The Illusion of Five Thousand

The holy battlefield of the Krang Plains. Once a peaceful buffer zone between the Elium Kingdom and the Franz Kingdom, it had now transformed into the very heart of a war zone, where the blades of two nations clashed. As ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with any battlefield, the sky before the clash hung heavier than usual. A dense fog clung low, swirling around the knees, and the grass stood perfectly still in the windless air. The silence was so absolute that even the solitary stomp of a horse's hoof sounded jarringly out of place.

"There they are... the vanguard of the Franz Kingdom." Arsen took the telescope handed to him by a scout and stared intently through the lens. Grey armor. Black flags. The moment those symbols came into view, some muttered curses under their breath, while others clutched their chests. They were not merely a foreign army. To the people of Elium, the Franz Kingdom was the one that plundered their grain, inflicted endless suffering, and engraved itself in their minds as the very source of all misfortune—a name synonymous with hatred.

"Those miserable bastards... That land was originally ours."

"Exactly. I bet the very fabric of those flags hanging from their spears was bought with the rice they stole from us. Rotten thieves."

Their voices did not tremble. Within them lay an emotion far more potent than fear: wrath. The long-suppressed fury was finally rearing its head.

"The entire army is fully deployed, sir!" a messenger reported, running up from behind. Arsen raised his head, gazing out over the plains for a moment before speaking quietly. "Do not act rashly. For now... we watch the enemy's movements."

Inside a dimly lit command tent, black and blue stones were meticulously arranged across a large map of the battlefield. Seated at the center was Sarne Kroi, the commander-in-chief of the Franz Kingdom's 3rd Legion. Her red hair was tied back neatly as she silently polished her longsword. The silver blade caught the lamplight, gleaming with a cold, murderous intent.

"We have received reports that Elium has deployed its entire army to the Krang Plains," a messenger panted, rushing into the tent. Yet, the officers gathered around the council table remained entirely unbothered.

"Bahaha! I have no idea what Elium is thinking, trying to pick a fight with our Franz Kingdom."

"It hasn't even been that long since their clash with the Zenith Kingdom. Their supply lines probably haven't even recovered yet."

"They barely scraped by on pure luck back then. Zenith's military strength isn't even comparable to ours... Their main force must have been completely decimated. The ones left now are likely greenhorns with zero combat experience."

"Rumor has it their uniforms are a complete mess. Forget a regular army; it sounds ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like they just handed swords to a bunch of peasants."

The officers' gazes converged on one spot. The cavalry captain, sitting with his arms crossed, spoke up with a relaxed expression. "If I may speak freely, Commander." When Sarne did not look up, he continued. "Their pride must have been wounded. This is nothing but a desperate struggle. They've likely scraped together every soul they could find just to match our numbers. An army like that... will crumble the moment we give them a gentle nudge. Like dominoes."

Laughter rippled through the officers at his words. But Sarne did not join in. Instead, at that very moment, a faint sense of unease crept deep into her mind. An inexplicable sensation. A single, jarring discrepancy weighed heavily on her chest.

Sarne slowly lowered her gaze and, guided by instinct, placed her hand on the magic stone once more. The intelligence report sent by the information department a few days ago materialized before her eyes.

Every single detail was consistently in Franz's favor. The Elium Kingdom was depicted as nothing more than exhausted prey, waiting to be devoured. Sarne narrowed her eyes. The information was suspiciously clean. It felt as though every piece of the puzzle fit together far too perfectly. There was absolutely no logical reason for her to feel this sense of dread.

Following this intelligence, they had already supplied the revolutionary forces with food and weapons, securing an agreement that they would strike the kingdom from within once the war broke out. It was a game they could not possibly lose. The flow of events up to this point had been flawless. ...And yet.

Something is wrong. As the faint vibration at her fingertips faded, she slowly raised her eyes.

"Commander Kroi," one of the officers spoke up cautiously. "The neighboring countries are merely observing the situation for now. Why don't we take this opportunity to uproot Elium entirely? Securing this territory first will give us a massive advantage in future diplomatic negotiations."

It was tossed out almost as a joke. But she did not laugh. If anything, her gaze grew even sharper. Sarne stared at him in silence before speaking quietly. "...Do you truly believe that?"

"Yes, I—"

"Do you truly believe Elium set up this battlefield out of mere pride?"

A heavy silence fell over the council table. The officers exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to answer. That silence was, in itself, the answer. Not a single soul in this room harbored any doubts about the situation.

Sarne slowly rose from her seat, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword. Without a word, she swept aside the tent flap and stepped outside. She squinted, staring toward the far end of the fog-shrouded plains. As the morning mist began to lift, the source of her lingering anxiety slowly unveiled itself.

"How in the world is that five thousand? ...There are at least ten times that number."

Far in the distance, beyond the thinning fog, lay the Elium military camp. Flags were planted in perfect, orderly rows, and the soldiers—who were supposed to be mere conscripts—stood in silent, flawless formation. They bore absolutely no resemblance to the terrified, disorganized militia described in the intelligence reports. Row after row, the soldiers waited in absolute silence, their stillness radiating a bizarre, suffocating pressure.

"The troop size, the discipline, even their morale... it is entirely different from what we were reported." Sarne exhaled slowly. "That... is not a formation untrained soldiers can maintain."

An officer who had followed her out muttered, "Surely... they can't all be regular soldiers, right?" Another officer hesitated before adding, "It is possible... that the intelligence department fed us false information."

"Check the current location of the supply line we sent to the revolutionary army."

"Pardon...? Ah, yes! Right away, ma'am."

"Attempt to establish communication with them as well. Immediately."

"Understood!"

The command staff froze instantly under the sudden barrage of sharp orders.

"B-but looking at their attire, they don't seem to be regular soldiers—" Before the officer who had yet to grasp the situation could finish, Sarne cut him off.

"...We are no different." Sarne's voice sank low. "Out of the forces we brought here, how many do you think actually have real combat experience?" No one answered.

"...Is there anyone among you who believes Franz could lose this battle?" Everyone lowered their heads. No one could speak. Just moments ago, they had all been absolutely certain of victory.

"Even the Ministry of War, which has access to the most intelligence, deemed Elium's actions as a mere 'bluff'." Sarne took a short breath. "And we... accepted that judgment without a single doubt." Though her eyes were calm, a chilling resolve flickered within them. Sarne let out a deep sigh. Then, narrowing her eyes, she commanded quietly, "Send a messenger... to the Elium Kingdom's army."

"...Are you going to test them, Commander?" She nodded slowly. "Yes. I need to redraw the board. I must see for myself whether they are truly prepared for war... or if they are indeed just bluffing."

The Elium camp.

"The Prophet has arrived!" At that shout, countless soldiers placed their hands over their hearts in unison and raised their right hands. Every single eye locked onto one man.

Black hair. A bizarrely pristine uniform. And two hands ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠completely devoid of any weapons. Yet—he looked more like a "perfected warrior" than anyone else. Doyunes. He strode past the officers and came to a halt at the very front line, right before the soldiers.

"...It's him," someone whispered. "The Prophet... Lord Doyunes."

Arsen approached quietly. "You arrived... faster than expected."

"It is the will of the gods. I have safely received the 'gifts' sent by the Franz Kingdom." I spoke calmly, slowly shifting my gaze toward the Franz camp. As my eyes swept over them, a heavy silence fell upon the soldiers once more.

"Have you all seen their flags?" The soldiers raised their heads. "The color of our national flag is sky blue. It represents hope and truth." I took a step forward. "They use black and grey. Why do you think that is?" A brief silence ensued. "It is because... they themselves know they are not righteous." A murmur rippled through the crowd at my words.

"Those who fight for a just cause do not carry black flags." Taking another step forward, I continued. "Remember. There is only one reason we stand here today—" "—Because we are righteous." "We have invaded no one, nor have we threatened anyone first." "Yet, there are those who have stolen our food and waged war upon us." I raised my hand, pointing toward the sky. "This is a trial bestowed upon us by the heavens." "But do not worry. For the heavens... always stand on the side of hope."

At that exact moment, the clouds high above began to part. A single, slender beam of light descended upon the Krang Plains. And standing right at its center... was Doyunes.

"...!" Arsen instinctively dropped to his knees. Following his lead, countless soldiers bowed their heads. No one had forced them to, yet none could resist the overwhelming tide. They were looking at the messenger of God.

A faint sigh escaped my lips. Yet, my expression remained perfectly serene, and to the soldiers, even this sigh looked like the solemn countenance of holy conviction. Honestly, at this point, even I'm not sure if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'm a cult leader or not. And their flags are black simply because that's their national flag. It's not like they chose it to look evil.