilt.

That is the Empire’s power. The power to build a final line of defense even at the brink of doom. A massive population, the productivity to feed them all, and a near-perfect administrative network.

“Abel, fewer will starve than you think. Even fewer will die of hunger. Half as much as I believe in you.”

Fernandez looked at her teasingly.

“If even that’s too much, half of that half. Would you believe me just that much?”

Abel’s face turned bright red.

“Ugh!!”

Freya, watching the scene, gagged on the sofa. Fernandez silently walked over and smacked the back of her head.