“This can’t be happening. This—this—why? Why!”
King Andrea II of Benito let out a wailing scream, one that seemed to echo his despair.
Although they had suffered a devastating defeat that left the nation wobbling on its knees, they managed to regain their balance. They even recovered enough to reclaim some ability to strike back at the Empire. They overcame a desperate situation, and things were getting to a point where they could actually help Dedolant. They might even have been able to throw yet another wrench into the Empire’s plans as they were about to declare victory.
Andrea had sworn, with every fiber of his being, not to let this golden opportunity slip through their grasp again. But now… this. Why the bad luck right now?
The soldiers supposed to fight on the front lines were doubling over, unable to even hold their own bodies upright. They were vomiting, defecating, unable to keep food down, and lying around like corpses. Every day was the same grim routine.
‘Winter isn’t even over yet… what is this?! What the hell is going on?!’
The Benito side took note that this winter in the south seemed to be ending much earlier than expected. With the warmer weather came an untimely disease that spread like wildfire.
Not only that, but Benito’s scattered regions had been under attack, forcing too many people into overcrowded fortresses. Soldiers, refugees, cattle, horses—you name it—all crowded together into these castles. The resulting garbage and filth reached overwhelming levels.
This was a huge misfortune for Benito. It felt as though God himself was angry. The people of Benito began whispering that this was punishment for attacking the Holy Kingdom. Some even loudly proclaimed that they needed to repent and apologize to lift this curse.
But was it truly God’s wrath? That was anyone’s guess. Perhaps it was someone else’s overwhelming stroke of good fortune turning into bad luck for them.
—
“Send word to the Ghost Legion to enter Dedolant’s left flank as planned. We’ll try to suggest reinforcements are stronger than they actually are.”
“Of course, Chief of Staff.”
Who would have imagined things spiraling into such chaos? Though Benito had been stripped of their claws, they were still a wild beast. It was expected that attacking them would come with heavy casualties. Even the General Staff had predicted that the southern front could be just as fierce as Dedolant’s battlefields. However, the moment the princess arrived from the south, disaster struck. A sudden outbreak of disease in Benito was crippling soldiers and commanders alike, including some of the informants embedded deep inside their ranks.
“Currently, with the help of the newly conscripted reserves and the 4th Legion, we’re in a position to potentially even threaten Benito’s capital.”
“Is the situation really that severe?”
Indeed. How bad was it? The Commander of the 4th Legion, who had been monitoring Benito’s situation, explained that even if they were at their strongest, only about 60% of their forces would even have the strength to lift their weapons. And due to the overcrowding of their fortresses, this problem would only worsen.
The sheer numbers alone made it comparable to the last devastating defeat they suffered against the Empire. It was beyond description—utterly devastating.
“But we must also consider the risk of the disease spreading to our troops. If it reaches the Imperial Army, a large portion of us could be infected.”
“Every precaution is being taken. While we can’t completely stop it, we’re focusing on quarantine and sanitation and ensuring clean water is supplied.”
If they could attack the capital of Benito and seize it, the entire problem would be solved. The kingdom, already on the brink, would likely collapse completely with just that news. Whether or not the king flees is irrelevant—they just need to sway the nobles. The Benito nobles, unlike the fervent Dedolantese ones, seem much more pragmatic in this regard.
“Let’s prepare for an attack on the capital, Commander.”
“Yes, understood.”
“And announce loudly that this is their last chance. Tell them this is the only moment where they won’t be boarding a fast train to hell with Dedolant. All soldiers, commanders, and nobles who surrender—we’ll accept them all. Let them knock on our door immediately!”
While it would be ideal to clean up Benito neatly, the risks are simply too high. Shifting the blame to a single king might work better in the long run. After all, the Benito nobles are far more opportunistic compared to Dedolant’s fanatical ones.
“What do you plan to do with those who surrender?”
“Honestly, I can’t say exactly how many of those nobles will be cooperative, but once we gather enough, I aim to let them fight their former kingdom—Benito.”
“Is that even possible?”
“It’s feasible as long as we trust them just enough to manipulate them but not enough to rely on them entirely. They know their position, so I’m sure they’ll fight fiercely. Most likely—”
With that, I glanced down at the Benito map beside me and picked up a pen, drawing a line right across the map, neatly splitting the southern and northern halves of Benito.
“Let’s aim to control half of Benito, at least by the capital’s border.”
From my previous life’s experience, this is a common strategy. Separating the collaborators from the resisters and setting them against each other. Here, though, there’s no ideology to exploit, nor are there religious divides to lean on. Therefore, something else must be used to achieve the desired effect.
“Commander of the 4th Legion, could you find someone knowledgeable about Benito’s history?”
“Um… if I question some prisoners or search the occupied territories, I might find someone, but why do you ask?”
“Because everyone loves a good story. Royal lineage shifts, side branches taking over thrones, then switching back—a bit of chaos never hurt anyone, right?”
“While there’s no overarching ideology, the belief in the monarchy here remains solid. The nobles who surrendered must be harboring fears about their uncertain future. To secure their loyalty fully, we need to offer them some kind of legitimacy.”
Yes, something every noble would leap at: loyalty. That’s the golden ticket.
“Are you suggesting you want to crown a new king?”
“If it’s possible.”
“Hmm. During my time on the southern border, I learned that the grandfather of Andrea II, the current king of Benito, wasn’t actually the legitimate heir.”
“Is that so? Do you have more details?”
“I apologize, Chief of Staff, but my knowledge only goes so far. Let me find someone who knows more about Benito’s royal lineage from the occupied territories or among the prisoners.”
If this raises even minor doubts about Andrea II’s legitimacy, even something forced, it could work. After all, in this world, the winner defines the truth.
“…Hmm. Kael, do you think I made a mistake coming here?”
After finishing negotiations with the 4th Legion Commander, the princess approached me, seemingly a bit disappointed. She had come to contribute to the war effort, only to find herself caught up in a completely different situation.
“Who could have predicted this disease? We were arguing back in the palace like fools.”
“But maybe the princess’s arrival here helped turn things in our favor.”
“Really, why is this my doing?”
“Perhaps God was so moved by the princess’s loyalty to the Empire that He decided to unleash His wrath on Benito.”
I blurted that out to cheer her up, and to my surprise, it worked—she started chuckling.
“True. At least now I know how much Kael cares.”
“Excuse me, but my comments were purely official—”
“Do I really have to fight on the front lines?”
“Absolutely not! What kind of nonsense is that?!”
—
Dedolant retreated in defeat, and Benito crumbled under a plague. All that remained was Artria. And naturally, the Empire wasn’t about to sit idly by.
[Order the 1st Mobile Corps, including the reorganized northern army, to return to main base.]
[Enhance their mobility and move towards the Northern Front to cooperate with the Nobogorod forces.]
[Foreign Affairs Department has finalized negotiations with Nobogorod. With additional reinforcements sent, a large-scale offensive will begin in the northern region.]
While attacking Dedolant, Artria remained relatively calm. However, during this time, the demon soldiers of Nobogorod rested and replenished their forces before their next campaign.
Now, with newly dispatched reinforcements, including both cavalry and naval forces, Nobogorod prepared a full-scale assault. Artria, upon hearing this news, urgently requested aid from Dedolant.
“You wiped out all your troops and resources! We’ve already borne so much damage covering the northern front for you! And now you won’t even lift a finger to help!?”
“Why the hell did we side with Dedolant again? We thought we’d gain something, not lose everything! Are you seriously calling us brothers when all you do is take and never give!?”
Though Artria expressed this unprecedented rage, their cries rang hollow. After all, the very nobles complaining had already accepted Dedolant’s dominance in the past. Pretending to resist now was simply laughable.
Dedolant was well aware that the people of Artria could never bow to Nobogorod. Their pride, hatred, or some other reason would always compel them to fight. Even with Dedolant forcing their hand, Artria had no real options.
So, what about the Empire, could they help? Artria’s nobles weren’t ignorant of this option. Yet the Empire showed lukewarm interest in them, lumping them in with Dedolant as one and the same.
“…So, what about this…”
Amidst the chaos, the Artrian nobles secretly discussed an option.
“What if we surrendered a portion of our territories directly to the Empire instead?”
“If we mimic what Nobogorod is doing, the Empire might extend minimal mercy to us—as opposed to Dedolant.”
This plan seemed feasible, with a decent chance of success. Unfortunately for them, Dedolant spies lurked among the discussions, ready to thwart any attempt at betrayal.
