The road leading to the capital of Dedolant was littered with countless barriers.
The resistance ensuring no one could touch those barriers was equally fierce.
Dedolant’s Commanders were busy encouraging our troops and maintaining morale.
Meanwhile, a pesky group of soldiers had infiltrated and hidden themselves, gritting their teeth as they tried to cut off our rear supply lines.
For a while, their tactics actually worked. The Empire’s supply lines were disrupted for about a month.
Even conscripts, thanks to the presence of Dedolant’s Commanders, fought fiercely at defensive positions and castles, making the bl**d of both sides flow freely.
Every time enemy bl**d spilled, ours followed suit—not by the drop but by the bucket.
But nothing lasts forever. What must fall, will fall, and what must break, will surely break.
Supply issues? Fixed exactly as I had suggested: by concentrating all the mages into specialized units. Those infiltrators likely went to their graves without figuring out why they were caught.
With the rear annoyances gone, the supplies flowed like honey from a broken jar—plentiful and endless. The longer this went on, the more ruthless the Empire’s assaults became.
Even with their Commanders trying their best, Dedolant’s forces were ultimately overwhelmed.
[Ah! I’m Schnaud, originally from the Schlzi’ien region of our kingdom! The Empire treats us prisoners decently, so I’ve been faring pretty well! Forget what the Commanders say—there’s no genocide or starvation here! And get this—this food tastes better than when I served in the Dedolant army. Can you believe that?!]
On some days, we’d bring prisoners who had already surrendered to inform Dedolant’s troops about the situation.
[To Dedolant. Half of Benito has abandoned the front line. It’s now down to half its former strength, and the remaining half will soon fall to the Empire. So tell me, are your so-called “glories” really so secure? Isn’t it better to hold onto life rather than cling to empty words? Think of your parents, your wives, your children. The Empire does not harm those who surrender.]
At other times, we used current news to formally encourage surrender under the Empire’s name.
[What’s happening in Dugalé? An unprecedented famine is sweeping the land. Every crop is being plundered, and every able-bodied worker is drafted, making this situation inevitable. As for Artria—it’s a so-called brother kingdom in name only, practically a vassal state now. Is this really the “superiority of the Deo people” that Dedolant so proudly boasts about?]
When we occasionally provoked with sharp words, Dedolant’s high-ups understandably flipped their gaskets.
The back lines were barely maintaining stability, but the front lines, where they had to directly endure these broadcasts, were falling apart.
While skilled soldiers were reassigned to attack the rear or prepare counteroffensives, the garrisons now comprised mostly conscripts brainwashed by the Commanders into believing that stepping outside meant d*ath, and surrender equaled guaranteed execution by the Empire.
With the Empire dangling these messages day and night, the effectiveness of this propaganda started crumbling bit by bit.
“Food is running out. What should we do now?”
As the Empire tightened its noose, one fortress after another began suffering from diminishing supplies. Even the Empire had to pause its advance for nearly two months due to a temporary supply hiccup.
And yet, while we had this luxury, how could Dedolant possibly hold out, daily draining their strength through constant city defenses?
“Hungry… So hungry….”
“d*mn it! Are you kidding me? Half a potato? You want us to survive an entire day on this?”
“If you’re gonna drag us this far, at least give us proper meals, right?!”
Now, fighting wasn’t even on the table—they barely had the strength to lift their weapons.
As hunger gnawed deeper, command structures faltered, and propaganda grew less convincing.
“…What is this?”
Aware of Dedolant’s plight, the Chief of Staff of the Empire decided to twist the kn*fe a little. In safe striking range, the entire attacking force of the Imperial Army was served meat.
Though liquor wasn’t permitted on the battlefield, the smell of roasting meat alone was enough. The aroma wafted into the fortresses, causing Dedolant’s morale to plummet.
Surely, this war was supposed to be about the glory of the Deo people, wasn’t it? If we held out, they’d recognize us eventually, right?
We left our homes trusting those esteemed leaders, only to find ourselves here crying over half a potato while they throw feasts on the other side.
In every single respect, we were worse off than them.
Does it even make sense they would deceive and harm us?
Maybe surrendering to the Empire is the better option. The “Deo glory” isn’t looking so glorious anymore, is it?
“You bastards! Get your heads out of the clouds and man the defenses properly!”
“The Empire is scraping their last ounce of strength! They’re failing at defense, so they’ve resorted to this grotesque tactic to weaken our spirits and take our fortresses!”
“The Empire sc*m are evil incarnate! They’ll k*ll all of us and go after your wives and daughters! We cannot falter! For the glory of the Deo people!”
The seasoned soldiers, Commanders, and officers embedded among the conscripts were shouting as loudly as they could.
Some even resorted to violence to enforce discipline, leading to mutinies at several defense points where the conscripts snapped and overthrew their superiors.
“For your Deo glory? I’m starving now, you know that?!”
“If I d*e, who’s gonna protect my wife and only daughter? If I’ve gotta d*e, it’s you bastards who should go first!”
“Surrendering to the Empire might get us killed, but staying here means certain d*ath! So I say, let’s just k*ll you guys and try surrendering!”
Thus, the last remaining fortresses gradually fell into the Empire’s hands.
When Dedolant learned this, they panicked and intensified their hold over the remaining troops, warning that surrender would mean execution for their entire families.
And that they’d end up dangling corpses long before the Empire could “rescue” them.
“The Empire’s loudspeakers are the problem. We’ve got to counter them! Prepare!”
Dedolant’s command decided to use loudspeakers of their own to fight back, emphasizing how vile the Empire was and how they sought to control the entire continent.
Their speeches attacked the Empire for not living up to its name, questioning whether their actions were befitting the “Empire.”
Though Dedolant’s arguments seemed somewhat flawed, these were all the internal cards they had left to play.
[The Emperor of the Empire is a truly despicable person. He refuses to give us mere western lands even after seizing such vast territories. Is this truly the conduct we should expect from those who call themselves an Empire?!]
The response from the Imperial Army to this was unanimous: “What the hell are these guys talking about?”
If anything, this whole mess started because of Dedolant’s initial aggression. The Empire was just dragged into the conflict when Dedolant swallowed Artria, occupied Dugalé, and allied with Benito to pressure the Empire.
Any normal kingdom—not just an empire—would’ve felt a hint of unease with such aggressive behavior.
Despite that, the Empire warned them before initiating the war. So why all the sudden accusations?
“…It looks like our Dedolant friends still have some fight left in them.”
Kael was unamused by this insult against the Emperor—and thus himself and his family.
This crossed a line somewhere, and a snap decision was made: sever ties completely.
“Officer.”
“Yes, Chief of Staff.”
“The herring I brought from Benito—how much of it is left?”
“Most of it, Sir. Some was used to torment Dedolant’s army via concentrated units, but a good amount remains.”
“Perfect. Let’s salt it all, pack it in barrels, and seal it properly.”
Since you guys decided to poop in your own mouths, we’ll gift you our explosive stink bomb in return.
Without hesitation, Kael decided on a brutal biochemical attack.
Later, when the Empire moves in, the enemy can clean it up if they wish to survive.
When has any attacker ever cared about the comfort of the defenders afterward, anyway?
*
A few days later, the Imperial Army, moving past surrendered points toward the next defense position, loaded something unfamiliar into their catapults.
“…I’m about to throw up.”
“That’s why I told you to cover your nose and mouth.”
“I did, but it didn’t help, so I took it off.”
“Same here. Honestly, my sense of smell seems to have gone numb, so it’s kind of bearable now.”
What in the name of all things sacred has our tactical genius cooked up this time?
Grimacing through the overwhelming stench, the Imperial engineers loaded Kael’s special gift into their siege weapons and launched it toward Dedolant’s forces.
“I’m concerned.”
“About what?”
“Aren’t we going to get divine retribution for using such an evil weapon? The Chief of Staff must really hate Dedolant.”
“Are you serious? A more humane weapon than this? I think the Chief of Staff is showing mercy.”
Not long after, when Dedolant received Kael’s signature creation via catapult, they were utterly horrified.
Firstly, the smell was apocalyptic, the stuff of nightmares.
Secondly, here they were, starving to d*ath, while the enemy was throwing food at them.
And thirdly, they saw some of their own men breaking down in tears, scavenging the foul-smelling provisions.
At this point, no amount of brainwashing or Deo pride could hide the cold, hard reality they faced.
Behind them, their superiors screamed for more fighting, threatening d*ath upon surrender.
In front of them, the Empire beckoned with promises of life and safety in exchange for giving up.
“…We’ve done enough.”
The high command’s fanaticism hadn’t wavered, though they were safely removed from the battlefield.
For those on the front lines, however, the reality of war was too vivid to ignore. The hunger, the propaganda, the bloodshed—none of it mattered anymore.
If they could just fill their starving bellies, whether under Dedolant’s banner or the Empire’s, didn’t seem to matter a bit.
