In front of the Imperial Capital of Variguend, a city that stirred even a faint sense of homesickness in him, Walm found that ingrained habits were a troublesome thing.

The experiences he had gained on the battlefield kept interfering. Without realizing it, he had begun evaluating the city whether it would function properly as a defensive mechanism, and whether its structures were constructed with practicality in mind. He could only be irritated with himself.

The city walls encircling the capital were built in a distorted trapezoidal shape. More striking still, inside them were additional walls laid out in an irregular grid pattern. They resembled partition boards dividing the interior of a box.

“Were the walls expanded year after year?”

Friug answered Walm’s muttering, which could have been taken as a question to himself.

“Only in the past few years. Some of the older sections date back to the era of the Variguend Fortress.”

“The Variguend Fortress… the predecessor of the Highserk Empire. The old men used to talk about it often.”

Walm was no scholar or historian, but as a child he had often heard tales of the nation’s origins from the village elders who loved two things, young people and stories of the past.

Unfortunately, for most children, those endlessly drawn-out legends and histories were little short of torture. Most tried every trick in the book to escape their clutches. Walm, however, had been offered up as the sacrificial conversation partner.

Now, he could only be grateful. The wisdom of predecessors was precious. It could not be obtained when desired, and it was easily lost.

Walm searched through hazy, distant memories.

Near the confluence of the Ganau River, which flowed across the Highserk Empire, and a tributary stretching from the Libertoa Trade Federation, a fortress had once been built. That was the beginning of the Imperial Capital Variguend.

The small lord who would become the forerunner of Highserk led his forces to exterminate the powerful monsters infesting the river junction. Then, in the monsters’ former habitat, on a rocky hill overlooking the Ganau River, he constructed Variguend Fortress. By securing the key point of river traffic and gaining control of a small yet rare agricultural region, he laid the foundation for power. Heavy materials such as stone and timber were transported by river.

Because of its strategic value, surrounding lords sometimes formed alliances and launched attacks against it. Yet the fortress and the natural stronghold of the Ganau River repelled them time and again. Through intrigue and counterattacks, the lord gradually swallowed up nearby rival territories. His domain expanded, absorbing several small nations, and Highserk began walking the path toward becoming an empire. That was the history Walm had been told.

“The eastern and northern districts of the capital are the oldest,” Friug continued, as though conducting a lecture. “The southwestern structures are pretty new in comparison.”

Walm welcomed knowledge without reservation.

“They must have extended the walls not only to eliminate vulnerabilities but also to expand the city’s functions.”

Following Friug’s pointing finger, Walm shifted his gaze. Though renovated, the architectural style near the emperor’s residence on the rocky hill still retained an archaic feel.

By contrast, the western and southern sectors were protected by side towers placed at regular intervals and sturdy gate towers. Each tower contained multiple arrow slits, designed so that fields of fire would intersect. As for where such a formidable capital had been breached during the Great Rampage… there was no need to speculate. It was obvious at a glance. It looked like a a dagger had cut through butter where a section of the wall and the city beyond had been gouged away.

Walm had witnessed a similar phenomenon in Labyrinth City.

The peerless Dragon’s Breath was an attack possessed only by dragons at the pinnacle of the ecosystem, making it clear why such creature had the title of a sentient natural disaster. Even the Breath of an Undead Dragon could reduce a city to rubble and annihilate all within it. However, by comparison the strike of the dragon that bore the title of Emperor could scarcely be described as pure destruction. It was closer to erasure than an attack.

The pierced walls were undergoing repair, their defensive capacity supplemented by hastily constructed fortifications on both sides of the breach. The city district, however, was clearly slower to recover. Part of it was likely prioritization of defensive functions but the main reason was simply that far fewer residents remained to inhabit the houses.

“Let’s enter the city.”

“Yeah. Let’s.”

Friug stepped closer and called to him. Walm, who had been staring at the gouged and vanished quarter of the city, gave a small nod and forced the carved tragedy from his sight.

◆

Within the Imperial Capital that held the symbol of the Empire, there was one district steeped in history and tradition, creating an atmosphere of solemn quiet and strict dignity. Proof of that was in the silence of its corridors, where the sound of boots striking stone paving echoed clearly.

Fully armed guards stood at rigid attention to receive visitors. Soldiers who passed by halted and saluted as he walked past. Returning their salutes, Walm felt a nostalgic air against his skin.

In the past, he had been nothing more than a common infantryman, the one lowering his head and offering the salute. Even when he had temporarily been granted command as a wartime battalion commander, urgency had erased such formalities.

Now, being on the receiving end of salutes left him with an uncomfortable itch, although they were just fulfilling their duties as soldiers. If this were the battlefield, leading a small unit, such formalities could be minimized, but this was no such place.

This was the core, the brain, of the Highserk Empire’s military. This was the Central Command where generals gathered, so a certain level of strictness and decorum was only natural.

The central army had lost many personnel and officers during the blocking operation and the defense of the capital. Yet survivors, along with selected members drawn from various regional units, had rebuilt it.

Unlike the hastily conscripted youths mobilized during the Four-Nation Alliance War and the Great Rampage, the soldiers stationed here were all veterans. The remnants of the Empire’s golden age lingered strongly in their bearing, and their eyes burned with fierce will. Their disciplined bodies and movements testified to their long records of battle.

Walm couldn’t focus only on the soldiers. One of the commanding officers in this headquarters was waiting for his arrival. Led deeper and deeper into the building by Friug, Walm eventually stopped before a certain room.

“Please wait a moment.”

Leaving those words behind, Friug disappeared inside. After a brief exchange beyond the door, Friug invited Walm in.

The room was plain and undecorated. Inside stood only Friug and what appeared to be the general’s orderly.

“Guardian Chief Walm, this way.”

The orderly opened the door leading further inside, and Walm cast a glance around the inner chamber. Amid what appeared at first glance to be carelessly piled documents, the man sat. A sharp-featured, battle-hardened man who seemed utterly unsuited to paperwork.

“It’s been a while. I’ve heard of your military achievements, but we haven’t met in person since Aidenberg, have we?”

“Seems like you’re doing well, Battalion Commander Jeyf.”

In front of him stood the commander of the famed cavalry battalion, known as the Empire’s blade and once the right hand of the now-deceased military god, Jeyf Cavalry Battalion’s commander, Jeyf.

The last time they had clearly fought side by side had been at Aidenberg, when they stormed the enemy’s main camp. Even Walm, accustomed to running across battlefields, had nearly coughed up blood and complaints from exhaustion.

“Well? I’m not trying to be a pessimist, but sometimes I envy those who went ahead of us.”

“What do you mean?”

Jeyf deliberately glanced at the documents before explaining.

“Look at the Empire now. You saw it on your way north. River and land routes are secured, but we’re barely holding the regions together. We’re short on personnel everywhere, and we’ve been working to rebuild for a year and a half, but we’re nothing more than a paper dragon. Even I’m stuck playing a bureaucrat.”

It was a pessimism hard to imagine from the fierce general who once rode freely across battlefields. Whether the paperwork-filled room had done this to him, or the year and a half Walm didn’t know about, or both… Walm could not say.

He himself was not an optimist, but he still opened his mouth looking to give encouragement.

“Even so, the Empire still stands.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong. The Empire stands, and we must continue the effort to keep it standing.”

He let out a bitter smile.

“…To start our reunion with nothing but complaints is unbecoming. A drink?”

Jeyf pulled out rum and glasses from a drawer and put them on the desk. It was familiar rum from the Archipelago Countries. Since the magic silver mines had begun operation, ties between the Empire and the Archipelago had only strengthened. Rum was one such product of that exchange.

In the past, Walm would have emptied the bottle without hesitation, but now that was no longer possible.

“Thanks but I’ve basically given up alcohol.”

Jeyf’s eyes widened as if he had seen a ghost.

“What’s this? Planning to go from a soldier to priest?”

“Hah, that wouldn’t be so bad. You can laugh but while I was gone, I’ve drank enough for a few lifetimes.”

He was stating the truth. Depending on one’s interpretation, it could have sounded like a joke in response to a joke.

“Lucky you. Cigarettes?”

“I’ll have those.”

“Good. If you kept refusing, I might’ve ordered you to.”

It was only a hunch, but the battalion commander seemed half-serious.

They lit two cigarettes. Walm drew the purple smoke into his lungs, and the flavor was rich with little bitterness. The leaves had been well sealed and remained dry, meaning they had to be high quality. A faint regret surfaced that he had refused the rum.

While smoking, they exchanged trivial conversation for a few minutes before Jeyf brought up the main topic.

“You likely heard from Company Commander Friug on the way, but the Highserk Empire has formed an alliance with the Mayard Duchy.”

“Yesterday’s enemy is today’s ally, huh?”

For those who had killed one another on the battlefield, it was enough to leave one speechless but historically, among the northern nations, it was hardly unusual. Even in Walm’s former world, such things were common.

“Are you dissatisfied?”

“No. At Dandurg, we fought side by side regardless of nation or affiliation. I have no resistance to it now.”

If one conveniently interpreted it, the truth was simply that it had taken a war against monsters for neighbors to join hands. That was easier to accept than pretty words about peace.

Jeyf nodded in satisfaction and drained his glass.

“Good thinking. The northern nations have been unstable as far as I can recall. Betrayal, defection, alliances… there’s no end to it. Calling it complex and bizarre wouldn’t be far-fetched.”

“I wouldn’t say there’s none, but expecting a close friendship between our nations is a mistake. Both sides have causes they refuse to let go of.”

“You’re awfully cool-headed for a former farmer drafted into service.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“In any case, despite some opposition, the two nations are connected now. We’re exchanging personnel and supplies with Mayard through Flame Emperor Dragon Corridor. Many people from Mayard, Highserk and Felius among others fled there. The Selta territory alone couldn’t house or feed them all, so some pass through the corridor and settle now in the Empire. In the northern nations borders change often… perhaps that’s just the regional character but once the head of a nation is crushed, people submit quietly.”

“Ironically war breeds flexibility.”

“Long-lasting conflict taught them to be pragmatic and we’re no exception. But with the flow of people and goods comes danger. Spies, traitors… there’s no end to the risks. The scale is enormous, and it’s impossible to manage everything. Still, we have no choice but to accept it. Like I said, even I’m stuck doing paperwork. I can say handling men and horses at the front was far easier.”

“My condolences.”

Walm spoke sincerely.

“You’ve had similar experiences at Dandurg, Guardian Chief… there I go again, straying off topic.”

Jeyf exhaled smoke, which crept along the ceiling.

“Caravans travel through the corridor to Selta. The route is connected, yes, but it’s still just points and lines. Calling it secure would be an exaggeration. Anyway, the next one leaves in six days, so rest until then. I’d enjoy talking longer, but I’m busy. Once your eye treatment in Mayard is finished, we’ll speak again. Keep the cigarettes as a parting gift.”

Battalion Commander Jeyf placed a leather pouch on the desk and Walm accepted it without checking the contents.

“My thanks. I look forward to the next time.”

“Don’t be too polite. Words have a way of turning on you and inviting bad outcomes.”

Jeyf grimaced in genuine disgust and Walm smiled in return.

“In that case, I’ll look forward to cigarettes as a gift next time.”

“Hah. So you’re going to mooch off me? Quick to switch gears, aren’t you? Well then, I’ll spare you some.”

As if dismissing him, Jeyf waved his hand lazily. After returning the salute, Walm quietly left the room.

Translator – Lyxxna