To the Maslantia Battlefield (2)
"I'd like you to go there and wipe out every human in the place."
"And what happens if I refuse?"
Maslantia. A land perched on the far southwestern edge of the continent, and the most prominent stronghold of the Sacred Covenant — a resistance movement that refused to bow to the demons.
They had no ties to the Hero's faction, but their sheer refusal to lose to demonkind burned every bit as fiercely as the Hero's own resolve.
They were a pack of lunatics, granted, but lunatics of a useful kind.
'I can't let them disappear.'
Their influence might be small, but for as long as the Hero needed to recover, they were the only thing keeping the demons' momentum in check. If anything, I should have been begging them to stay alive — instead, I was being ordered to wipe them out.
"It's the very first order I'm giving you. Are you seriously going to refuse? I'm hurt."
The Archlord replied in a tone dripping with playful mischief.
But I knew exactly what lay beneath those words.
'A mere Monarch, defying my command? Go ahead. Try it. See what happens.' That was what she was really saying.
Ariel was the type to grant you all the freedom in the world — right up until the moment you dared to cross one of her orders.
It was the same reason the other Monarchs, prickly and prideful as they were, all obeyed the Archlord without question.
'Well, I suppose I have no choice...'
This was the first order Ariel had given me since I became a Monarch.
I had no grounds to refuse, and if I kept pushing back here, I'd only sour her mood.
And then, no doubt, she'd flaunt her displeasure by handing me something even worse — like demanding I turn the barren wasteland of the Demon Realm into fertile farmland.
Or ordering me to sever every human arm on the continent.
"Understood."
Clicking my tongue, I shot the Archlord a look of long-suffering resignation. Her crow's beak stretched wide open, as if in satisfaction.
"Wonderful, Seventh Monarch. I'll be expecting great things."
"I depart tomorrow."
"No need to rush on my account~ but I suppose I can't complain. Well then, that's everything I wanted to say, so I'll be off, hm?"
The crow lifted one wing in a jaunty salute and flitted out through the window.
"Damn it all."
For some reason, the sky seemed bluer than usual today.
"HALT! HALT! Move and you die!"
Two days of travel brought me to the gates of the Maslantia garrison. The moment I reached the entrance, a demon bellowed at the top of his lungs.
'Is that supposed to be a password? These people really do love their theatrics.'
Keeping a firm grip on my horse's reins, I watched the spectacle with mild amusement.
"Knife!"
"No idea."
"If you don't know the password, you cannot enter!"
"I'm the Seventh Monarch. Open the gate already."
"Monarch or Archlord, nobody gets in—!"
"...What?"
What fresh breed of lunatic was this?
Just then, another demon's face drained chalk-white, and he delivered a vicious blow to the idiot's skull.
"You insane bastard—! Are you out of your mind?!"
Then he whipped toward me in a cold sweat, mouth working frantically.
"My deepest apologies, my Lord! This one's still fresh out of training... Please, come in at once! The Commander is expecting you."
"Cut that idiot's leave."
"Y-yes, my Lord!"
'This garrison is an absolute circus.'
Letting my displeasure show on my face, I passed slowly through the gates.
"An honor to make your acquaintance. I am Sirius, commander of this front. To have the Seventh Monarch grace this humble post in person — truly, it is a privilege beyond words."
A demon in a jet-black uniform bowed deeply at the waist.
Ignoring the flattery, I swept my gaze around the command center. Fitting for the medieval era, it was painfully spartan.
A map spread across the table, circled with markers scattered here and there. Those spots had to be strategic strongholds — no doubt about it.
"Is... is something displeasing to you, my Lord?"
The commander's pupils trembled faintly.
I waved a hand dismissively.
"It's fine. Brief me on the current state of the front."
"At once. Honestly speaking, the situation is not favorable. As you can see here, we've been engaged around Outpost A since a week ago, but we are currently outnumbered and outmatched, and holding on by a thread. Within days, I fear Outpost A may fall. Our one consolation is terrain: the region is hill country, ground on which we hold the geographic advantage, so the situation is by no means beyond reversing."
Among demons, raw strength was the measure of rank, which meant the relatively weak demons got posted to backwater fronts like this one.
And that was exactly why the humans of Maslantia were pushing the demon forces back.
'If I'd brought a few of the Monarchs' personal guards from their castles, we could've swept the whole place clean.'
It also explained why the resistance fought tooth and nail to take Maslantia first. Every journey begins with a single step, as they say — you push into whichever front looks easiest to crack first.
In the game, too, the faction expansions had all snowballed outward from Maslantia.
"So. What's the plan?"
At my indifferent question, Sirius swallowed hard before answering.
"To my shame, my Lord, I intended to make our stand at Outpost C. The hills and terrain there are ideal for drawing the enemy into a war of attrition."
'Well, he is a commander — the man's got a decent head on his shoulders.'
It was, frankly, the textbook-correct answer.
Looking at the map on the table, apart from the spot marked with an X, there were three strongholds: A, B, and C.
Outpost A, as the man himself had said, was already on the brink of falling — it was a foregone conclusion that the humans would take it soon enough.
That left B and C.
Outpost B was positioned so that it could never, under any circumstances, be breached without first taking C.
And was C easy to break? Absolutely not.
Flanked by sheer, steep hills, C checked every single box on the list of what made a strategic stronghold strategic.
In other words, from the demons' standpoint, all they had to do was lock C's front door and hunker down, and the resistance's forces would bleed themselves dry against it.
Time itself was on the demons' side. The longer the war dragged on, the better their odds grew.
I clicked my tongue.
By every logic of war, the demons were going to win this one.
'That can't be allowed to happen.'
It had to be the resistance that won.
"Is that truly the best you can do?"
"...My Lord?"
"I asked whether locking the door and hiding behind it is really your best answer against a swarm of gnats."
So yes — my plan was to sabotage the demons as ruthlessly and thoroughly as I possibly could.
To make certain they suffered a miserable, crushing defeat in this war.
To make certain the resistance triumphed, expanded, and grew stronger!
'Eliminate every human in Maslantia'?'
Sorry, Archlord, but mission failed.
I'd already cooked up a perfectly serviceable excuse to feed her, too.
The demons would lose this war.
"I... with all due respect, my Lord, no matter how I turn it over in my mind, this remains the wisest course."
"Commander. You still have much to learn. Here, we don't defend. We smash straight through them."
"I beg your pardon?"
Sirius stared at me as though I'd begun speaking in tongues. Then, as if something had suddenly dawned on him, he spoke with careful deliberation.
"Ah... surely you don't mean to take the field yourself, my Lord?"
"Sirius. Do you have a death wish?"
"F-forgive me."
"I have no intention of taking the field over a handful of gnats."
"...Understood, my Lord."
He'd known long before I ever arrived, of course. He'd known that a being of Monarch caliber would never stoop to meddling in their primitive little game of war.
And who could blame him?
One casual swing of a Monarch's blade, and everything on the field simply died.
War? Wargames?
In the face of overwhelming power, all of it was meaningless noise.
From Sirius's perspective, I must have looked like a monster on an entirely different tier from anything under his command. And so, naturally, he saw this battlefield the way one sees a board game — a pastime for beings like me.
Monarchs were all cut from that same cloth, after all.
"...If Your Lordship will not take the field personally, then all the more reason we should devote ourselves entirely to defense. There is no need to break through, only to see our entire force annihilated."
From his position, the order was flatly unacceptable.
Here was a game you won by sitting perfectly still — and I was ordering him to charge out and lose it.
What kind of lunatic would just say yes to that?
"You do as you're ordered."
What could he do about it, though?
When the master says jump, you jump.
"......"
"Your answer."
"...Yes, my Lord."
I nodded with an expression of deep satisfaction.
"...Sirius, is this really going to be all right? Forgive me for saying so, but this reads less like an order and more like a death sentence."
Squad Leader Asmodai spoke up, his voice thick with worry.
"Mind your tongue, Asmodai. If we cannot trust the Seventh Monarch, then who are we to trust?"
Sirius said the words, but even he could feel a seed of doubt sprouting in some quiet corner of his heart.
Was this truly the right course of action?
"All forces — full assault! Advance!"
But whether it was right or wrong no longer mattered.
They were soldiers, bound to obey. A Monarch's order was absolute.
No questions permitted.
"ADVANCE—!"
Thud. Thud.
Several thousand soldiers moved forward as one, like a single body. Sirius watched them go and swallowed hard.
I rose from my cot with a long, leisurely stretch.
For the first time in ages, I'd slept like a baby.
'They'll all be wiped out by now, surely?'
I climbed to my feet and stepped out of the tent. A cool breeze, sunlight filtering gently down from above — a genuinely lovely day, all things considered.
"M-my Lord—!"
Commander Sirius came sprinting toward me in a frantic rush.
No doubt he was coming to deliver the tragic news of their total annihilation.
I curled my lips upward.
"What is it? Did you all get wiped out?"
"Everything went exactly as Your Lordship foretold!"
"Foretold what, exactly?"
"It was magnificent! We drove the assault straight through their lines, precisely as ordered, and pushed them clean out of Outpost A!"
My heart plummeted straight through the floor.
What in the hell was this man talking about?
"It is all thanks to Your Lordship! Our soldiers' morale has soared on the wings of this first victory! My deepest gratitude, my Lord!"
'Wait... this is not how this was supposed to go.'
I'd sent them out there to be annihilated.
And they'd won.
So what was I supposed to do now?