Ominous Portents (1)
The man sitting on the throne gazed down at the scene with a languid expression. In the golden palace of Yord that decided the fate of the continent, the civil and military officials who held the empire’s key positions were currently competing to voice their opinions.
“The budget allocated to the new magic cannon project is far too excessive! We’re already short on funds to maintain the national highways, causing logistics to stall—what in the world is this nonsense?”
“That’s because you’re trying to flatten every mountain and river in the name of ‘road maintenance’! Widening a path that two people could walk side by side so four carriages can move at once isn’t maintenance, it’s expansion work!”
“Do you not even understand the basic principle that convenient transportation revives the economy?”
“What use is opening roads without first securing proper defensive capabilities? You’d only be helping the enemy invade!”
“This is no time to be fighting over such things! Rebels who refuse the empire’s rule are gathering strength across the continent. If we don’t deal with them quickly, a great disaster will follow!”
“It’s been over ten years since I first heard that line. There have always been malcontents everywhere. If we make a fuss and react to every little disturbance, we’ll only expose our own weaknesses.”
“Hmm. However, the fact that rebel activity never ceases suggests someone is backing them from the shadows. How about issuing a warning to the nobles who refuse to cooperate with the royal families of each kingdom?”
“What foolish talk. If we had clear evidence and could target only the guilty parties, that would be one thing. But taking a hard line against all of them would only increase their backlash.”
The emperor watched the officials debate various directions for the empire’s technology, transportation, and public security with half-lidded eyes. He issued no new directives, took no one’s side, and only intervened when the arguments threatened to grow too heated. It might have been appropriate behavior for a mediator of a meeting, but it was rather unsuitable for the supreme ruler governing the strongest nation on the continent.
Yet none of the gathered ministers found the emperor’s demeanor strange, nor did any worry that he had fallen into some kind of despair. Ever since he inherited the throne from the previous emperor—the empire’s great hero and object of faith—his attitude toward state affairs had always been like this.
In the beginning, many had expressed concern over his behavior. But after years of the same pattern repeating, everyone had come to accept it as natural. Some believed he was deliberately keeping a low profile so as not to offend the previous emperor, who still wielded immense influence. Others claimed that endless comparison with his overwhelmingly great father had caused him to lose all motivation. And there were even those who privately thought—though they would never dare say it aloud, lest they be accused of disrespect—that the emperor simply saw no need to exert himself when the empire ran perfectly well on its own, preferring to live comfortably without unnecessary stress.
In truth, from the civil officials’ perspective, this emperor’s style was rather welcome. Because he had refrained from recklessly launching new national projects and instead focused on inheriting and completing the previous emperor’s initiatives, the empire had become even more firmly established. A nation was like a living creature; sometimes it needed proper rest and time to strengthen its foundations. In that sense, the current emperor was an ideal monarch of preservation.
However, there were those among the military officials who strongly opposed this approach. Kalyos Schmidt, Commander of the Southern Army and one of the empire’s Five Swords, was a prime example.
“Damn it, those worthless desk jockeys—what the hell do they know? They’re always screaming about cutting military spending!”
His adjutant nodded in agreement. “They seriously spout nonsense like, ‘Since the only enemy of the empire is Ivestan, why do we need any armies besides the Eastern one?’ Those bastards will only come to their senses when they see their own mansions burning because of the demonic beasts and rebels they’ve ignored.”
“Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. We should be stockpiling strength in preparation for the coming war, yet they’re swayed by mere wealth like this. What can we possibly accomplish?”
It had already been nearly thirty years since the end of the two great wars—the Hegemony War and the Judgment War. The imperial army, once divided into more than ten separate forces, had been greatly reduced in scale for the sake of elite specialization and budget cuts. Only five armies remained: the Four Directional Armies of East, West, South, and North, plus the Central Army.
Even among these five, subtle hierarchies existed based on their respective areas of responsibility.
The Central Army, due to its symbolic status as the emperor’s direct force and its role in protecting the capital and the imperial family—the heart of the empire—was considered the foremost among them and received the most generous support.
The Eastern Army faced the Ivestan Empire, the empire’s primary adversary, making it the largest in scale. It also possessed abundant real combat experience from constantly battling the monsters and beasts descending from the Black Mountains. As a bonus, it stood shoulder to shoulder with the Ivestan Grand Duchy—the most friendly of the three vassal states—whose first Archduke had once been a top military figure and loyal subject of the previous emperor.
The Western Army was tasked with keeping the Morian Kingdom in check. Once the empire’s greatest rival, Morian still had powerful native factions exerting influence. Thanks to the kingdom’s abundant mana density across its territory, spirits frequently appeared there, so the Western Army had the highest proportion of mana users among the five armies.
The Central Army for symbolism, the Eastern Army for numbers and combat experience, and the Western Army for powerful magical forces—these three were regarded as the promising Three Pillars within the military and were promised corresponding status and treatment.
In contrast, the situations of the Northern and Southern Armies were considerably more ambiguous.
The Northern Army’s duties amounted to little more than monitoring for possible demonic invasions while preparing for the occasional frenzied barbarian incursions or the periodic outbreaks of demonic beasts from the harsh environment.
As for the Southern Army under Kalyos Schmidt? The region it oversaw contained the Spero Kingdom, the weakest nation on the entire continent. There were no powerful external threats or dangerous elements to speak of. At most, a handful of rebels who opposed imperial rule occasionally caused trouble. Even then, their numbers rarely exceeded a few dozen. If the army marched out to subjugate them, they would simply scatter and flee. Worse, the local residents and nobles were often uncooperative, making investigations a headache.
While the Southern Army would naturally win any direct clash of strength, the enemy refused to fight head-on. Yet crushing the locals entirely was out of the question. As a result, the Imperial Guard—which handled public security—had more work in the south than the main military forces, further weakening the Southern Army’s position.
When one considered that their supposed ally, the Northern Army, had been steadily siphoning budget for naval expansion under the pretext of preparing an expedition to the demon continent after the Ivestan campaign, it became clear that the Southern Army was the only one without a proper lifeline.
Damn it. This can’t continue. Especially with those ominous rumors circulating lately…
The previous emperor’s final great undertaking had been the mana user training project—the Imperial Academy. While he had called its students “swords that would shine in the fight against demons,” he had never clearly stated how they would be utilized in the future. This ambiguity had spawned numerous speculations.
The first theory was that the empire would gradually win over and recruit students during their studies, turning them into pro-imperial forces before assigning them as elite personnel to the existing armies. This seemed the most logical approach at first glance. However, once it was revealed that the curriculum lacked essential basic military training, this hypothesis lost credibility.
In its place rose a new rumor: that a special unit composed solely of Academy graduates was about to be established. This was currently the most widely accepted theory. The reasoning was that the previous emperor had favored operating small elite units during his active years in war, and that against high-ranking demons, ordinary forces were virtually useless except for mana users or those possessing Star’s Blessing. Thus, the need for a dedicated special force had become apparent.
And if this came to pass, the most likely candidate to command the new special unit as its general was already decided.
Istal von Lebenstein.
She belonged to the Lebenstein Ducal House, a powerful branch of the Barhart Imperial Family. Even among a lineage that had produced countless talents across generations, she was hailed as a genius among geniuses—the greatest in talent alone. Though her excessively outrageous speech and behavior had earned the backlash of the military’s conservative faction and led to her expulsion, she was still a woman who had once risen to the rank of general, even if only nominally without a formal unit.
We cannot allow that to happen.
Since this was a project personally directed by the empire’s hero, the previous emperor, it was certain that Academy graduates would play a crucial role in the empire’s future moves. If that role took the form of an independent unit, it would create a powerful rival to the existing five armies. And the one that would suffer the greatest damage would be none other than Kalyos Schmidt’s Southern Army.
To make matters worse, the prospective commander was Istal von Lebenstein, infamous for her broken personality. All existing traditions and implicit rules would be shattered. In the worst case, the Southern Army itself might be disbanded and absorbed into the others.
We cannot openly criticize the Academy itself. That would look like challenging His Late Majesty. However, it is possible to claim that the professors are failing to educate the students properly.
Because it was such an unprecedented national project, many of the professors currently holding key positions at the Academy were individuals who had been considered problem children in their original posts. If responsibility could be placed on them, forcing them to step down and replacing them with people under Kalyos or his allies’ influence, it might eventually become possible to absorb the Academy itself in the long term.
We cannot move hastily. We must gather allies and plan carefully.
The empire was vast, and it was filled with people. He had no desire for the already numerous competitors to increase any further. He wanted to protect his own rice bowl.
It was far too worldly and familiar an instinct to be called malice. It was simply human nature itself.