The South's Right to Survival
The West possessed thirty wyvern knight orders, totaling nine hundred knights. In reality, however, mobilizing all of them was impossible. More than half of the wyvern legion had to remain stationed along the western borders. The frontier was in constant turmoil due to the relentless oppression of the indigenous population by Archduke Charles Raymonds.
Consequently, the number of wyvern knights the West could freely deploy in peacetime was limited to twelve orders, totaling three hundred and sixty men. However, sixty of them had already been completely wiped out at Sarsen Port. This left only ten wyvern orders—exactly three hundred knights—available for immediate mobilization.
"I will lead all three hundred myself."
Charles Raymonds resolved to take every single man available. He no longer had any room to retreat.
Numerous central nobles clamored for the information recorded within the crystal balls. Yet, their interest was merely academic, a passing curiosity about the South's new weaponry. Even the Imperial Court was not on his side.
"Remain quiet until His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince reaches a decision."
The Imperial Court refused to intervene immediately. They were clearly weighing him against the Archduke of the South. For Charles Raymonds, this was an intolerable insult.
"I am being weighed against that miserable bastard?"
Rage clouded his judgment. Pushed to his absolute limit, Charles Raymonds was in no state to listen to the loyal advice of those around him.
"You cannot do this, Your Grace! The losses from our previous defeat are already catastrophic! To launch another campaign now, we would have to take out loans to cover the military expenditures—"
"Then take out the damn loans! Why are you making such a simple task sound so difficult?"
"We still know next to nothing about the enemy's new weapon, the 'warship' that obliterated Sarsen Fortress. We must at least prepare countermeasures before we—"
"Is that your final word?"
"Yes, Your Grace! If we suffer another defeat, the West's economy will collapse! The pressure from the Central Government will become unbearable as well!"
"Then get out. The West has no need for a spineless coward of an adjutant like you."
Those who offered wise counsel were banished, and their places were quickly filled by sycophants. These flatterers, whispering only what Charles Raymonds wanted to hear, constantly assured him that victory was guaranteed. Charles eagerly indulged in his own self-rationalization.
"The Imperial Central Government will soon impose its control. No one would expect us to launch a surprise attack before that happens. A strike delivered when they least expect it is always the most devastating."
And so, the West began its full-scale preparations for war.
The plan was simple: lead the knight orders in a night raid on the South's industrial zones. While the industrial heartland lay in ruins, they would renew their pressure on the South.
If we set our minds to it, destroying you is child's play.
Demonstrating that single truth would undoubtedly force the Southern dogs to submit.
Fortunately, the West's capital of Porvin and the South's capital were close.
"We can cover that distance in less than a day."
They would resupply at key Western strongholds along the way and strike under the cover of darkness as quickly as possible. Harboring this ambitious plan, Charles Raymonds marched out exactly one week later.
By the time the envoy sent directly by the Crown Prince arrived, it was already too late.
"The Archduke of the West is not present."
When the envoy finally set foot in the Archduke's estate, Charles Raymonds had already departed for the front.
The capitals of the West and the South were surprisingly close. Considering the vast territory of the Empire, which spanned a quarter of the continent, this geographical proximity might seem bizarre at first glance. Why would two regions of such an immense empire have their capitals situated so near to each other? The answer to that question lay in the Arbel Mountains, which sliced directly through the center of the continent.
Half of the Western territory consisted of uninhabitable high-altitude alpine regions. The Arbel Mountains, the legendary backdrop of the age of myth, and the surrounding natural environment were utterly hostile to human life.
Naturally, the cities of the West had no choice but to cluster along the coastlines and borders. Thus, the capital also became one of these coastal cities.
The South had its own historical reasons. When the four major factions first established themselves in the current Imperial territories, the South remained an untamed, uncharted wilderness.
Consequently, a faction that had been pushed out of the power struggles in the center turned its gaze southward. They set out to conquer the South through what was now the Sarsen-Lutetia border region.
Naturally, the location chosen as the first foothold for the Southern conquest had to be close to the West. That city was Albion, which possessed a river connected directly to the sea. As the vital supplies required for colonization flowed through its port, the foothold city of Albion flourished. By the time the conquest of the South was complete, Albion had grown into the largest metropolis in the region, naturally assuming the role of its capital.
The reason the capital remained in Albion, near the Western border, rather than being relocated deeper into the vast Southern territory, was simple: convenience of export. To ship out the massive volume of goods churned out by the factories in the capital and its satellite cities, Albion's proximity to the West was highly advantageous.
But... that was no longer the case.
"As you all know, our capital and the West's capital are far too close."
To put it in terms a modern person could easily grasp, it was roughly the distance between London and Paris—about 400 kilometers. Compared to the overwhelming scale of the Empire's territory, the distance between the capitals was incredibly short. And a shallow strategic depth is always a double-edged sword.
"At the speed of wyvern knights, it would take them approximately eight to nine hours to fly from Porvin to Albion," an officer noted.
It meant a surprise attack could strike at any moment they pleased.
"Our fleet can also reach Porvin in ten hours. Of course, according to our operational plans, we have to match our speed with the infantry, so it will take a bit longer in practice... but that is the timeline for the fleet alone."
It also meant that our fleet could launch a surprise strike whenever we wished.
The maximum speed of the Dreadnought was twenty-one knots, roughly thirty-nine kilometers per hour. While slightly slower than a wyvern order, this steel monster required no rest.
"Considering that, we could practically strike the West first."
"We cannot do that."
However, launching a preemptive strike on the West was out of the question.
First of all, the Sarsen territory was indisputably Western land. We were merely governing it under a ninety-nine-year lease. Technically, the West had not yet directly invaded Southern soil. Under these circumstances, a preemptive strike carried far too much risk.
"A war without justification will eventually come back to haunt us."
If necessary, I intended to swallow the West whole. To achieve that, winning the hearts and minds of the Western populace was of paramount importance. If we were branded as mindless aggressors who invaded the West without cause... even if we devoured their lands, it would only result in severe indigestion.
"Therefore, we only go to war if they strike first."
I spoke with absolute finality, looking around at my staff.
"To be frank, all of you must feel it by now—the Empire doesn't have much time left, does it?"
"..."
It was an incredibly dangerous statement for someone holding the title of Archduke to make. Yet, not a single member of the staff grimaced or objected. The reason was simple.
While Southern enterprises had grown desperately by devouring one another, the Empire had grown dull and corrupt through a long era of peace. It was a place far too conservative and rigid to embrace new technologies and modern ideas. That was the grim reality of the Imperial Center today.
"A corrupt empire is bound to collapse sooner or later. No, it is already rotting from within."
Thud.
As I placed my hand on the map, the eyes of the staff naturally gravitated toward the table.
"To ensure our South survives the chaotic times ahead, we must prepare thoroughly."
The territory of the South was roughly the size of mainland Britain. Even if the Industrial Revolution triggered a population explosion, the South, as a mere province, would still have a smaller population compared to the rest of the Empire. No matter how superior our technology was, it would mean nothing if our physical weight class was too small.
Ultimately, to prevent the South from being dragged down to the depths with the sinking, corrupt Empire, we had to increase our own weight class. And to do that, we had to annex the West.
"Upward, to the Arbel Mountains."
Tap.
I pointed my index finger at the Arbel Mountains. The vast Western territory on the map seemed to fall right into my grasp.
"And sideways, to the Belfort Archipelago."
The eastern sea. The countless islands of the Belfort Archipelago, scattered like dust, were covered beneath my finger.
"By securing the natural barriers of the mountains and the sea, we will build a breakwater so that the collapse of the Empire cannot affect us."
After a brief moment of contemplation, I concluded in a low voice.
"This is what I consider our South's right to survival."
Annexation. A nation's right to survival. A powerful military. I knew all too well that these words sounded exactly like the rhetoric of a certain infamous Führer. But I had no intention of walking the same path as the man who burned Europe to satisfy his own delusions.
Unlike the ghosts of the imperialist era, I had witnessed the end of imperialism with my own eyes. I had learned through two World Wars that the ultimate end of imperialism was total ruin. What I desired was not world conquest, but simply survival in a nation whose destruction was already guaranteed.
Should I call it a stroke of luck? The justification for invading the West presented itself almost immediately.
"Urgent report!"
With a breathless shout, the doors to the conference room burst open, and Lucilla rushed inside. Uncharacteristically disheveled, she didn't even think to straighten her clothes before delivering her report.
"The radar unit monitoring the western sector has detected suspicious tracks! We believe it is a large-scale Western wyvern force...!"