1

Alright! Alright! Good, stop it!

Khan-khan—some distant hammering echoes through the air.

Several days had passed since the recapture of Crossl. Now, the base was being repaired at a frantic pace.

I did my best to keep the damage to the base to a minimum during the fighting—still, the magic and cannons went off like mad. The shockwave from Abnomüle’s explosion, plus buildings collapsing from the sheer force of the falls, left the ground pocked with holes.

Right now, the soldiers who can still move are all out fixing things.

Thanks to round-the-clock work, the holes in the road are all filled in, rubble pushed to the sides, and it’s back to a state where carts and magic wagons can roll through without trouble—still, rebuilding the collapsed buildings’ll take ages, no doubt.

But the completion date’s still up in the air—still, thanks to Abnomüle, repairs are going a lot faster than before, the soldiers clearing the rubble were saying.

“Gonna be swamped with fixing the base for a while, huh.”

“Yeah. And we’ve got surveying the surrounding villages, too, right?”

Ange answers, looking up at the Abnomüle clearing debris beside us.

“Yeah. That thing’s been spreading out pretty far, seems like. A good number of villages got wrecked and looted. The princess was scratching her head over it—might not be enough supplies to go around.”

“She’s sent in more requests to the capital, hasn’t she?”

“But they don’t have infinite resources, either. Money’s limited. Even just waging war costs a fortune—spending more on repairs? Might bankrupt the treasury.”

If it were us taking territory, maybe we could cover the costs with income from the land we seize—but this is a reclaiming war. Nothing left to take. Everything we’ve gotten back’s already falling apart. Just pouring gold into a bottomless pit.

“Huh. Yeah, actually, the support maids got a request to cut down on ingredient use for cooking. We’re cutting waste wherever we can, but… honestly, it’s a real squeeze.”

“Gotta remember, we’re cooking for the battlefield, not a feast.”

The meals the support maids make need to fill a soldier’s belly even when rations are thin. So they cook with no waste—every scrap used to stretch the meager supply.

So asking them to cut back on waste? Well, that’s just asking the impossible.

“Well, if push comes to shove, we’ll gather wild herbs from around the area. Got proper training in that, too.”

“Then we’ll strap on the Armunale. Even if they’re on guard duty, they’re not locked down tight enough to be impossible to slip past.”

If one of the gathering support maids gets ambushed, the whole military morale—especially the Armunale squad’s—will collapse. She’s the troops’ idol, after all. Gotta keep her safe.

“Thanks. But aren’t you busy, Eld?”

“Our squad’s on leave for now. Machine maintenance, too. Can’t just use the Armunale for chores at base. Costs too much.”

“Ah. So we might actually get some rest for a bit.”

“Probably a month or so. Next strategy meeting’ll probably come around, though.”

We’ve still only just retaken the second defensive line’s base.

Can’t say we’ve really reclaimed the country unless we take back Camentria—first defensive line, east of this base.

“Isn’t Lady Ines planning to head back to the capital?”

“Looks like she’s staying on the front until Camentria’s retaken. Well, even if she did go back, with Avilabomb still out there, we can’t exactly say it’s safe. Hard to push her to return.”

“Yeah, right after being attacked and all. But they’re updating the security setup, aren’t they?”

“True enough. But there are limits. Honestly, the safest bet’d be hiding her off somewhere—like a country villa.”

“Yeah… she’d hate that. Being the only one safe.”

“Exactly.”

The princess still seems full of fire, itching to plan the next move.

This time, not a small, elite strike like Crosslue—no, she’s talking about a full-scale, head-on assault with a big force.

She’s not gonna pull another stunt like Crosslue—no, not this time, not with a handful of elite troops.

Yeah, well, it’s not like we could handle this alone even if we wanted to. Makes sense, really. The other side’s got a full-time force bigger than Crosslue’s, plus all the ones who escaped from him. That kind of number? Even I’d think twice before taking them on.

“Anyway, where’re you headed, Eld?”

“Huh? You didn’t already know you were following me?”

“Just saw you walking, so I came after.”

Ange tilts her head, as if I’d said something obvious.

I thought she’d come to back me up on whatever’s about to happen.

“With the battle over a few days now, the soldiers’ guard’s starting to slip. I guess it’s fine to ease up a little, but going full disregard for the rules? Doesn’t that seem risky?”

“What’s wrong?”

Ange’s face hardens—battle mode, now.

I let out a dry chuckle and tugged at Ange’s serious little face.

Her cheek stretched—fwoop—and her expression cracked. Even her goofy look was kinda cute. Know this, huh? This girl’s my future wife!

“Eeep!”

“Not that serious, now. Just a little spark before it goes slack. Sure, there’s a dumbass who tries to bolt—so I’ll catch ‘em and give ‘em a proper scolding.”

I let go of her cheek, and Ange’s hand shot out, grabbing mine and rubbing her cheek against it.

“Ah, so I just need to catch the one who runs away, huh?”

“That’s right. Count on me.”

“You can count on me! I’ve got confidence in close combat—no one beats me!”

We walked hand in hand straight toward the building we’d been heading for.

That place was a tent out on the outer edge of the camp, lined with barracks for the soldiers.

Set back in the corner, surrounded by other tents like it was trying to hide from view.

"That's it."

I could see a human presence and shadow inside. The people we’re looking for were in there.

Occasional laughter and shouts drifted out—pretty suspicious if they’re trying to hide. Then again, maybe that’s just how into it they are.

We moved closer, careful not to make a sound. The voices inside grew clearer, step by step.

"Can do one more round, I bet."

"Getting tough now, aren’t we? Already falling apart."

"That’s the point, ain’t it?"

Well, now, they’re really fired up.

"Eld-kun, this—"

Ange frowned, listening to the muffled voices leaking out.

Yeah, sounds pretty dicey if you just listen to this part. But don’t worry—there weren’t any women among the prisoners.

I laid a hand on the tent’s entrance and lifted the flap.

“Hey, Ritz, you winnin’?”

“Hey, yeah, today’s my big—”

“Good to hear.”

Inside were three soldiers.

One of them was a face we all knew. Ritz.

Ritz slowly turned toward me, froze when he saw my face.

A card slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. The other two stared at me, just as frozen.

“Mind if I ask what you’re winning at?”

“Haha, Eld Captain, now you’re being silly. Just won the match, that’s all.”

Ritz answered, sweat dripping down his temples, eyes darting left and right.

Military rules say you’re free to play games before you start, but betting real money’s a no-go. And right now, what’s in front of them? Cards and thousand-chip coins. Yeah, pretty much caught red-handed.

Ange’s right beside me, giving the people in the tent a cool, sideways glance. Not what she expected, but she’s just as stunned—only in a different way.

“So, so. How much are you betting, then?”

“One thousand chips per game.”

“Ah, I see. Keeping the stakes small, huh.”

A thousand chips? To the soldiers, that’s just pocket change. Probably wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow from most officers who’d look the other way.

But I’m not one of those.

“Huh. What’re we gonna do about this?”

“Captain! Please, just let it slide this time!”

“It’s my first real break in ages! Been stuck fixing the base nonstop lately!”

“Please! For the love of all that’s holy—just skip the punishment!”

A proper, full-on floor-sitting bow—every last one of them, perfectly in sync.

Well, I can’t say I don’t get where they’re coming from.

They’ve trained hard, all their lives, dreaming of being soldiers—then finally get a real chance to shine, and what do they do? Clearing rubble. Hauling dirt. No wonder they’re fed up.

“Hmm, then, Ritz…”

“Yes!”

“Here, take this.”

I flicked the coin from my pocket and handed it to her.

She fumbled to catch it, then her face twitched.

“W-What? A ten-thousand-chip coin… W-What do you want me to do with this?”

“Bet the minimum on it. And the one who comes in last? They’re doing base repairs. Take it, and I’ll let you off the hook.”

“B-But… that’s…”

Well? What’s it gonna be, you lot?

The stakes jump tenfold—win once, and you’re set for life. But step into last place, and your vacation vanishes. Then it’s back to the hard labor, no escape.

Better bet, huh? Or just don’t play at all.

“W-what now?”

“Ten thousand.”

“Gulp.”

All eyes locked on the coin in front of them. Yeah, that’ll work on the others too.

“Tell the others. As long as they follow the rules, I’ll let it slide.”

“Understood!”

“Ah, Ritz—you’re cleaning the storage bay later.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

A little break’s fine, but still—can’t let my own team get off easy. A crime’s not a crime if nobody finds out. But if they do… well, then it is.

I turn my back on Ritz, already sulking, tossing in a tip, and walk away with Ange.

Overd Empire capital.

In the audience chamber of the massive castle towering at its heart, a man knelt.

A lavish mantle draped over him, its chest adorned with medals.

The armor, made solely for show, sparkled with jewels at every seam, catching the chandelier’s light and flaring like fire.

Seated upon the throne before him was the sixteenth emperor of this realm, Gandrois Viselburg Overd.

Just sitting there—yet the air he radiated was enough to make ordinary folk tremble, to make hardened warriors reel.

Even the guards standing nearby strained to keep their knees from buckling under his presence.

And yet, the kneeling man spoke.

“Imperial Eight-Brigade Knight, Kansas Otte Dilberia. I have answered Your Majesty’s summons—here I stand.”

Eight-Brigade Knight. That title is proof of strength, granted only to the eight mightiest in the Empire.

In a realm where might proves status, that proof is nothing less than power second only to the Emperor’s.

And at the same time, it’s proof of the Emperor’s trust.

“Good to see you, Kansas. Relax.”

“Huh.”

I rise at the Emperor’s words, meeting his gaze.

His expression isn’t exactly cheerful. That’s when Kansas guesses—vaguely—why he’s been called.

When the Emperor’s in a bad mood, the invasion’s gone sideways. And if he’s summoned an Eight-Brigade Knight personally, it’s serious.

Meaning—war is coming.

“Kansas. You’ve heard, haven’t you? The city of Kreuzl, which we’ve occupied in the Fatal Kingdom, has been retaken?”

Yes, we’ve heard from Intelligence. Something about a one-armed Death arriving out of nowhere.

When you're one of the Eight Knightly Lords, all sorts of intel get handed to you first. Naturally, the report on the one-armed Reaper was among them.

His left arm like an iron pillar, and with his right, he wields countless weapons—death itself.

An abnormal machine that broke through to the base with just a few Armunale units, destroyed a vast number of imperial units, and seized the base back.

And then there were things that made you wonder if they were even true—like a pilot’s seat being shot through from outside range, or maneuvers so wild they looked like acrobatics.

But this was a report compiled by the Empire’s finest intelligence division. There’s no way a lie could’ve slipped in if even the Emperor himself was meant to see it. So that means… every last word is true.

And here they are, summoned at just the right moment.

My muscles tighten on their own.

“Hmm. That one arm of his—rumors say he’s hunted down countless Armunale across our land. That’s what the soldiers whisper now. Morale’s started to sag. Fear on the battlefield twists facts, makes things sound worse than they are. It happens. But letting these rumors spread? Not good. You understand?”

“Of course.”

“Then, one of the Eight Imperial Knights shall be sent to Kansas. Eradicate these rumors. Drive the Empire’s fang into a lion whose teeth have been pulled.”

“Command received. One of the Eight Imperial Knights, Kansas, by the name of Otte, I swear—by the end, you’ll see the outcome just as Your Majesty desires.”

“I’m counting on you.”

The Emperor said that, then left the room.

Watching him go, Kansas clenched his trembling fist so hard his knuckles cracked.

A feral grin carved into his face, his every nerve crackling with the wild urge to fight.

After leaving the audience chamber, Emperor Gandrois returned to his private quarters and gave the bell on his desk a quiet two rings.

Then, from somewhere unseen, a black shadow coalesced.

“Your Majesty, is it?”

“Kansas should be fine—but just in case, better to have a backup. Which ones are active now?”

“Unit five and eight are ready for deployment. For insurance, eight would be the better choice.”

“Then use eight. If he slips in among the Camentrians, he might just be useful.”

“Understood.”

The shadow spoke only that, then vanished in the blink of an eye.