Youjo Senki - Volume 6 - Chapter 6

[chapter] VI Structural Problems 

APRIL, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, FORMER ENTENTE ALLIANCE TERRITORY, SALAMANDER KAMPFGRUPPE GARRISON 

The Empire’s handling of the combined Federation-Commonwealth forces’ invasion of former Entente Alliance territory got off to a completely late start. In Norden and even farther north, the snow seemed like it would finally start melting. 

Having deployed multiple units, including a highly mobile first-rate Kampfgruppe, Imperial Army authorities were running up against the difficulties inherent in their hard-core military framework. In short, the military org’s bureaucracy wasn’t flexible enough in a pinch. Thus, the large-scale imperial cleanup operation had other major burdens on top of the partisans doing as they pleased. 

Of course, it’s always the ones in the field who notice the contradictions. Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff is no exception as she is forced to confront the various issues in the north whether she wants to or not. 

“…Our orders are way too removed from what’s actually going on here.” 

The Imperial Army’s current status has fundamental issues; that is, the regular army is playing tag with partisans who don’t fight. 

It’s so futile. It’s like trying to use a steam hammer to crack walnuts. 

The solution would prioritize cost performance and give a role to people like civilian police. But in the external environment of this occupied territory, the likelihood of that coming to fruition is low. 

“This isn’t something the people in the field can fix on their own.” 

She’s complaining in spite of herself. If you ignore the discontent bug, it multiplies when you aren’t looking. This is no good, and once she collects herself again, it’s the standards of her job that occupy her mind. 

She has her position as an officer to consider. Though she’s managed to keep herself from cradling her head in despair at her situation, when she steps back to take a look at things, she can’t help but deplore the absurdity of the setup. 

She locks her sigh up inside. 

If she can’t run away, then she has to face reality. She might as well embrace it. 

“This just in from the 1079th Aerial Mage Company. Engaged with an enemy partisan unit in sector B-15. Managed to acquire two pistols and some explosives.” 

“Report from the Sixteenth Division’s checkpoint. Have restrained a woman trying to break through and seized weapons and bombs. They’re requesting our Kampfgruppe’s motorcycles as transport for military police.” 

The reports themselves are far from stressful. 

It’s a different world compared to encounter battles with brigade- or regiment-size units in the harsh war zone of the east. 

At first, she feels on top of things. She even has time to muse about her off-kilter impressions—It’s so peaceful—as she sips pseudo-coffee. There are a lot of garrison- and coastal-defense units, and somehow there is plenty of intel about the area. Even the seasoned officers of the Salamander Kampfgruppe are almost relaxed, thinking the mission is shaping up to be a breeze—until they realize the comparisons they were making are wildly unsuitable. 

By the time they realize, they’re in a type of quagmire. It’s not normal to have the military organization running around out here to catch a handful of people. 

It might be cruel to say I expected this, but the reaction is anguish. 

Let’s be frank. 

“This is like using a meat cleaver to bone a chicken.” 

“Colonel?” 

Tanya pays attention to appearances, replying to her considerate adjutant that it’s nothing. “Just talking to myself, Lieutenant. More importantly, what do you think it means that the partisans haven’t emerged from the urban area?” 

“Huh?” 

“…Peace in the city. War in the country. It’s strange—they’re acting as if they want to avoid urban war.” 

Usually, these people’s resistance movements are all about revolting in the streets. That’s how it was with the French Revolution, that’s how it was with modern rebellions, that’s how it was with the violent proletariat revolution, and even contemporary uprisings and riots can be said to be like that. 

Her adjutant with the vacant look on her face doesn’t get it? First Lieutenant Serebryakov isn’t stupid, but… 

“Here’s a little lesson for you, Lieutenant. Listen up.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“We were deployed here to counter the partisans. But you can’t really call what we’re doing cleaning up militia. We’re basically chasing local gangs or mafia.” 

“O…kay,” her subordinate answers carelessly. She doesn’t seem to be grasping the severity of the situation. How well does she understand the fact that we’re not facing a military organization? 

“Visha, use your head a little.” 

“…I have no idea what the issue is.” 

Honesty is a virtue. I should praise her. But I’m not too keen on the fact that she doesn’t know, Tanya thinks as she reluctantly reveals the answer and continues the conversation. “The enemy’s main objective isn’t even to get rid of us. The partisan resistance in this area is essentially a demonstration to show off the fact that they exist.” 

Mafia and gangs simply continue surviving. It’s not like they ever aim to kill all the police. 

The partisans in this region are the same. 

They’re lurking in a back alley while the Imperial Army “police” maintain order on the surface. They’ll continue getting in our way and hope for our eventual defeat. 

“So maybe…Entente Alliance partisans are a group that chooses steadiness over flashiness.” 

It would actually be easy to deal with them if they actually pursued major military gains. 

Or more like… Tanya works her mind through her headache. It’s impossible to eradicate partisans who can bide their time. 

“They’re surprisingly careful and persistent.” 

Amateurs who haven’t been through training are easily excitable. A mob that has been given weapons but nothing else makes for one impulsive group of people. 

The classic example of this are irregular soldiers. Even trained professionals risk cracking under the pressures of the battlefield. To lure, wait, and endure is far more rigorous a task than it seems on paper. 

“Usually militias are low on perseverance.” 

These are rebels who aren’t in a hurry but instead are forging on step by step, never growing discouraged or giving up. Even just the fact that they’re so calm speaks to their unusual levels of discipline and determination. 

An enemy who can wait is a nightmare for public order. 

The special solidarity and control in the mafias and gangs of history and tradition come about through training by the core members, who were fit for that role to begin with. Considering the relatively peaceful conditions in the former Entente Alliance, it would be strange to assume it had built up over years. 

“This is an organization who knows how to bide their time, and they were built up from nothing. Our enemy is fucking skilled, Lieutenant.” 

In history, there are more cases where organizations were unable to wait and exploded. And if you’re using a strict definition, then it’s definitely the vast majority of them. It’s like the idea of fleet in being. If your passive resistance isn’t supported by a strong will, you generally end up getting worn down in psychological warfare. 

Prudence stems not from cowardice but from bravery. 

The fact that idiots who equate bravery with loudly proclaiming their aggressive stances aren’t the main faction of our enemy speaks to their intelligence and tenacity. People who can really persevere toward their objective are the true danger. 

Anyone can die—that’s simple. Even a dummy or a fool can get killed. It’s a type of foolishness Tanya has a hard time understanding, but she has no intention of bothering to attempt to understand fools. 

But a good rival like this, who knows how to wait for their chance, I’ll respect. 

And having done that, I say: 

Go to hell. 

I hate you from the bottom of my heart. Anyone making extra work for me can rot. Why do good-for-nothings think it’s so fun to get in the way of hardworking people like earnest Tanya? 

“It’s a big difference from the former Entente Alliance government.” 

“From a perseverance perspective, that’s true…or really, I suppose that’s the reason.” 

Serebryakov’s comment really hits the nail on the head. Tanya sighs when she realizes. 

“I can only say, ‘I see.’” 

“Colonel?” 

“Most of the people of the Entente Alliance know.” 

Her subordinate’s eyes ask, Know what? so she reveals the answer. 

“These are people from the same generation who learned through experience what rushing ahead leads to. They understand how the Entente Alliance army disintegrated after exploding and crossing the border into Norden.” They’ve most certainly paid experience hefty tuition fees. “So they acquired knowledge.” When you think about it, the matter is rather simple. People saw what happened on Entente Alliance soil and heard about it, so they learned. “Solidarity, patience, a clear strategic philosophy… The Entente Alliance government was a teacher who gave them an excellent education through examples of what not to do,” Tanya grumbles, fed up with it all. 

The seeds of resistance had been sown through the enlightening act of folly. The depressing past that haunts them with every recollection of how much they were made to suffer is having lasting effects. 

“Thanks to that, now we have to suffer.” Grateful to her adjutant for politely remaining silent, Tanya heaves a sigh. 

These guys in the Entente Alliance are resisting us passively. 

If it were military opposition, we could obliterate them with ease. I have no doubt that if there was a centralized uprising, the Imperial Army could annihilate it. But that’s only if we can find and pummel them. 

Your arms will get tired if you keep swinging them, though. 

Even pro boxers can’t throw infinite jabs. And though it might not seem that way, armies actually have glass fists. They might as well be carrying bombs on their shoulders. 

A giant army erodes just by moving. 

When a corporation moves, it can create profits, or at least it’s trying to. But each time an army moves, it liquefies another huge chunk of taxpayer money. 

…At that rate, it’s practically socialism. Ugh. Tanya shudders at the similarities. 

“…We don’t have a moment to lose. If we don’t find a way out of this soon, the military is going to self-destruct. Any organization that forgets the word sustainability is bound to collapse.” 

The quiet remark is terrifying. By nature, Tanya von Degurechaff has sense both common and good. 

And if you’re facing a threat that could cause your organization to collapse, and you haven’t made arrangements to transfer ships, it would be impossible not to shudder. 

Mentally, is she shedding tears or sweat? 

In these uncertain times, all a mere good citizen can do is face reality with sincerity and humility. 

It’s just as Tanya is about to get sentimental and utter, Reality, huh? that the telephone begins furiously ringing. 

Serebryakov excuses herself to pick up, and during the conversation, Tanya switches mental gears. 

“It’s a joint report from the maintenance and armored companies.” 

“Go on.” 

“The number of motorcycles breaking down is on the increase, and if things continue, in a few days they won’t have enough working to use. Captain Ahrens is complaining.” 

“Colonel Uger guaranteed them. So what, can we not even trust logistics authorities in the General Staff anymore?” 

Sheesh, thinks Tanya, and she’s about to hurl her bitter sentiments in the direction of the imperial capital when Serebryakov awkwardly counters. 

“No, the parts are arriving on time…” 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

Under Tanya’s gaze, Serebryakov timidly explains. “It’s…less a problem of parts than of personnel and structure. In the east, our maintenance company was getting support from the Eastern Army Group’s maintenance unit as well as the tank repair base.” 

Of course we were. Tanya looks at her adjutant in confusion. 

Though each force is self-sufficient, it’s natural to divide labor in an organization. The armored unit can’t very well overhaul all its own tanks. 

Motorcycles may be a different type of vehicle, but they should work the same way. 

“We should be able to get support here, too, though.” 

“The units are engaged in search or pursuit missions, so they’re operating in all different areas.” 

“They should be able to access the nearest depot, though.” 

“Yes, in the east, that was true. And they’re authorized here, but critically there aren’t repair bases nearby. Even the closest one is quite a distance, so the procedure for sending the parts gets complicated. And since we only have a limited number of mechanics…” 

Tanya waves a hand at Serebryakov to indicate she doesn’t have to say any more and replies, “So we have parts, but circumstances aren’t conducive to making the repairs.” 

It’s pretty grave if we have workshops but not enough ways to get the parts to the workshops. Distribution is an industry that gets ridiculed for profiting off moving items from left to right, but only Communists are stupid enough to make plans without taking it into account. 

“No, wait a second, Lieutenant. Where are the Northern Army Group’s maintenance companies? I don’t recall any issues with repairing equipment when we did the operation over the Northern Sea.” 

“Most of them are stationed at air force or navy bases.” 

The reply causes Tanya to click her tongue, which is rare. 

Most of the garrisoned troops in the north are supposed to simply dig in and hold their position. There’s no expectation of maneuver warfare, so focusing their limited repair capabilities on the air and navy fleets is probably the efficient thing to do. 

…Problematically enough, I suppose it should be said, we got called here because those guards holding down the fort can’t give chase, but then we don’t have maintenance support. Apparently, someone decided it was unnecessary. 

There was no need for a system of stationing maintenance companies along the road to fix dropout vehicles, in part due to the fact that we had captured enemy railroads in this occupied territory—we could just use the rails. 

For long distances, instead of moving things ourselves, we could use trains. 

“If they didn’t expect to be branching out over long distances, concentrating the maintenance companies in the capital makes sense.” 

“That’s right, ma’am. And as a result, they don’t have much experience doing maintenance on broken-down vehicles, which slows things down. At present, they really can’t handle everything in a timely manner…” 

“Yeah.” Tanya nods again. Whatever the reason, all she can do is accept it. “Well, it’s a reasonable excuse. I guess we have no choice but to rethink the motorcycle company’s rotation.” 

It doesn’t feel good to have limits placed on the use of an arm that should be mobile. A quick response unit that can’t respond quickly is about as useless as it gets. 

Still, since it’s not a problem of the soldiers but of gear, the one to blame is the commander. 

In other words, if someone is looking for the fool who couldn’t get the proper support for their troops, you’ll have to kick the ass of Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff. 

“I suppose all I can do is shamefully acknowledge it as my error and improve, but…well, saying it was unexpected is an excuse, huh?” 

Tanya quietly accepts that she stupidly misread the situation. 

Turning into the kind of dreadnought-class fool who can’t accept their mistakes is intolerable to a human being’s sense, both common and good. The world already has Being X—it doesn’t need any more of that kind of idiot. Ultimately, if you’re a rational, intelligent life-form, you’re familiar with the concept of unbearable shame. 

“Alert from the Norden military district! Detecting what appears to be enemy mages! Sector B-39, position indefinite. The on-duty company needs to scramble—now!” 

At the sound of the voice of the apparently on-duty person who came flying into the room, Tanya returns to herself. Again? She clicks her tongue and stands with Serebryakov to rush over to headquarters. 

When they race into the room, Tanya eyes the huge map on the wall and thinks a bit. B-39 is pretty far away. 

“Grantz is the commander on duty to respond?” 

“Yes, Lieutenant Grantz’s unit is on standby.” 

On her feet before the map about to give the order for them to move out, Tanya, somewhat belatedly in her tired brain, feels something sticking. When she considers it, she suddenly realizes. 

Caution—preventable accidents should be prevented. Committing an error out of negligence in order to save a little work is proof of incompetence. As long as there’s a line of foolishness that mustn’t be crossed, it’s only natural to take precautions. 

They seem to be hiding out in the area at the limit of our advance. 

“…They sure picked an annoying spot. How far away can you get?” 

There must be mages hiding out there, too. The Federation and Commonwealth combined unit is annoyingly cunning. Originally, we figured we could obliterate the enemy mage units primarily with the iron fist of the Salamander Kampfgruppe, but they continue to elude us. 

I’m getting sick of chasing around these guys who pop up to assert their existence now and then by rampaging in a remote area. 

“We don’t have enough cards in our hand, and plus, isn’t this just more wasted effort?” 

If she sends out First Lieutenant Grantz’s unit, they won’t be back for a while. We’ll be out our scramble reserve. 

“Lieutenant…after the scramble group leaves, are there personnel on deck to take their place?” 

“No, there haven’t been any orders from Control. I imagine that means we’re supposed to handle it ourselves, but…” 

“Nrrrgh.” Tanya growls in spite of herself. “What the heck?” 

“Huh?” 

“…They only let us rest a few hours.” 

It takes a lot to not click her tongue in frustration. I guess I have to admit it, she thinks, keenly aware of her carelessness. 

The lack of sleep is starting to impinge, to a startling degree, on her ability to think rationally. 

Lowered ability to focus, more and more scattered thoughts, and an increase in minor mistakes—the result of which is a large accident that should have been possible to avoid. 

There’s no magic cure for exhaustion. Or maybe there is something, but only if she can put up with severe side effects, like with the Elinium Type 95. 

The Type 95…? Tanya turns to her orb and sighs. The dual-core orbs, like the Type 97 the 203rd Aerial Mage Battalion uses, perform well, but they tire you out that much more. The Type 95 is far worse, but it’s still a matter of degree. 

“Regulation rest time is the bare minimum. You’re saying to put sleep-deprived mages on standby for scramble orders?” she snaps and silently begins fingering her cap. 

The urge: I want to throw it. 

The struggle: I have to control myself. 

Ultimately, the conclusion is obvious. It goes without saying that reason must be upheld. But even if logic conquers emotions, it’s natural for obnoxious feelings to come up. 

“What should I have them do?” Her adjutant’s attitude reflects that she has a proper grasp of Tanya’s intentions. 

“Tell Lieutenant Grantz to hold off.” 

“Ma’am?” 

“Have him get one platoon ready to go scouting.” Upon giving that message, she speaks into the receiver quickly but calmly. “Norden Control, this is Salamander 01. I object to scrambling an entire company. I’d like to keep it to a platoon for scouting purposes.” 

“Salamander 01, explain your reasoning.” 

She holds herself back from spitting, It’s simple. 

If the controller she’s talking to is only adhering to the manual, it would be incredibly rude to dump her bad mood on him. 

“If we send a whole mage company over a few partisans and mages, we’ll be the first to give out.” Does her controlled voice sound like one a pro wouldn’t have to be ashamed of? “I understand that piecemeal commitment is foolish, but my elite troops can do a hit-and-run. I’m confident in that as their commander.” 

Given the principle of selection and concentration, preserving our spare energy seems like the wisest move. 

The bold, aggressive combat mind-set is for the battlefield. If we foolishly dodge like an enraged bull, we risk getting a sharp jab. 

“I find the current situation of accumulating exhaustion undesirable, so what do you think?” 

“Norden Control, roger. Send up a platoon.” 

“Thank you, Norden Control.” 

Maybe it’s appropriate to celebrate that achievement with a sigh. Given the circumstances, that’s a step in the right direction. Identify your problem and improve things—that is always a human’s task. 

“All right,” Tanya says. “Tell Lieutenant Grantz to send out that platoon. He himself should stay on standby.” 

It’s great that Serebryakov acknowledges immediately. Tanya is about to think how it’s all due to good discipline when her cheery mood is abruptly dampened. 

“He has a suggestion.” 

Tanya looks up at her adjutant, who seems to be in an awkward spot. 

She doesn’t even send the What is it? look. Serebryakov is a far better messenger than most. If she wasn’t able to reprove him, then it must mean he’s on the phone ready to tell me he can’t accept this. 

I must be cursed. Are Being X and his ilk at it again? When will they learn? Tanya asks for the phone and preemptively shoots down what Grantz is about to say. “Lieutenant, there’s no need for that commander-leads-the-charge mind-set. Is there anything else?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“So then you have nothing to say to me.” 

“Colonel, I’m sorry, but I have no intention of turning into an easy-chair commander! Please let me go!” 

It’s fine and good that he’s not shrinking back before the enemy. 

But the diverse array of enemies we face requires different fighting styles. Brave and bold are great, but calm and collected are also essential qualities for an officer to have. When combating an intelligent enemy, thinking is paramount. 

Even a commander in the rear isn’t just taking it easy. “Haaah,” Tanya sighs and continues. “You’re saying the commander of the company should leave the main forces behind? In the army, we call that reckless bravery. Even if waiting is hard, flying on ahead to make things easier on yourself won’t be tolerated.” 

“Sending a platoon is no different from officer recon! Please!” 

He must really mean it. 

And Tanya doesn’t want to stifle her subordinate’s motivation. Even if she can’t shake the concern over his impatience, he has piled up some experience. 

It’s not like he can’t do it, thinks Tanya, weighing her options. If she has him sortie, she’s down one company commander and he’ll get more tired. Honestly, she would rather save him. 

But she also has to think twice about quashing his volunteer spirit. 

“It’s a search-and-destroy mission, but there’s no need to go chasing them too far. Can you prioritize gaining an understanding of the situation?” 

“Of course! It’s okay, then?” 

“Unless those partisans are total numbskulls, they won’t hang around. If they do, you can have the rest of the company sortie.” 

“Understood!” 

It would probably be tactless to ask if he really understood. 

“It’d be great if a chance like that really did come up.” 

Grantz probably understands what she’s trying to say. Playing tag with the partisans is tough, even with the Salamander Kampfgruppe. 

If we can fight, we can win. 

That’s if we get the chance to fight. 

“…You’re not to go chasing them, Lieutenant.” 

“Of course not. You can count on me.” 

“Good. I expect no headlong rushes.” 

“Yes, ma’am! I’m heading out to respond now, so please excuse me!” 

“Good luck.” Tanya hangs up and addresses her adjutant. “Lieutenant Serebryakov, coffee. Strong, please.” 

To switch gears, she’ll treat the symptom. If you ingest too much caffeine, it affects you less. Then, since it’s less effective, you ingest a whole ton more and get caught in a vicious cycle. 

Even if I’m not sure how many gallons of coffee I’ve flooded my stomach with, I can sense the undeniable fact that my thoughts are constrained by chronic lack of sleep. 

I know all that. At the point Tanya is about to think, Well, it’s better than too much alcohol…, she gets confused. 

It’s not pleasant to catch yourself stacking up excuses. In short…it’s a bad sign. 

“This is a hotbed of human error.” 

Knowing that and lamenting that nothing can be done is simply more whining. It’s an excuse I make to myself. Justifications should be for other people. Under no circumstances should you be using them on yourself. If you start lying to yourself, then you’re the same as a fool who has no choice but to fake it. 

If I’m going to grow that weak-minded, I’d rather blow my brains out and get it over with. It would be a necessary act in accordance with intelligence and reason—and a lot more pleasant than continuing to disgrace myself. 

Thus, Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff fires up her overly tired brain to show that though she may be a squishy human, she’s sentient. 

“…I’m too busy.” 

A summary of the situation reveals the issue. 

“The root of all our problems is that we don’t have enough people.” 

In other words, the burden on personnel is too heavy, and whenever someone drops out, the weight that falls on each person who remains increases proportionally in a vicious cycle. 

The solution is incredibly simple. 

“Either a reduction of labor or an increase in hands is unavoidable…” 

Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. 

If there aren’t enough people, we either need to add some or make the work go more efficiently. 

That said, Tanya is plenty aware that carelessly taking the route of maximizing individual productivity in a personnel affairs way is dangerous in a military setting. 

“Yeah, armies ultimately have to be formed with the assumption of attrition in mind… It’s a challenge to tailor them to their environment, too…” 

Human capital will be lost sooner or later. That’s a given, since humans are creatures fated to die whether in times of war or peace. Unlike economic agents, which are guaranteed the eternal life of legal personhood, organic organisms must eventually cease functioning. 

If gods do exist, they should recycle investments made in human capital a bit more effectively to improve productivity. 

Unfortunately, it’s self-evident that gods do not exist. 

Ahhh, there Tanya reins in her scattered thoughts. 

“I guess assigning solo shifts is out of the question. The issue around here wouldn’t even be robbers coming for the till but partisans. Getting burst in on by those fully armed, humorless guys would be terrible.” 

People die even during peace, but they start to go at a horrific pace during a war. Even laborers who have a relatively good chance of working until retirement end up falling while they are still reliably part of the labor pool in their twenties and thirties during wartime. Not a shred of respect for social capital anywhere to be found. 

“Then we just have to increase the number of hands by any means possible.” 

The Imperial Army has already tapped all the population pools that can be mobilized, but it still has two options. 

One is to begin the general conscription of women. That said, they’ve already been mobilized in the industrial sector. Considering current circumstances, we’re not at the point that we need combat personnel at the expense of manufacturing capacity. 

Thankfully, the Empire’s situation isn’t that catastrophic. Even if arriving there is a battle against time, we’re holding out for now. 

The more hopeful option is to employ the as-of-yet-untapped human resource pools of foreigners. Things like putting prisoners to work or recruiting voluntary troops are permitted under the law of war. There’s a lot we could do in the realm of the legal. 

“So getting caught up in personnel-intensive counterinsurgency battles is putting the cart before the horse. Rather than charging in here to clean up the remaining enemies, it would be better to do an operation of gentle persuasion in the east… Well, it’s too late to say that now, but…” 

Going in with no plan invites utter disaster. The Empire’s lost time and opportunity costs are both tremendous. It’s not even clear if we’ll be able to recover from this. 

The way it handled the former Entente Alliance territory and the Principality of Dacia are model failures. The Imperial Army took a textbook approach of making use of the local government organizations as a rule while attempting to maintain peace and order. 

As a result, there were no lethal failures, but neither has there been success. To put it another way, the Imperial Army is dabbling in governance without a clear strategic objective. It’s pretty arrogant to expect anything good to come of that. 

“I can’t believe we’re going about setting up government agencies and ruling so haphazardly… I’m so torn whether to celebrate our excellent coping skills or lament our lack of principles.” 

After stacking up the three nos of no policy, no plan, and no strategy, the people in the thick of it in the Empire continue to exhibit their brilliance at engineering appearances. 

“I guess I should be happy that we’re managing to cover for the strategic-level errors on the tactical level?” 

Nnngh… At that point, Tanya has to swallow the bitter feelings that come up. 

It’s all just treating the symptoms. 

It’s as stupid as using painkillers to ignore the cause of the pain. 

What is required as soon as possible in the swiftest manner is a measure that addresses the cause, even if it’s invasive. 

“Surgery that kills the patient is a problem, but so is leaving them to their own devices.” 

Like Machiavelli said, half-assing it is the worst thing you can do. Ain’t that the truth? As Tanya, I’m feeling that keenly in the present progressive. 

Whatever the form it takes, the Empire is an occupier. 

No matter how the Imperial Army struggles, it’s an instrument of violence that has no hope of being loved. 

Even if it does a really good job, the best it can pray for is to be showered in countless politely bitter sentiments. 

In that case, it’s probably better to double down and be feared. 

“…So there’s really no plan…” 

The current state of affairs is simply letting things run their course and us dealing with problems as they appear. 

When the Imperial Army occupied the former Entente Alliance territory, it didn’t have a plan for how to govern. Our specialty is the interior lines strategy! 

This is a humiliating description, but…it has a hermit’s temperament. 

The Imperial Army never imagined rushing outside and occupying land just as soon as it could cut it off. In other words, there was almost no research done beforehand. If you ransacked the General Staff’s classified document storage, you probably wouldn’t find a single page on foreign expeditions or plans for governing occupied territory. 

“We’re winning, so no one is thinking. But what’ll happen if things go on like this?” 

Things will continue to be dealt with in a haphazard way. 

Even a capable organization will get worn down without a clear strategy. When the Imperial Army finds itself unable to gloss over things any longer, it will literally collapse. 

“In the end, it’s a question of organizational theory.” 

The Imperial Army presides over military affairs. As the country’s instrument of violence, that’s a perfectly accurate thing for it to do. 

Sadly, that’s the issue. 

Imperial authorities haven’t reached a consensus on whether war is a military affair or a political one. 

Even more vexingly, you can probably say that they haven’t even had the debate about how to link the military and the political. 

The Imperial Army is in a totally Hannibal state. 

On the battlefield, it can win. 

But it knows how to take advantage of victory only after it’s reached its limits. 

Having thought that far in silence, Tanya sighs. “…Strategic victory is a long ways off. It’s not even within my grasp anymore. There’s nothing I can do about this deadlock.” 

Hannibal kept on winning. 

Everyone has to admit his victory at Cannae goes down as the root of the fine art of war. But he couldn’t win all the way. I feel a strange affinity with the part of history where though he was winning, he was ground up, like Pyrrhus, under the weight of Rome. If I could, I’d like to hear what Maharbal thought of it. 

Look at the matchup of Xiang Yu and Liu Bang. There hasn’t ever been an army that could win a hundred of a hundred battles. There’s absolutely nothing to say that the Imperial Army can keep going. 

Problematically, public opinion in the Empire doesn’t want to acknowledge that truth. 

You don’t even have to wonder why. This is the Empire, which hasn’t once been defeated since its founding. We’re the ones who force people to surrender, so they’ve never dreamed that we would be forced. 

What happy brains they have. Utterly irritating is what it is. Meanwhile, various countries, the Empire among them, are shedding too much blood on the battlefield. 

It’s literally no use crying over the blood spilled across the earth. How do we process rampant triumphant nonsense like How can we justify these sacrifices besides the sweet nectar of victory? 

“Not coming up with the aim of cutting our losses will probably be fatal.” 

The blowback against trying to avoid losses and steer clear of defeat by insisting on not taking on risk is massive. Just look at the Japanese economy. It’s clear that what we call the Lost Twenty Years or whatnot will soon be called the Lost Thirty Years. 

Or another good example is the various countries who shrank from reform in their late stages. 

“How many people actually understand that we’re sacrificing all these troops’ lives and the nation’s budget just so we can cover the opportunity cost of maintaining the status quo?” 

Reform is essentially something you’re driven to when system fatigue reaches its limit. It’s the same as surgery. 

When a noninvasive procedure won’t make it in time, you’re forced to make the surgical choice known as reform. It’s valid to use anesthesia to dull the pain, but if the patient is frightened of the surgery itself, they will eventually die. 

AROUND THE SAME TIME, IMPERIAL CAPITAL BERUN, GENERAL STAFF OFFICE WAR ROOM 

The Federation Army appeared to be planning a major counteroffensive all along the main lines. 

By the time he was getting reports from all sorts of places in the east that the Federation troops were showing signs of preparing for an all-out counterattack, even Lieutenant General von Rudersdorf, who usually boasted unwavering determination, was fed up. 

“…We literally just fought off their limited winter offensive.” 

The doubt he expressed in a somewhat suspicious voice was reasonable. From what the General Staff could judge, the first-string units of the Federation Army had been committed incredibly recently. 

“Where are they getting that kind of manpower?” 

“Don’t they grow on trees?” 

“Even with no fertilizer?” 

“Apparently, they’re using this cheap, effective stuff called nationalism— although we would have preferred they use the inferior Communism.” 

It was a fact that made him want to click his tongue: The Federation Army was transforming from an organization driven by Communism to one driven by nationalism. 

As far as Lieutenant General von Zettour could see, the change was already irreversible. The Federation Army was growing rapidly more useful as an instrument of violence… It was a different animal from the one appraised in prewar intelligence. You could even say they had solidarity. 

“So the Communists are even overcoming their failures in agriculture?” 

“I’m sure imports are a significant contributor.” Rudersdorf furrowed his brow in disgust and spoke again only after falling silent for a few seconds. “In which case…perhaps we should lift the restrictions on submarine warfare.” 

Even the man who made the proposal didn’t really want to consider that option. 

Zettour’s old friend continued in a slightly tired voice. “If we can’t count on the Unified States and other neutral countries to stick to the definition of neutrality strictly and fairly, then we may not have a choice. What do you think?” When he asked, his expression was as bitter as if he had been forced to drink vinegar. 

They had considered this difficult problem a number of times. Supporting belligerents’ logistics while proclaiming one’s neutrality was practically joining the way. It did seem possible under the law to consider them enemies and make them the target of commercial raiding. 

But Zettour couldn’t approve of an aggressive plan like the one Rudersdorf was suggesting. 

“…That would be much like flipping the switch on a time bomb.” 

The difficult problem on everyone’s minds in the General Staff Office was simple enough to define. 

Would isolationists abandon their principles of nonintervention? 

If so, the answer was simple. All the isolationists would come together to intervene in continental affairs. 

If they weren’t going to abandon their principle, things were a little more complicated. They would choose to continue the impressive feat of maintaining their isolationism while also intervening, but then it was a matter of how long. 

“Unified States ships are supporting the Federation and Commonwealth supply lines. From an operations planning standpoint as well, we can’t just leave them to do as they please.” 

Rudersdorf didn’t even need to start with Listen to cut in. It was only natural to feel ashamed at being helplessly unable to strike the enemy’s supply lines. 

And it was natural given his position as the lieutenant general charged with directing operations that he would emphasize it… But Zettour had to argue back, “If all they’re doing is assuming a logistics role, let’s just consider it an endearing gesture of support and leave it at that.” 

As the one fighting the intense supply line battle, his opinion could only be to stay practical, albeit in a resigned way. Numbers that send both feelings and principles out the window didn’t make it acceptable to directly antagonize the Commonwealth’s supporter, the Unified States. 

Zettour raised his cigar to his mouth in irritation and grumbled, “It’s better than the worst case, anyhow.” 

“Zettour, you think they might actually participate directly?” 

“I have no choice but to say yes. My esteemed friend General von Rudersdorf, have you forgotten? They’ve already invested too much in this war.” 

Unrestricted submarine warfare could end up being an unexpected boon for the Unified States. They would manipulate the enraged monster of public opinion and use it as an excuse to happily intervene. Zettour even suspected that there was a chance they might orchestrate an incident themselves. 

“If it’s just a risk, then…” 

“If there was a risk, they’ve already taken it into account and invested too much.” Zettour was promptly dismissing Rudersdorf’s wishful thinking. “Rudersdorf, think of it from a logistics perspective instead of operations.” 

Cutting your losses was an option you could take only when it was possible to minimize your losses. He was sure of that as a logistics man. 

The Unified States had already bet too much to fold now. 

“Once you’ve built the production line and finished the product, you can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. If they’ve poured this much into military supplies and the product doesn’t sell, it’d be a tragedy.” 

The military supply industry was an extreme case. Frankly, it was hard to get the supplies necessary for wartime stockpiled during peacetime. Makers were generally nervous about overproducing, so to get them to expand their lines, it was necessary to guarantee them contracts. 

…If you don’t intend to use the supplies, it’s difficult to increase production. 

“They’re building aircraft carriers as a fix for the economy, you know!” 

“…You mean fear of unemployment could trigger them to join the war?” 

“I doubt it’s that simple. It’s probably more likely a dense tangle of their economic situation and their unwillingness to accept the Empire’s supremacy.” 

Zettour may not have been an economist, but the scale—building aircraft carriers as an economic policy measure—shocked him. 

The Unified States Navy fleet was already blessed, but to undertake the intensive labor of building carriers as a public works project in an attempt to stimulate the economy was… Anyone from the Imperial Navy, where they were having a hard time simply covering the High Seas Fleet’s maintenance costs, would probably collapse in shock. 

But they were discussing reality. 

“I suppose it makes sense.” Rudersdorf quietly nodded. 

Zettour wasn’t very happy even if he was able to obtain understanding, but…the secret to healthy coordination in the General Staff had to be making sure they were on the same page. 

“Yes,” he said in a tired voice. “Money speaks the truth. And it’s flowing not toward us but toward the Commonwealth.” 

“…So ultimately, our victory would go against all their interests.” 

“Sadly, that is correct.” As he affirmed Rudersdorf’s complaint, Zettour thought, No lender wants to handle loans that can’t be collected, and cutting losses has its limits. Those are both eternal truths. 

“There aren’t any lizards who want to kill themselves.” Lizards cut their tails off precisely because it’s the tail. They wouldn’t ever try to abandon their bodies. “Therefore, while unrestricted submarine warfare may seem effective at a glance, with a bird’s-eye view, you can see that it would make things worse. 

“What a bizarre tightrope to walk.” 

One hand is shaking theirs to stave off participation in the war, while the other is persistently slapping their hand trying to supply interested parties with war goods. 

In other words, there was a contradiction. 

“Zettour, do you really understand what you’re saying? It’s one hell of a tightrope. Even circus veterans make mistakes, you know.” 

“I’m well aware of that. But it’s our only choice. We at least have to try to keep them from joining immediately.” 

After all, war meant advancing toward the future into obscuring fog. 

His personal answer when lost was to wait in place believing that help would come. 

Sadly, there was no rescue team for saving countries. If he wouldn’t have believed that, he could see them boarding a leaky ship and getting swallowed by giant waves. 

A nation that couldn’t stand on its own feet had no future. 

“If it’s to find a way out of this, shouldn’t we try every means possible?” 

If you tried everything, then whoever only readied “everything” was at fault. Once you’d been entrusted with a nation, it was no longer a question of having options. 

Look at Rudersdorf as he grins. 

This unpleasant operations man knows what I’m trying to say. This is our only choice, Zettour thought with a wry smile and changed the subject. “As luck would have it, we’ve received an offer.” 

“I want to hear your opinion. Do you think we can make use of those scammers in Ildoa?” 

“Hmm.” Zettour hesitated for a moment, thinking. 

The Ildoan intelligence officer Colonel Virginio Calandro had passed along a proposal from General Igor Gassman. 

We want to mediate peace. It was a tricky offer. 

“I read Colonel von Lergen’s report… To cut to the chase, I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? There you go being vague again,” Rudersdorf spat in irritation. Well, it was understandable. 

Considering Ildoa’s geopolitical circumstances, their ability—demonstrated via an exercise (which was actually a mobilization order) that it could occupy the southern part of the Empire—had to be acknowledged. 

As they spoke, Ildoa was already working out a plan to sell them to the highest bidder. 

The chance that Ildoa joined the war on the side of the Empire wasn’t zero, but as long as the chance of it joining as an enemy couldn’t be dismissed, the Imperial Army was forced to keep some of its troops chained to the border. 

Compared to the total number of troops, of course, it wasn’t that many. But it was still enough to take on an entire country. Giant garrisons twiddling their thumbs. If I had that big of a force…, someone from Operations couldn’t help but dream. 

“Let’s get our facts straight.” 

When his esteemed friend nodded with a grunt, Zettour enumerated their circumstances and began to think. 

“As long as an opportunist exists, they can be approached by both sides. The chances are fairly good that they’ll stay on their parasitic, bloodsucking path as a neutral power.” 

The premise Zettour presented was the simple truth. He was saying that Ildoa’s policy of neutrality was purely for the pursuit of profits. 

“Whenever they mobilize, we’re forced to draw troops off the eastern front. From that perspective, Ildoa’s attempts to gain the upper hand are painful but also quite crafty.” 

“There’s no doubt about that.” The way Rudersdorf snapped was an indication of how severe the situation was. 

It would never happen, but just think about how many reinforcements could be sent to the east if they could confirm that Ildoa wasn’t going to join the war. It could have been a turning point for the whole continent. 

It’s really a shame was everyone’s frustrated thought. 

“Under the circumstances, there is something we should think about.” Zettour prefaced his remark then dove in. “As far as I can tell, it’s not the country but the Royal Ildoan Army that is making logical judgment calls, at least relatively speaking.” 

“Oh? You’re planning to consider Gassman’s suggestion? But those guys…even though we’re allies…! I doubt they can be trusted.” 

Rudersdorf’s furious argument was probably representative of public opinion. Problematically, he was right. Anyone aware that diplomacy wasn’t a world that turned based on correctness alone would be at wits’ end. 

Zettour swallowed a sigh and made his point. “I can’t deny that, but their proposal makes sense. At least, it’s balanced enough that all the principal warring countries would have to pay attention.” 

“…It’s true that we can’t reject it flat out.” 

Rudersdorf’s face said he wasn’t happy about it, but Zettour figured he should feel lucky to have his agreement. Ildoa’s proposal was infuriating, but there were some parts that couldn’t be completely denied. Just the fact that he had managed to get through to him gave him hope. 

“So Gassman’s proposal from the Royal Ildoan Army…at a glance, it might not fail to be a first step toward peace.” 

“That’s an awfully roundabout way of putting it. Spit it out, Zettour. What’s the issue?” 

“Problematically, the Ildoans are so good at calculating risks and rewards that they might cause an accident.” 

Rudersdorf gaped at him in confusion. “W— You’re still beating around the bush. Explain what you mean!” 

Under his stare, Zettour reluctantly replied. “They’re probably just as scheming as they were before the war. In other words,” he had to snarl. 

What he was about to say was animal logic. Going further, it meant the defeat of the glory of intelligence and reason. 

But as a General Staff officer, he had to say it anyway. 

“Calm rationality is no longer functioning properly in any of the warring countries. We’ve all woken up the monster called public opinion.” 

In total war, a country’s citizens participated far more than in any other type of war to date. Whipped into a frenzy and then whipped up some more, the heated emotions rushed on as a torrent to wage war with tremendous energy. 

Fighting this far had already taken a huge amount of energy, but it was so much energy that it threatened to sweep away even raison d’état. 

After all, not only politicians but even the military had cast themselves into the maelstrom of passions and hysteria. 

The greatest error was confusing a beautiful, brave fighting spirit for levelheaded tactical judgment. Once that happened and the violent emotions grew frantic, it was no easy feat to calm people down. 

He could convince the General Staff officers. That was encouraging news. The question was whether that explanation would work on public opinion. 

“I really wonder how much the Ildoans understand.” 

The Kingdom of Ildoa had been watching this total war from the sidelines. 

They probably saw the follies the Empire was committing and had been waiting for their chance to mediate. 

“No matter how correct the logic, it means nothing if people don’t accept it…” 

“I know that.” Rudersdorf nodded, though he formed a fist and brought it slowly down onto the table. He stared at his fist for a while but then uncurled it, though he didn’t seem satisfied. “…It’s hard to know whether to hit them or shake hands, huh, Zettour?” 

Zettour was about to agree with him—yeah—when he suddenly realized something. From the tone of his voice, the place he was going back and forth about hitting was… 

“Did you draw up a plan for that?” 

“We have an emergency response plan… The main idea entails mobile defense along the border and then mounting a major invasion to push back their lines. It wouldn’t be impossible.” He smiled and the confidence filling him was real… Zettour had known Rudersdorf for a long time. He wasn’t one for bravado. 

If he said it was doable, it was probably doable. 

That meant it was probably all right to assume it might be possible to teach those self-styled heroes pretending to be shrewd observers a harsh lesson. 

But the remark also made Zettour furrow his brow. “You want to go further than border defense?” 

“Affirmative. Recall that the topography there makes it difficult land to protect. We advance out of tactical necessity. I don’t want to continue exposing our tender nether regions to an enemy state.” 

Rudersdorf’s stubborn comment made military sense. The only problem was that it made only military sense. 

This type of reasoning seemed liable to forget about politics, which was dangerous. Zettour felt like he needed to say something even if it wasn’t strictly called for. He had a good understanding of his esteemed friend’s personality, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that sometimes he was a bit too bold. 

“Escaping forward, huh? I suppose it’s fine if we can break through. But if we end up an impulsive salient, we might end up driving ourselves to an early death with fear.” 

“I understand your concern.” 

It was best to always keep hold of the initiative. In the fight against the Republic, escaping forward worked because it was unexpected. 

The Kingdom of Ildoa was probably already prepared for a preemptive attack or whatnot. You would have to be awfully full of yourself to even call a sneak attack missing the “sneak” a gamble. 

“Still,” Rudersdorf said in an irritated manner, “if we leave Ildoa be, it could turn into a bridgehead.” 

After a moment of silent thought, Zettour found himself nodding. 

Following the bloody lessons learned in the trenches, the world powers realized that unless you’ve grasped your enemy’s weakness, the cost of frontal attacks will be too high. 

The Imperial Army’s southern area could count here as its weak point. 

The traditionally delicate relationship between the Empire and Ildoa had resulted in peace for the border area. Frankly, there weren’t any encroaching threats. 

The defensive line facing Ildoa was fragile. 

It was built only with the prewar interior lines strategy in mind—all they had to do down there was hold out until the Great Army could arrive. 

It was never expected that they would repel the enemy on their own. 

“…Operations thinks foreign reinforcements will surge via sea routes.” 

I know that. 

Zettour didn’t need that forecast smugly pointed out to him by someone from Operations—he’d already worried about it enough to be sick. 

He stared Rudersdorf in the eye as if to ask, Don’t you guys have any better ideas? but was then forced to realize something. 

Rudersdorf was looking back at him with the same wishful thinking. This was what it meant to be unable to go on without suppressing your curses by sticking a cigar in your mouth. 

“If we do nothing, the Empire will grow weaker as if it had cancer, huh?” 

Zettour confronted this cold, hard reality. If he imagined the worst-case scenario, the Empire’s south was incredibly frail. The Imperial Army was already stretched to its limits with foreign campaigns it never planned for on multiple fronts. 

They had to accept that they wouldn’t be able to hold the line very long and that there was a real chance of collapse. 

It was no wonder that when faced with such spine-chilling possibilities, he was drawn to preventive measures. The logic of an operations specialist was screaming at him that they should strike without delay. 

Zettour couldn’t deny that his indecision was lame. 

“This is the hard thing about war. When the options you have are limited, as a soldier, you’re forced to choose the least awful one even though you know it isn’t optimal.” 

“In other words?” 

“I can’t refuse an aggressive plan with the purpose of defense.” 

He saw that Rudersdorf was smiling wryly when he came into his peripheral vision. 

“But you don’t agree with it. This is you we’re talking about, after all. There’s probably also the caveat, as long as you know where the reinforcements are coming from, right?” 

“That’s right.” Zettour nodded. 

You can do a limited offensive as defense only when it will connect to what happens next. Offensives take a lot of willpower. 

“…Withdrawing wholesale from the east or setting up the Council for Self-Government as a buffering state could be options.” 

“No, they couldn’t.” 

All Zettour could do, getting rejected so bluntly, was wince. “Oh, don’t shoot me down like that. Though I do admit that possibilities are scarce. But in all things, until we check whether the cat is dead, the future is uncertain… We can only think as flexibly as the number of alternatives we don’t eliminate.” 

“Then are you saying you have a plan to convince the Communists to allow the separatists their independence?” 

“See, you understand the idea of a buffer state.” 

With a “hmm,” Rudersdorf nodded. “…Would the Federation’s nationalism allow it?” 

It was a sharp point to make. 

“It’s probably impossible.” Zettour could state with confidence that, “The Federation’s people probably won’t allow it.” 

When asked about the latest developments with the monster of nationalism, he could answer immediately. Even the people who rebelled against the Communist Party were giving themselves up to the Federation Army and fighting to the death against the invading Empire. 

The fusion of propaganda and nationalism boasted enough power to unite even the antiestablishment faction beneath the party. 

Love for one’s fatherland wasn’t logical. 

Their own feelings toward their Heimat were fierce. No matter how much blood spilled over their mother earth, they would surely cling to the land. 

Rudersdorf was about to counter—“So then”—when Zettour made a further remark. 

“But the Communist Party might.” 

“Huh? Are you insane, Zettour?” 

“Oh, I’m quite sane.” 

“We’re talking about the Communist Party that has forsaken ideology in favor of nationalism! You really think they’ll be that flexible?” 

Rudersdorf’s question seemed to come from the bottom of his heart, and it was commonsense doubt. Any sensible person would surely agree. 

Although as an idea from a General Staff officer, it was no good. Even if this cessation of thought didn’t get you an F in war college, it would definitely get you chewed out by your instructor. 

“But have you forgotten the problem of possibilities?” 

“Ngh.” 

Zettour could understand his frowning old friend’s displeasure, but he had stated the premise without affectation. Logic was a strange product that could even arise in ordinary, ugly cases. 

“As long as a possibility can’t be rejected, we should consider it. Things aren’t going so well for us that we can afford to be choosy.” 

Up against an enemy who was capable of weighing their advantages, he wouldn’t have been surprised even if some unusual deal materialized—even if it was hard to call them a rational player they could do deals with. 

It was dangerous to expect them to be reasonable. But rejecting them as unreasonable was equally dangerous. Clinging to wishful thinking and considering your options were two very different things. 

That was why they needed alternative plans and considerations. Having some kind of idea down on paper was much better than a blank page. 

“Either way,” Zettour continued quietly, sounding tired, “we shouldn’t try to grasp politics or war via common sense. The damn Federation Army took all those losses without yielding and is putting together a spring offensive!” 

No joke or anything else, as a logistics expert, Zettour was dizzy. Judging from the scale of the personnel they were moving and the amount of matériel, the true power of the Federation was enough to cause real trouble. 

The fact that it wouldn’t do for him to grumble This is unbearable made it even worse. All he could do was brace himself. 

If you know you can’t escape the turmoil, at least you know. There shouldn’t be any reason you can’t move on to the next thing. 

“What we need now is determination and resignation. Nothing will surprise us anymore.” 

APRIL 18, UNIFIED YEAR 1927, IMPERIAL ARMY NORTHERN MILITARY DISTRICT, SALAMANDER KAMPFGRUPPE GARRISON 

How much easier would it be if she could laugh off the nonsense coming out of the receiver? 

She’s wholeheartedly fed up and stifles a sigh; the griping and shrieking of her lungs must be psychogenic due to the stress as she thinks, Again?! 

A spring offensive? 

Now? 

…Honestly, it makes no sense. 

No, I understand that the Federation Army is going on the offensive. States take military action in pursuit of some tactical objective or strategic goal. So it’s not as if it’s impossible to grasp that the Federation must have some sort of purpose in mind. 

But even so, a general offensive all along the imperial lines is impossible to understand. 

If the Unified States were joining the war, it could be a huge distraction to keep the Imperial Army pinned to the eastern front…but as it stands, all they’ll accomplish is probably creating new salients. 

“…Does the Federation Army think they can win? I can’t figure out what their goal is.” 

As far as Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff can tell, there’s no military rationale or political necessity for it. 

“A complete mystery is definitely the right description for it.” 

If you order soldiers to charge defensive positions that are holding strong, it’s hard to avoid ending up with heaps of corpses. The road will be paved with bleached bones. 

That said, nothing is impossible. 

Even my beloved market principle doesn’t always operate unfailingly. 

Conflicts fought by irrational actors—humans—tend to go racing off in unreasonable directions amid the mistakes and misunderstandings born of the fog of war. 

Thinking you can predict the future is too arrogant. 

…The only thing that is certain is uncertainty. 

“Have we reached the realm of wordplay? More like theological debate.” 

A world so annoying that ordinary people can’t even fathom it. The only solution is to prioritize what’s happening in the field rather than quibbling about logic. 

There are plenty of things that Logos would tell you couldn’t be but exist nonetheless. In that case, logic is a mistake. 

This is how natural science defines the world. 

Observe, measure, and classify. If you can’t do that, then your only option is to try again until you find a category that fits. 

A picture is worth a thousand words is a saying that’s true to life—but only if you can accurately observe the phenomena. Humans are creatures who can’t even remember what they’ve seen with their own eyes. 

To suffer from surprise, confusion, and fatigue—that is our fate. 

Which is why psychological warfare, behavioral economics, and psychology are researched in such earnest. 

There’s only one thing that is clear. 

Only a numbskull who can’t comprehend the things happening right before them would make a judgment call in a flustered state of mind. 

In that case… 

Tanya turns a tired gaze on the sky and grumbles. 

If the world is in constant turmoil, then all I can do is know and accept that and be ready. 

“Nothing will surprise me anymore.” 

(The Saga of Tanya the Evil, Volume 6: Nil Admirari, fin)