The Selta Peninsula connected into the great lake like the blade of a sharp sword. At its base stretched a horseshoe-shaped chain of mountains and cliffs. Aside from a few narrow passes that served as its gateways, the land could only be entered by crossing steep mountains or crossing the lake itself, making it a natural fortress.

These outer defenses shielded it from external threats. Within them lay the naval port city of Anxio, blessed with a fine harbor and stable governance. Since the fall of the capital, Aidenberg, it had in both name and reality come to function as the core of the Mayard Duchy.

In the Felius region after the Great Rampage, entire areas had been annihilated. Among the few surviving parts in Selta that escaped direct destruction, Anxio naturally became a gathering place for those who had barely survived.

Faced with an unprecedented crisis, the territory’s ruler, Grand Duchess Rita Mayard, set aside all appearances and gathered the surrounding lords, the church, and the refugees under her command through uncompromising, top-down authority. Many minds may think, but the mind that makes the final decision must be only one.

Rita herself was aware that her rule had been dictatorial, but without such measures, there would have been no way to resist the roaming monsters or the looming threat of starvation. Through fishing and lake transport she sustained the people, while also using the region as a base for campaigns against the demonic territory, steadily reclaiming lands humanity had lost.

Reports and petitions poured in from every region. Rita read them all and issued rulings in the name of Mayard. Chronic exhaustion had hollowed her eyes, and dark circles framed them like heavy makeup. It was a flaw for a woman concerned with appearances, yet the sharpness it lent to her gaze gave her a certain authority befitting a ruler.

As Grand Duchess, Rita had done everything she could, but that didn’t mean everything had gone well.

With transportation and manpower stretched thin, food and fuel became scarce and unevenly distributed. Some starved. Others froze to death. Some villages, newly resettled by people returning to their former homes, were crushed again by a flow of monsters.

Rita Mayard’s rule may have been thorough, but it wasn’t equal. To those who had lost everything, she must have seemed a foolish young girl who lacked the qualities of a ruler and understood nothing of reality. Yet had she clung to fairness in every detail, the whole system would have collapsed, and refugees would have been driven into the demonic lands with nothing but crude sticks and farm tools in their hands.

Two years had passed since then.

Starvation and freezing deaths had not disappeared entirely. Even so, conditions had begun to improve slowly but steadily. The Refun mine now operating at full capacity, and trade networks through the Highserk Empire had begun to function. Sometimes Rita even allowed herself to smile faintly at the small banter among her retainers, or admire the beauty of Lake Selta, which had once been nothing more than a familiar view before.

The usually calm surface of the lake was now churned by ripples that disturbed the water. The fleet that had been anchored in the bay had been put to sea in preparation for enemy ships. The commotion spread across land as well. Weapons and armors stored in warehouses were dragged out in bulk, while conscription of soldiers from the civilian population continued.

“Protection for the people of Felius suffering under oppression. The liberation of lands unjustly annexed… and they even bear the royal crest of Felius.”

“Could it be… that members of the Felius royal family survived?”

“That can’t be. Reports from former royal guards state that the Felius royal family perished with the kingdom in the royal castle. At best, it’s someone so distantly related their name wouldn’t even appear on the family tree, or an outright fabrication. Establish a puppet state first, then turn it into a county or annex it outright. It could be handled however they please.”

In the fortress that overlooked the city, deep within its innermost chambers, the leading figures who shaped the policies of Anxio, and by extension the Mayard Duchy, had gathered.

The hall was large enough for a platoon of soldiers to stand in formation. Now it simmered with heated debate. For the sake of secrecy the room could not be ventilated, and the air grew stifling as the arguments dragged on. The ministers talked a lot, but no progress was made. The discussion had reached a dead end.

“What kind of ultimatum is this? The fighting has already started.”

“Ambush is the foundation of warfare. If anything, we were the ones who failed to prepare.”

“The uprisings occurred near the provisional border, in Balboa and Ranaisfer. Crest Kingdom forces have already advanced there.”

“You call it a civilian uprising, but in truth they’re private troops of the Crest lying in wait!”

“The offensive axis is along the lakeshore as predicted. But with the uprising in Yarkuk and our supply lines cut, the Refun garrison can’t move.”

“The road is literally severed. The local forces are an island on land.”

The officers moved pieces across the map, laying them down and standing them up again, their brows furrowed. The inconsistency of their movements told Rita everything she needed to know about the confusion of the reports coming in from the front.

“At Yarkuk and Barbasek, even the local lords have started revolting. Ungrateful wretches.”

“They were already resentful, claiming Refun and other regions were receiving preferential treatment. We should’ve bled them dry instead of reducing their taxes. Clearly, they had enough strength left to raise a rebellion.”

“Is this really the time for sarcasm?”

“Perhaps the inland regions can be excused, but letting the provisional border be ravaged like this shows the army’s negligence.”

The accusation drew an immediate outburst from one of the officers.

“Easy for you to say these armchair theories! In a national crisis, where exactly did we have the luxury of picking and choosing people? Should we have inspected every cart and every traveler? If the transport had slowed any further, thousands more would have starved or frozen to death!”

The one who spoke in defense of the army was the head of a merchant house that controlled the flow of logistics from Selta’s sea routes to inland transport.

“I won’t say there’s no responsibility on our side,” the man replied, “but this is not something that can simply be blamed on them. The flow of people is the nation’s blood. Stop that flow, and what awaits is necrosis at the extremities. Besides, Mayard and Highserk were the main battlefields in the last war. Crest and Libertoa remained largely untouched, so naturally they have many options available. The movement and number of people directly affect information. Being at a disadvantage in intelligence is nothing new.”

“If only we had one more year… we might’ve had enough room to expose them.”

A civil official murmured weakly before lowering his gaze.

“But it was necessary to govern the former Felius territories. Even if it turned out to be poisoned.”

“Their demands are the immediate return of the former Felius lands, including Refun. Removal of Highserk forces, and the permanent stationing of the allied army in Selta.”

“Preposterous. That leaves us no sovereignty at all.”

“Refusing them is easy enough, but if the state itself falls, none of it will matter.”

“In the past, Crest relied only on knight orders and a handful of so-called heroes, with hardly any proper soldiers. Now they’ve managed to gather several battalion-sized forces.”

“Soldiers forged through natural selection,” someone added grimly. “Felius refugees from the northwest and east were driven into the demonic territories in the name of reclaiming their homeland, and the survivors became their army.”

Though he avoided stating it outright, one of the civil officials spoke with something close to envy.

“If you ignore human losses, it solves overpopulation and requires no training costs. And there’s no risk of being stabbed in the back by them on the front lines… very convenient in its own way.”

It was the exact opposite of Mayard’s national policy. Still, Rita herself was hardly pure enough to criticize it. The Duchy hadn’t accepted the Felius people purely out of goodwill. Years of war had drained Mayard of its population. For the nation to survive, it needed new blood, new people to sustain it.

“So then,” one senior civil official asked, “how shall we respond to the Crest?”

No clear answer came. Instead, pessimistic opinions grounded in harsh reality spilled forth. Eventually the exhausted retainers fell silent, and the room grew quiet. Still, their eyes spoke clearly enough as they turned toward Rita asking one question.

“What will you do about their demands?”

It was a crossroads. The fate of the duchy would be decided here. Without hesitation, Rita addressed the wavering assembly.

“Let us assume we hand over the former Felius lands and the Refun Mine. Then what next? Remove the checkpoints? Tear down the forts? Whether it’s moats or walls, their demands will only escalate. They see us as easy prey.”

She paused, her voice steady.

“If we yield here, they will bleed us forever. Compromise is not an option.”

It was a declaration of total resistance. Those gathered in the chamber chose their words carefully as they addressed their ruler.

“Your Grace, considering future diplomacy, that would be far too—”

“Given the difference in military strength, we are at a disadvantage. And if we clash with the allied forces, there’s the risk that more of our own may defect afterward.”

“Have any other former Felius lords rebelled, aside from those in Yarkuk and Barbasek?”

Rita directed the question to the officer who was updating the map with reports arriving through the communication magic devices.

“No, none have been confirmed yet.”

“Some may feel gratitude for having been saved from the Great Rampage, but gratitude alone doesn’t feed families. The lords who defected chose their path for the prosperity of their families and people. Then what of the rest?”

The round table fell silent, everyone waiting for the grand duchess to continue. Slowly, Rita met each person’s eyes in turn before speaking again.

“In truth, they’re hesitating. They’re wondering whether Crest can really conquer the Selta peninsula. The Highserk Empire once surrounded Selta, yet even they abandoned a direct assault. That same Highserk is now our ally. The Four-Nation Alliance once failed to overcome the empire, and the empire itself failed to capture Selta. So tell me… can Crest truly succeed where they could not? After their repeated defeats at Refun and Sarajevo… surely you all remember.”

It was difficult to forget the past, especially when it involved such brutal war. For that very reason, the threat and terror of the Highserk imperial army still lingered deep in memory. Even the senior officials gathered in this room were no exception.

Rita herself was no different. When she had met one of the elite soldiers of Highserk, the so-called Demon Fire user who wielded blue flames, gratitude and fear had coexisted uneasily within her. Only the old knight standing beside her seemed to understand.

“And you believe Highserk would exhaust itself to save us?” one officer asked, sounding the alarm from another perspective. “They were our enemies not long ago.”

Even those who had trained and operated alongside the imperial troops still harbored doubts. Friendship between nations, and trust between allies. Fine words indeed, and excellent slogans to rally the people. But those who understood reality were not so easily persuaded by pretty phrases.

Rita answered in a cold tone.

“Highserk will fight for Mayard even at the cost of their lives. If we fall, it is only a matter of time before Highserk is crushed between east and west.”

Clap.

A sharp sound echoed through the chamber as Rita brought her hands together. With that single gesture she hinted at the fate awaiting the empire if it refused to commit its full strength. It was precisely for this reason that the Highserk representatives had not been invited to the meeting.

Once she had everyone’s attention, Rita intertwined her fingers and continued.

“They need us, and we need them. Our nations are already deeply dependent on one another, both militarily and economically.”

Her father, Duke Yuse Mayard, had erred in how he handled this relationship. When Felius had looked down on them and hesitated to offer aid, they should have leaned into the alliance with the Highserk Empire and pressed their advantage politely, carefully, and with just enough pressure to extract full support.

The same mistake could not be repeated. Mayard and Rita herself had to prove their value.

“Any other opinions?”

Before the resolute Grand Duchess, no one spoke in opposition. Crest had played its hand well. By seizing control of the provisional border and dividing their forces, it had gained not only military advantage but also shaken their morale. That was precisely why a leader had to set the course.

“We will wait for the Highserk Empire reinforcements. Once they arrive, we will meet the Crest–Libertoa allied army in an open battle and crush them. Must we continue speaking as though defeat is inevitable?”

Then Rita’s stern expression softened as she turned to the civil officials with instructions.

“As for the envoy, respond politely. Tell them this: preparations are already underway at Lake Selta for a grand water burial. Therefore, provisions for the return journey will not be necessary. Inform them that we eagerly await the arrival of their army.”

“Haha… that is certainly bold, Your Grace.”

“Let us teach them what true sentiment is.”

At the grand duchess’s remark, quiet laughter spread among the senior officials. In desperate times, people had to laugh to keep their courage. Such a ridiculous ultimatum deserved an equally fitting reply.

Translator – Lyxxna