King Benito’s so-called elite force of fifty thousand (though, let’s be honest, it was more self-proclamation than fact) had been utterly annihilated.
Not entirely wiped out, though. Unfortunately, even our 6th Legion wasn’t left unscathed, so there’s that.
We would’ve loved to chase after the remnants, but both our legionnaires and the 13th Legion’s cavalry were already exhausted. And who knows? If we’d pushed further, we might’ve been caught off guard and ended up with a sour finish. So, we decided to call it a day right there.
Of course, a great victory is still a great victory. Over twenty thousand enemy deaths alone, with a similar number captured. Honestly, where did all those soldiers go? Only a fraction—less than ten thousand—managed to limp back to Benito safely.
King Benito is probably spitting bl**d and cursing Lunen at this very moment, blaming everyone but himself. Yet, ironically, the one truly to blame for all this was none other than His Majesty himself.
That’s why leadership is key. Just look at us in the Empire! Right? We’re not just any old empire; our Emperor truly commands respect—supporting from afar while still understanding and respecting the frontlines.
And when you have such a leader, how could you not build an unstoppable army?
“Indeed, the environment plays a massive role too.”
The Empire shares borders in all directions—north, south, east, and west. Whether we like it or not, we’re bound to become experts in war. The legions are proof of that. In this battle, our overwhelming superiority in combat skill was the deciding factor. If we hadn’t had that edge, we would’ve crumbled long before, even with our backs against the wall.
—Wait, no, if it had come to that, we wouldn’t have considered a last stand in the first place.
“But what a great victory, a great victory! Who would’ve thought their journey home would turn into a trip to the afterlife!”
“Hahahaha! d*ath must be having an incredibly busy day, handling so many souls!”
Thanks to this, the mood among the command staff of the 6th Legion was practically explosive. Everyone seemed ready to shout, “Let’s keep going and wipe out Benito next!”
It wasn’t just here, either. Even from far away, cheers could be heard from the soldiers. Despite the losses, joy far outweighed sorrow. These men were about to become legendary heroes, celebrated forever for this tremendous victory.
“Hmm…”
Right at this moment, I realized it was time for me to step into my role as a “proper gentleman.”
“Congratulations on the great victory, Commander, and esteemed officers.”
“Ah! Prince Kael! Enough with the modesty! This entire brilliant victory was masterminded by none other than Prince Kael!”
“Commander speaks the truth! If Prince Kael weren’t here, we’d be the worst villains for stealing his glory!”
“Haha, still, those who fight on the frontlines deserve the most credit.”
“Prince Kael has been with us on the frontlines! That settles it!”
At one officer’s comment, others chimed in with loud approval, pounding the table. Watching them, I couldn’t help but laugh—they were acting like teenage boys!
“It’s truly a relief to hear you say that. Regardless, our work isn’t done yet. What I’m about to say might dampen the mood a little, but are you all okay with that?”
As soon as I spoke, the smiles vanished from the commanders’ faces. In the blink of an eye, they returned to their serious, professional attitudes, focusing their attention on me. They really were the backbone of the Imperial Legions—so rigorous, it was almost frightening.
“Prince Kael, we are ready to listen.”
“Thank you, Commander. Then, I believe we should start preparing for our retreat.”
“Retreat?”
“We’ve gone as far as we need to. A full assault on Benito won’t be possible.”
The expressions around the table darkened. Even though they were trying to keep calm, their confusion was evident. They understood—it was like we’d already cut off Benito’s arms and legs, and now all we had to do was take the head. Yet here I was, suggesting we leave the head intact and retreat.
But after a moment, they took stock of their current situation and began murmuring quietly.
“Even though we’ve won a brilliant victory, our legion has suffered considerable losses.”
“From Benito’s initial attack to their last stand, they put up quite the fight, even though they were supposedly trained.”
“Our left flank suffered greatly. Over four thousand casualties.”
Considering the twenty thousand casualties from Benito, around eight thousand of their forces were effectively neutralized. Immediate combat capability might still exist, but our ability to wage war has been significantly reduced. We also have to account for the losses of the 13th Legion’s cavalry.
“Above all, if we wanted to directly attack Benito, we’d need siege weapons, which we unfortunately didn’t prepare. Even if we tried to procure and build them locally, it would take too much time.”
“The 13th Legion faces the same problem.”
“Eventually, we’d need reinforcements from the 4th and 15th Legions. But even then, securing wood in this area isn’t easy…”
Field battles and siege warfare are completely different beasts.
The attacker has so much more to prepare and manage. It’s a lot of work!
“Even if we captured Benito, it would create complications.”
“Prince Kael, Benito declared war on us. If we cut off all their limbs but leave their king standing, that’d be a problem, wouldn’t it?”
I admit that’s true. Benito didn’t offer a surrender like the Eastern region did. If the Empire just withdrew its forces now, they’d likely shout, “We won!” And then they’d claim the loss of fifty thousand troops was a valiant effort, maybe even spin the narrative that they only retreated because the Empire also suffered great losses. Spoiler: that’s exactly what they’d do.
“This matter will be reevaluated and communicated to us by the Imperial High Command later.”
“…That makes sense.”
“Exactly. Regardless, the fact remains: we achieved a great victory, and at a great cost. It’s time for us to step back.”
Our original target wasn’t Benito the kingdom—it was Benito’s main forces. We accomplished our goal, so there’s no problem in retreating. On the contrary, stubbornly overextending ourselves could ruin the mood.
Leaders must know when to advance and when to retreat. This is an essential lesson.
“And who knows? Something might happen where we want to push forward but can’t.”
This last comment was just to keep the commanders’ spirits up. Certainly, it held no other meaning whatsoever.
—
Exactly three days later.
“Prince Kael.”
“It’s not me.”
“…Could you really be, you know, a prophet?”
“Absolutely not!”
I had to hear those words from the legion commander and officers multiple times.
—
<Dedolant Enters the Benito Kingdom>
—
The gates opened, and soon a group of knights rode in.
Behind them followed an imposing army, flags held high.
“Wooouuaaaaahhhh!!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, clapping thunderously. But wait, something seems off. This is the Western kingdom of Artria, but the flag that entered isn’t Artria’s. The black eagle crest belongs to only one royal family: Dedolant.
The two kingdoms share some close ties and common roots. However, they’re still separate nations. Armies don’t just cross borders freely. And yet, the people of Artria welcomed this Dedolant force with open arms.
A stranger might find this scene unsettling.
“O People of the Kingdom of Artria!”
Soon, a man stepped onto a podium and addressed the crowd in a booming voice, amplified by magic.
“This day is made possible by the greatness of the Artria royal family! And simultaneously, because Artria and Dedolant are brother nations, and Dedolant and Artria are one!”
Implicitly, this was a pressure tactic against the now-ruined Artrian royalty. If they played along nicely, they’d retain whatever semblance of authority and prestige they had left. But any resistance would be met with a stern elder scolding a stubborn child.
As expected, the Artrian royal family, having lost its king and even its heir (with no backup in line), submitted.
It made perfect sense. Their dynasty crumbled, leaving only distant relatives to bring in. Dedolant didn’t miss their chance, especially since the current Dedolant royal family is a distant cousin of the Artrian line.
“First, let us honor the late and great King of Artria and his compassionate Prince!”
Prince Georg Systania of Dedolant, simultaneously the de facto ruler of Dedolant, solemnly crossed himself.
“Unfortunately, these great men are no longer with us—a tragic loss. However, the glory of Artria must continue! Your lives must go on, for the Deo people are a mighty race that advances through any hardship!”
Roars of approval echoed from the crowd—some genuine citizens, others planted supporters.
“I, Georg, have sworn before God for the endless glory of the Deo people! I vow not to falter until my mission is complete! I will fight solely for the prosperity of the Deo people! And you, too, are part of the great Deo race. Thus, I shall fight for you!”
If someone unaccomplished made such a speech, they’d be laughed at. But Prince Georg proved himself. He repaid the disgrace dealt by Dugal, crushed the dissenting factions at home, and struck Dugal a devastating blow, seizing all their Western territories.
In Artria, Dugal was hated anyway for being too arrogant. And for the less fertile lands of Artria, resource-rich Dugal was an unavoidable rival. So, it’s no surprise that Georg’s defeat of Dugal made him incredibly popular here.
“Think of the possibilities if the great nations of Artria and Dedolant unite! For the Deo people, by the Deo people. We shall surely create the most prosperous and glorious nation the Deo ever saw!”
This fiery speech was met with fervent applause from the citizens. Not long after, Dedolant officially absorbed Artria into its fold.
All this happened while the Empire and Benito clashed in the South.
“Your Highness, what’s next?”
“We must head to Benito.”
Georg rubbed his temples, clearly overwhelmed. Originally, he planned to finish off Dugal and wrap up the situation in Ross Tannika. But with these developments, he couldn’t afford to leave Benito untouched.
“We might overstimulate the Empire.”
“We’ll have to avoid that—for now.”
After a moment of thought, Georg decided on the next move. He would send a delegation to the Empire, led by one of his half-brothers, a legitimate prince of Dedolant, carrying a personal letter from the king of Dedolant.
“To His Majesty the Great Emperor,” went the letter, so humble and deferential that it bordered on embarrassing for anyone reading it.
