Youjo Senki - Volume 12 - Chapter 3.2

DECEMBER 5, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, THE ILDOAN FRONT

General Zettour’s entourage moved with incredible speed along the Imperial offensive line while on their visit under the pretense of an inspection. The group brazenly made its way to the front-most part of the line as soon as the cease-fire was lifted. Most of the officers, fearing the risk of being there, petitioned for the general to reconsider, but he paid them no mind. He had a small platoon of aerial mages guard his envoy as they continued south.

While this was no small task for the mages at hand, the fact that General Zettour was on the front lines was a sign to them that their army was in a position that allowed him to be there. His presence on the front lines was a huge boost to the troops’ morale, as the Imperial Army held commanding officers who hung out in the rear in low regard.

Thus, the arrangements for his meeting with the many division commanders progressed swimmingly, and eventually, the mages charged with protecting him were finally relieved. On the other hand, his entourage of officers and those who went ahead of the procession were now busier than ever, running around to prepare for the big meeting that…they somehow managed to get done. They even managed to procure a building with a roof. Instead of a field tent, they commandeered an Ildoan school building for the meeting. With everything ready, the Imperial officers lined themselves up in the faculty room like so many elementary school teachers. As their seizure of the building was rather rushed, the room looked exactly like it had when it was a functioning school.

The aides and adjutants had cleared out textbooks and what were likely stacks of homework to make room for their maps, creating a decidedly strange setting for the war council. In what should be a place for shaping children’s futures, the staff officers were ironically drawing up plans to use their own nation’s youth as kindling for the bellows of war. Nevertheless, the meeting started with an upbeat tone.

“The annihilation of the enemy’s field armies is progressing well.”

General Zettour calmly addressed his staff from what was once the school principal’s desk.

“Our forces launched an offensive the moment the cease-fire ended. We’re currently silencing enemy resistance and advancing south while expanding our gains. The operation is progressing ideally.”

The general’s calm demeanor made it sound like he was discussing what was for dinner tomorrow, but the experts he had assembled nodded in agreement with his assessment. Each and every one of the officers in the room held General Zettour, who had all but single-handedly pulled off this unprecedented success, in the highest regard.

“The enemy numbers a hundred forty divisions on paper, but only around seventy of them are meaningfully functional. We’ve already attrited their strongest units with our initial assault. We gave them a week’s worth of time, but it appears as if we were the ones who made the most of it.”

General Rudersdorf’s unforeseen postmortem attack on Ildoa was progressing surprisingly well. The confusion the higher officers had initially felt toward the strategy and command was completely absent from their faces. The fact of the matter was that the Empire was winning its campaign in Ildoa. Therefore, all General Zettour had to do for this meeting was lay out the numbers.

“We’ve witnessed overwhelmingly positive results by abandoning key positions and focusing purely on destroying the enemy. We have successfully reduced the enemy’s strength to approximately seven divisions. In contrast, we have twenty-two divisions that are still in fighting condition. Experience is truly great, gentlemen. We are handily winning this war.”

The listeners responded to Zettour’s inviting words with ambiguous smiles that seemed to be a mixture of bitterness and joy. For warriors as seasoned as them, his words created an indescribable emotion.

Is victory this easy?

The attack on Ildoa was a strategic surprise. No one had foreseen the timing of its execution. Setting aside the difficulties with the seasonal weather, the Empire launched their offensive almost immediately after Ildoa announced its alliance with the Unified States, something meant to keep the Empire at bay. Stunned by the attack, Ildoa was caught off guard in the initial fighting. The weeklong cease-fire should have given the country more than enough time to reorganize its troops, and yet, the Empire still maintained its victorious position.

The secret behind the Imperial Army’s success was their ability to retain the initiative while causing absolute havoc with limited resources, allowing them to devastate the enemy’s forces without tying themselves down to any given location. This was a strategic victory for the Empire, something the generals were eager to praise, even if only on the inside. These gentlemen were, in the end, soldiers—generals, at that. Even if they were to allow themselves to bask in their current victory, they made sure to keep reality in the forefront of their minds.

“I have a question, General. While it’s clear we’ve dealt the enemy field armies a crushing blow, isn’t the seven divisions estimate a bit too…optimistic?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Time. It won’t be long before the enemy’s reserves inevitably mobilize. Furthermore, Ildoa, unlike the current combatants of this war that have exhausted a great many mages in previous battles, should have a considerable surplus of mage units.”

“You’re right about that. They are bringing in their reserves and deploying fresh mages as we speak. However, they will only raise their numbers.”

The commanding officers showed a collective confused look at General Zettour’s assertion. Evidently, his answer was beyond their imaginations.

“These new soldiers, gentlemen, will be completely unarmed.”

“Unarmed? Is Ildoa having a hard time procuring equipment? Even if that is the case, it’s only a matter of time before a problem like that is resolved.”

“Precisely,” General Zettour said. He already had the answer to that problem and gave the staff officers a light scolding. “You’re right about time resolving the issue. Somebody will give them what they need.”

This was where he corrected the gentleman.

“That time will not come as soon as you’re assuming. I can promise this much, though I can’t say exactly when it will be.”

Now that he held everyone’s attention, General Zettour paused for a moment as an easy grin appeared on his face.

“You see, we’ve commandeered all of their heavy equipment.”

As General Zettour oversaw logistics and had a long-running insight into how his own nation functioned, he felt confident sharing his conclusion with his subordinates.

“We’ve taken the bedrock of their industry from them.”

“Does that include their means of production?”

He nodded.

“Of course. We have secured more than ten divisions’ worth of artillery along with their production lines in Northern Ildoa. We gathered enough during the cease-fire period to meet our own needs. Let’s just say, it’s a good thing we attacked the Ildoans before they attacked us.” Though the general’s eyes were roaring with laughter, he continued in a calm monotone. “If we include the outdated equipment and supplies the enemy left behind that we’ve destroyed, it’s quite clear we acquired their newer gear.”

Northern Ildoa was the nation’s most developed industrial area. This applied to its infrastructure, factories, and people. Losing any one of these was a fatal blow to Ildoa’s military-industrial supply chain. The Empire managed to obtain irreplaceable strategic resources that the Ildoans simply couldn’t afford to lose. Their capture was more significant than it would be for the Empire to lose its industrial lowlands.

Were this any other war like the ones they had fought in the past, Ildoa’s defeat would’ve been thoroughly decided at this point, but still they continued to resist. This was a dreadful fact—a fact that General Zettour knew in his soul that he alone regarded with true fear.

He had the misfortune of having no friends to share his concerns with, and what a lonely fate it was. He yearned for his old friend in moments like this, but this was the consequence of the crime he had committed. Therefore, the general was forced to keep his fear to himself, maintaining his composure as he pressed on with the meeting.

“We continue to enjoy local superiority.”

General Zettour spoke arrogantly, just like he knew his friend Rudersdorf would have. He continued to speak with the confidence of the fearless general, an image he’d created for himself.

“From a purely military point of view, we have been able to enhance our ability to crush the enemy. This is a privilege that can only be capitalized on now. Therefore, we must use all our strength to cut down what remains of the enemy’s field army.”

Zettour paused, scanning the room for any objection. Were this politics, this would be the moment someone tried to stop him. Alas, such a sight was absent from this room. His peers watched with hopeful eyes, waiting eagerly for his next words.

Good, Zettour thought as he nodded with the slightest hint of resignation.

“Our objective is simple. We will ride this momentum to capture the Ildoan royal capital.”

“Oooh!”

The room filled with a mixture of gulps and excited grunts.

Though maybe a bit repetitious, Zettour decided to drive the point home.

“Let me be clear about this: I need you all to understand that our goal is not to occupy their capital.”

He paused, allowing the room to grow silent before sharing his intentions with them.

“Our true goal is what it has been this entire time—to defeat the enemy military. Therefore, it’s important that the means serve the end. We must force the enemy into a defensive position, confining them within their capital. This is the key.”

Confirming that his words had fully sunk into the minds of his commanders, General Zettour quickly shifted to discussing the situation at hand.

“As a result of repelling our reconnaissance in force elements, the enemy forces have bitten into the forbidden fruit of belief in their ability to defend their capital. Judging by the newspaper reports, they believe they’re winning this conflict.”

The Ildoan Army had managed to gain a foothold against the advancing Imperial Army. This alone was more than enough to give them a perception of impending victory. This went double for the Unified States, whose military was new to war… Its soldiers wanted to see a dream of victory.

“They snatched the bait right up from our excellent trap. The poison known as pride should be settling in their guts right about now. It’s nice to know that all it takes is the wave of a hand to please these people.”

They had made sacrifices for their “hard-earned” victory, so it definitely wasn’t something they would give up easily. These coalition members had already won the war in their eyes, and no one was willing to let go of a victory they believed was rightfully theirs.

General Zettour was sure that both public opinion and the enemy’s ego were under the intoxicating influence of the sweet ale of victory. That was what his experience in the Empire told him was happening. Even Ildoa, which adhered strictly to its raison d’état, could not escape succumbing to the monster known as public opinion. With this knowledge in mind, General Zettour was practically bragging to the staff officers.

“For the enemy, the capital is their white elephant.”

It was a masterful trick the general was playing. The royal capital, in all its sanctity and status, wasn’t something the enemy could allow themselves to give up without a fight. The illusion of honor was nothing more than a nonperforming loan that their opponents refused to abandon and would ultimately lead to their demise. History holds a wealth of knowledge to be learned from.

“The enemy will go to great lengths to protect the irreplaceable. This will prove quite painful for them, so it’s only humane that we put them out of their misery.”

No army would abandon the royal capital they fought tooth and nail to rescue. It was a well-known fact that soldiers were reluctant to even reorganize the front line if it meant abandoning a position they believed they were holding on to. The Imperial staff officers knew this well, which was why there was no room for misinterpreting General Zettour’s intentions. Their goal was to destroy the enemy field army, and the royal capital was nothing more than a prop.

It turned out to be a younger, sharper officer who first raised his hand in question.

“I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Will we be withdrawing from the capital once we take it over? If our primary targets are the field armies, I feel as if abandoning the capital early may be prudent, depending on the scenario.”

“Ahh.” Zettour gave the young commander a warm nod. “That’s a fantastic question.”

It was a highly applicable question, given the parameters the commanding officers had to engage with the problem, one that showed Zettour that his war experts were brilliant in their own right. At the same time, such a question appeared to be the best they could come up with, so Zettour simply gave them the answer he already had in mind.

“To be square with you, it’s hard to tell at the moment.”

“Do you mean to say you’re trying to have it both ways if you can, sir?”

The younger commander gave Zettour a dubious look, which was met with a shrug of the shoulders and jest.

“Withdrawing after our occupation is something I am indeed considering. Ultimately, if it comes down to deciding between land or troops, we will prioritize defeating the enemy’s troops. However, taking their capital would be akin to taunting the world with a red matador cape. This is something I want to take advantage of, if possible.” The general maintained his composed tone. “That’s why we’re merely going to run the auction on the city, as far as I’m concerned. If the enemy takes the bait and is willing to place a high bid, we’ll squeeze every last coin out of them before handing over the remains. We want to sell for the highest price possible.”

Zettour then took out a cigar, as if to signify it was time for a smoke break. He took a few moments to scan the room once more to be certain that his words were settling in before proceeding once more.

“Everything depends on whether or not the enemy is willing to place a bid in the first place.”

Zettour spoke as if he was a detached observer.

“If the New World, namely, the Unified States military, shows no interest, then there is no need for us to be a stickler about holding on to an empty capital. The city will have its peace, and it will amount to a slap in the face for us.”

The most important thing for Zettour was that his opponents took this bait. If the enemy showed no interest in the capital, then he would have to figure out a way to make them interested.

It was his strategy against the world. He would lie and con every single person on the face of the planet if he had to. In the name of love and duty, Zettour would commit any deed necessary for the sake of the Empire.

“Whatever the case may be, the overarching objective of this campaign is to solidify the Empire’s borders.”

This was a big, fat lie, of course, but it came out smooth as silk.

“And our army has already achieved the first step toward this goal. We’ve already won.”

Thieves tend to be liars before ever becoming thieves.

Zettour knew that his words were brazen lies—that they were empty. He thought about how much his imbecile of a friend Rudersdorf must have acted the part…about how vulnerable he must have been behind his always-tough exterior. Zettour felt so alone.

What caused the general the most fear and sadness was how deeply moved he could tell his commanders were just by looking at their faces. He met their shower of compliments and commendation with what could only be described as a vague expression. He had no qualms about fooling the world, but it was different when he had to deceive his own family. Nevertheless, this was his sin—his duty—to shoulder. He swallowed his doubts and continued to speak without batting an eye.

“We’ve delivered a heavy blow to our enemy, particularly the Ildoans. Our occupation of the north will impact not only the strategic depth of our campaign down the peninsula, but also the Ildoan Army’s industrial foundation itself.”

This campaign was the Empire’s first success in a long time, which must’ve been why his speech was being received so well by the commanders.

Perhaps it was a sign of their confidence when it came to the realm of pure military tactics. Their expressions caused Zettour to let out an ever-so-slight yet strained smile.

“What’s this? You’re grinning, General.”

Zettour waved away the jovial remark.

“Sometimes it can be difficult to keep everything bottled up inside.”

He and his audience shared big smiles with bright and shiny faces. Was the mood due to their presence in Ildoa? If that was the case, then Zettour worried he might really end up harboring a true hatred for this country…even if this attack was his own fault.

“I’m glad we came here.”

“General?”

“The air is clean. It’s quite refreshing. And the weather makes you remember when we used to come out here to escape the Empire’s bitter winters. But best of all, there’s a war for us to win. I can’t imagine there’s a better place for us to be right now.”

The entire room burst out in laughter. These grown men guffawed like young children. The general sat down in the school principal’s chair, watching his comrades engage in friendly banter. Nobody made an attempt to hold back their unbridled laugher in the school building. It was a good spot for the middle-aged military men to share a dream of victory, this school building in a faraway land. Would these men—the Empire—be able to defy the laws of nature?

Ah, if only I were younger…

Zettour wore a wistful smile. It was clear to him that he had pretended to be human for too long—he hardly considered himself a person anymore. He didn’t know whether to grieve, sneer, or laugh about this. So instead, he simply shook his head and banished those unnecessary thoughts. He reached for his army tobacco and began smoking. The puffs of smoke he exhaled conveyed an annoyance he couldn’t express with words while he waited for the room to calm down before rising suddenly with the cigarette still in his mouth. Once he had everyone’s attention, he spoke again.

“Now that we’ve won the first phase, the goal for the second phase is to establish a defensive line.”

The assembled commanders gave him a knowing look. They all nodded to show they understood. To put it plainly, now that the threat to the south had been greatly reduced, the Empire needed to firmly secure its new territories. The problem was what came thereafter.

“We shall secure a deep foothold in the Ildoan peninsula. I’d like to create an environment where we can focus purely on the eastern front.”

They were going to transfer their military from Ildoa to the other front after their victory. The dogma of the interior lines strategy was certainly familiar to military generals who had served in previous wars.

“That said, I won’t hesitate if we can cut down our enemy when given the chance. It’s always ideal to make the enemy pay dearly with minimal sacrifice on our part.” Zettour intentionally showed his commanders a wicked grin. “That’s why we’ll be sure to teach the Ildoan upstarts a lesson before we head back east. The same goes for our friends from the New World. They must learn firsthand why the Empire should be feared. Therefore, I wish for each of you to understand that our attack on the Ildoan capital is nothing more than a small bonus for us.”

It was a little treat for the Empire while they solidified their southern border. They would use their power to menace their enemies—that was all, really. Though it sounded simple, this would challenge each commanding officer to carefully weigh when to advance and when to pull back…a challenge each of Zettour’s staff officers would be more than willing to take on. He could tell there was no need to be concerned after giving the room a quick scan before taking his seat in the principal’s chair yet again.

He continued to smoke his tobacco while answering a few follow-up questions. With that, this meeting came to an end without a mountain of ash piling up in the ashtrays. The empty ashtrays marked a peaceful meeting, one without shouting, anguish, or idle complaints about difficult tasks. Nothing like victory and quick progress to bring people together. It was evident that victory was a panacea that solved all problems. That was why it was so alluring during times of war. A military victory relieved an array of maladies and soothed otherwise unendurable pain, even if that comfort was fleeting.

That being said, it could be difficult to swallow a victory at times. From General Zettour’s perspective, much of what he claimed to be in the name of victory was nothing more than a secondary objective plastered in a veneer of military rationale. Sweet, sugar-coated logic that made the pill easier to swallow for Imperial soldiers. The medicine they needed to take was a far cry from true victory. The reality was that Zettour personally sought to dig deeper into the abyss to establish a foxhole from which he would launch a much craftier assault.

He had no interest in whether or not the attack on the royal capital was a success. His only intention was to entangle the Unified States in this war to create a convenient, new enemy. He knew most of his commanding officers wouldn’t be able to understand why. This was because it was more of a swindle than a feat of military might. A cool, wicked plot that would invoke an emotional response from his enemies…a political ploy.

Soldiers, especially Imperial soldiers, who knew little of politics, refused to pay any attention to the very politics that determined the fate of their nation. That was why their smiling faces seemed so bright to Zettour. He loathed the sight, though he didn’t know why… Perhaps it was a manifestation of his own weakness.

After the meeting came to its end, the officers left the school building in groups of twos and threes, while General Zettour walked toward a vehicle that had come to pick him up…alone. Neither his adjutant nor any other staff officer was with him. Even his security detail of mages had been sent home. It wasn’t a sight befitting the deputy director.

The car he was being driven around in was a small, civilian vehicle that he had one of his orderlies scrounge up. The Ildoan car he had commandeered was built for comfort and certainly wasn’t poorly made. It was not, however, the type of car one would expect the grand, wicked ringleader of the Imperial Army to be riding in.

It was like a game of pretend, where the army made use of what it had available to act out a campaign of military intrigue, and this was the supposed mastermind who was shaking up northern Ildoa? He didn’t want to imagine how they would ridicule him in the history books. The military needed to do something about their chronic lack of funds, even if only in appearance.

I need to show history…the world…an illusion…

With that, Zettour realized that he was going to need to fool himself before he did the world. And the amazing road they were driving down certainly didn’t make it easy! He sat in the back of the small car, pretending to enjoy his cigar while feeling utterly disgusted by the comfortable road he was being driven down. The pavement. The immaculate townscape. The beautiful, colorful buildings. Everything was different from the Empire. Different from the burnt-out Reich over which the sun was quickly setting.

He hated to admit it, but…

“Why is it so different? Where did we go wrong…?”

The Empire was good at one thing—the military—which left the fatherland in a bland shade of gray. The Ildoans’ military was weak, riddled with waste. But their towns? Compared to the military superpower that was the Empire, they were incredible.

There was a time, once, when this color could be seen on Imperial streets as well. Zettour and his ilk had drained all the color from the fatherland.

Had they, the military, made a grave error in judgment when it came to prioritizing what needed protecting? The general was overcome by a chilling emptiness as he had this thought. The Ildoans used what little military power they had for politics. Conversely, the Empire used its oversized military might without paying politics any heed, and this was what had brought the two nations to where they stood today.

Zettour, sitting alone in the back of the comically tiny car, wondered whether or not the other staff officers realized the difference in color.

“Nobody questions this…”

He grumbled this to himself, but he knew it needed to be said aloud. The Empire needed to know that all that effort it put into war was coming back to bite it in the ass.

“It’s worse than that…”

Imperial soldiers weren’t idiots. If push came to shove, they could grasp the importance of politics, on a surface level at the very least. Even then, that was only if they were forced to. It would never occur to them to use politics on the battlefield.

“This is proper for an Imperial soldier.”

Zettour refrained from saying any more in the presence of his driver, but he couldn’t help but lament how unfortunate the situation was. It was okay to be wrong on occasion! The ability to know what was wrong, to allow for error, was what made everyone human, and what allowed them to live in peace.

He couldn’t stop a sigh from escaping his mouth. The entire world was far too entwined in this war. With the Empire being long past the point of no return, Zettour was forced to focus on his countrymen facing a national crisis back home. Things were getting far too out of hand. The military experts he had around him were focused on nothing more than how to win the battle at hand. War, however, wasn’t fought purely on the battlefield.

“This is total war, after all…”

The general sighed and shook his head. Total war. Totality included public image, mythos, and especially acting—when necessary.

“We have the numerical advantage and enjoy local superiority…”

The Empire was in a superior position all around the country, a fact that left the general feeling a nihilistic and cruel emptiness. In the east, the balance of power was critical. In the west, they had been forced to go on the defensive. As their enemies pinched them from either side, Zettour couldn’t think of a single way to flip the hourglass that counted down to his nation’s demise. Objectively, the localized superiority they enjoyed meant little to nothing in the grand scheme of things.

The general folded his arms.

Then again, objectively speaking, the inner workings of the Imperial Army weren’t out in the open for a third party to judge on the Ildoan front.

“The Ildoan front is one of our last stages, and world news agencies are always looking for more juicy stories.”

The general was ready to trick the entire world. He was going to be the clown that twisted the world like one big animal balloon.

“I need to put on a good show for them.”

His casual monologue perfectly captured the situation he was in. He had come up with a new idea, the sort born from raw necessity. Knowing now what must be done made what he would do next unavoidable. The general spent his ride back to headquarters obsessively thinking up what kind of dastardly trick he could play.

This was a tall task but…there was a good precedent for what he wanted to do. Though it was a bit of an embarrassing memory for him, he decided to take a page from young Lieutenant Colonel Degurechaff’s book and announce his attack.

The same way she did back in Moskva. This was ideal. He chuckled as he remembered the announcement she made to Dacia. He would take a page from her book, combining the two attacks.

All General Zettour needed to do was play his role well, and it would be perfect. Well, more like his clear insight forced him to accept the sad fact that playing the part was the only option left for him.

With this resolution in his heart, he finally returned to the temporary headquarters, where he was escorted by guards to his next location. There he found his trusted subordinate, Lieutenant Colonel Uger, waiting with everything prepared perfectly for his return. There was so much moving around on the front line, and despite sudden changes in plans having become a daily occurrence, the temporary command headquarters was fully equipped with all the necessary functions to smoothly operate the army’s command system, and this was all thanks to none other than Colonel Uger.

“Colonel Uger, perfect timing. I need you to set up an itinerary for me.”

“Okay, I’m assuming there was a change in plans?”

Uger’s honest response to please his superior was met with the casual dropping of a bomb on Zettour’s part.

“Send a message to the commanders on the field. Tell them to begin operations. Let them know that I will be on the field as well. That is all.”

“Y-you’ll be on the field…?”

Uger had learned to have certain expectations for what the general was going to ask. His intuition was right about it being trouble, to say the least. The order made him visibly wince, something he knew wasn’t appropriate. He quickly collected himself, putting on his best face for the general.

Zettour watched the show he’d put on for him, laughing it off.

With resolution in his heart and a false sense of playfulness, he was going to toy with the world.

“Get me a telephone.”

He picked up the transmitter with a grin and called the operator. He made sure to follow the rules set by the military, though his call was hardly going to be official business—not for the army, at least. Zettour was using the phone for something personal. Seeing as it was a part of his grand scheme to deceive the world, his personal call could be seen as patriotic—superficially, at least. That said, could a personal call like this be placed while he was on duty? Even during times of peace, this was certainly breaking a litany of rules and regulations—this was during an operation in wartime. The call definitely wasn’t something that would ever make it through the system.

But the general was allowed to proceed.

“Headquarters? Yes, it’s me.”

A request was all it took. He didn’t even need to explain himself. The usually particular phone operators didn’t say a peep when it was a general—the deputy director, no less—on the line. Zettour was in charge of communications, after all, which was why they didn’t pry into his business, and why General Zettour was allowed to proceed with his soon-to-be historic phone call.

“Do you have their number in Ildoa? Yes, thank you.”

He asked them to transfer him, and his request was fulfilled without hesitation. He was placing a call to the Commonwealth Embassy in Ildoa.

“I wonder how the ambassadors will react.”

To be frank, while Zettour recognized how childish he was being, he placed his hopes in the wit of whoever ended up taking his call—the same kind of hope a child might have when they go see what’s inside a toy box. He would try to stand out even more than he probably needed to, given the circumstances. The Commonwealth diplomats having a little awareness shouldn’t be too much to ask for.

General Zettour, however, placed the phone back down with a bored look on his face.

“The Commonwealth has been at war for far too long. To think that lot of tea-chugging gents would ever lose their sense of humor.”

The general grumbled to himself. He knew it was arrogant for him to think his fun trick would play out smoothly, without a single issue. Either way, he left the call learning one thing: that he didn’t have the power to govern fate. A single call was all it took for him to understand this.

He could move freely through the bureaucracy of his own army. His prowess and skill allowed him to turn the military officials and their regulations upside down as he saw fit. Even then, heaven had forsaken him. For even if by coincidence, his foreign counterparts never seemed to meet his expectations.

“Well, that man sure was a stickler for the rules. Must still be wet behind the ears. I hope he’s there tomorrow…”

The person he had spoken with was one of the Commonwealth’s bureaucrats—a group once known for their quick-wittedness—and yet, not even they could supply him with entertainment.

He let out a sigh upon this sad realization, before Colonel Uger, who’d been watching this entire time, finally exclaimed to the general.

“G-G-General! You just divulged classified information by telling them we’re going to attack!”

That was arguably the correct reaction to have at a time like this. It was clear to Zettour that Uger was being completely serious by the look on his face. Though he was a highly capable officer, he was still naive when it came to things outside of his area of expertise.

“Are you familiar with theater?”

“What’s that have to do with—?”

“It’s important to understand the meaning of plot, or perhaps I should call it the intricacies of human psychology.”

“General?!”

Colonel Uger’s panicked shout was met with a casual shrug. The colonel was acting so human and naive, with his obsession over always being serious and sane. The colonel’s lack of experience almost made the general want to laugh.

At the same time, in comparison to Hans von Zettour, his purity almost shined like a bright light. His subordinate’s ability to maintain his sense of right and wrong made Zettour feel a bit jealous—even if it was out of inexperience.

The general had been whittling away at his own soul all day long, so he opted to shake his head and stop himself from thinking any deeper about the subject. Instead, he explained the context of his actions in a way that Colonel Uger would understand.

“I, a well-known con artist, called the enemy’s supreme commander. And not even to Ildoa, but to the Commonwealth Embassy.”

“I have no idea what you’re trying to do…”

“Exactly. And neither does the enemy.”

“What?”

Colonel Uger stared blankly; he was likely very confused—the same exact response Zettour intended for his enemies to have as well. He could only hope that was exactly how they were feeling at this moment.

They needed to think of him as an eccentric, inscrutable figure.

“It feels strange to not understand something, I imagine. Doubt is a breeding ground for more questions, and more doubt.”

This was how anxiety was created, and anxiety gave birth to fear. Zettour wanted them to fear him—not the Empire, but he himself.

“It’s the Commonwealth we’re dealing with here. They take pride in their espionage. With the ghost of possibility haunting them, their thinking will grow rigid.”

It was a small trick in his enemy’s territory of expertise, as low-budget a production as it was. Nothing more than a quick con, and a dirty one at that, not something a respectable general would ever employ. But for Zettour, who loved his nation, he needed to use any card he could play. Logic and logic alone defined his actions. He gave a self-deprecating laugh to Uger and continued.

“The goddess of fate has forsaken me, after all.”

“General?”

“As long as I leave nothing to luck, then I can win.”

It was hard to tell if he said this in self-admonition or deprecation. It was an unconscious confession of how he truly felt. Though, after saying it aloud, he had no choice but to be conscious of it. Zettour took the resentment that had become pent-up in his heart and cursed his enemies.

“I’m taking out my frustration on those damn Albion diplomats.”

“You are?”

“In the way a gentleman would. They do love their espionage, so I gave them something to think long and hard about. Mighty gentlemanly of me, if I do say so myself.”

Colonel Uger, showing a look of utter defeat, had many things he wanted to say. This was no mystery to General Zettour, who carried on before the colonel could get a word in edgewise.

“Well, we can’t let them have all the fun now, can we? We have to enjoy ourselves, too.”

Zettour invited the staff officer, who looked appalled by all of this, to play a nasty game.

“And what do we do best? War is to the Empire as espionage is to the Commonwealth. Let’s have some fun with this.”

Colonel Uger squinted at Zettour as if his eyes were out of focus, which was when Zettour nonchalantly announced…

“I’m going to see the battlefield for myself, and I have the best seats in the house. I’ll be a spectator as well as an actor on the stage of history.”

Though Colonel Uger’s confusion was reaching a boiling point, talk of seeing the battlefield was clear-cut enough for him to get an idea of what the general was getting at.

“I’m sorry, but what exactly are you trying to do, General?”

Zettour smiled widely as he gave his subordinate the declaration of intent he had been asking for.

“The front lines need to be visited every once in a while.”

“Do you realize what you are saying, General?! Without you, the chain of command will…!”

Again, this was the correct argument to make, for the correct reason. Zettour’s logic affirmed Colonel Uger’s words in the fullest. But, alas, the times were changing. With the flames of total war burning away at the general, there was no argument to be made. Words and rationale didn’t matter—the general needed to shock the world.

“We need to kill what people call fate. It is man who creates history, and we’re going to let that damn goddess know it.”

Which is why I ask you, world, to fall for this trick. I need you to recognize me as the enemy.