The Oncoming Chaos

Beside the imperial palace of the Caelon Empire, a lavish party was underway at the emperor’s vast estate.

Emperor Lukan, who had spent his days lost in the company of Saintesses, seemed at last to have tired of that life. He had summoned a great number of high officials and thrown a grand celebration. Of course, even this was not the reckless impulse of a man blind to the world. Boredom was only half the excuse. The real purpose was to soothe the nerves of his bureaucrats.

Strange rumors had been circulating of late. Whispers that five hundred knights and mages had fallen to a single man on the border — absurdities that no one in their right mind should believe.

Emperor Lukan had the first man who brought him that nonsense beheaded on the spot. It was only natural. If such a monster truly existed in the Fibron Empire, the sensible thing would have been to throw him onto the battlefield before the damage grew any worse.

They must have been ambushed through their own stupidity, then invented some phantom to cover for their incompetence.

That was how Emperor Lukan saw it. The incompetent always found excuses, and this was no different from the usual litany of alibis.

The man did not believe in the Slaughterer. Yet he was not free of unease either. Rumors had been drifting back from the front — that a merciless killer was cutting down countless lives on the battlefield. Most of it was baseless noise, but one by one, men who claimed to have seen the Slaughterer with their own eyes had begun to surface.

Those who said they had witnessed him insisted on the same impossible things: that his blade moved too fast to see, that his sword aura cut down every living thing within range, that his magic could soak barren earth in blood in a single breath. A few high officials had grown restless at such reports, and even the knights marching to war had begun to flinch from the front lines, cowed by a hollow reputation that should never have meant a thing.

Worthless fools.

They had lost a single engagement and were already in hysterics, inventing an imaginary terror to fear. In the emperor’s eyes, it was pure idiocy. Still, if that fear took root among his officials, it would become a problem.

The nobles still held private armies that had not yet been committed to the war, along with ample land and capital. If they suddenly banded together and threw in with the enemy, the damage would be irreversible.

In an empire as firmly gripped by imperial power as Caelon, the idea of nobles rising in open revolt while the nation was at war seemed almost laughable — but fear had a way of paralyzing reason. And so the emperor had summoned every figure of consequence to his estate. What he intended was simple: to bring them to heel.

Even with the throng of guests, the sprawling grounds of the estate still felt uncrowded.

As the hour wore on and nearly everyone had arrived, Emperor Lukan mounted a great dais and drew every eye in the room. Then, slowly, he began to speak the words he had prepared.

"Welcome, all of you, to this grand party amid such a turbulent war. Many among you seem curious about the state of the conflict, so I thought I would share the news while treating you to a celebration of this scale. Well? I hope it meets with your approval."

The moment the emperor finished, the officials answered as one, voices raised yet careful of their dignity.

"Your Majesty’s grace is boundless!"

"To be invited to a celebration of this magnitude is joy beyond measure."

"That in such troubled times you would summon us to this sacred place — we could ask for nothing more."

Greedy to the bone, the officials bowed their heads and stretched out their hands in praise, each scrambling to look better in Emperor Lukan’s eyes than the next.

Emperor Lukan of the Caelon Empire turned to Brifen, Commander of the Imperial Knights.

"Brifen. Project the documents on the state of the war as an image."

No sooner had the emperor spoken than a map bloomed across the broad wall, cast by a mana device.

It was the highest-classified military document of all — a live strategic map recording every development on the battlefield to date.

Those who had even a rough idea of what such a map contained immediately covered their eyes or dropped their gazes to the floor. Whether by choice or force of habit, simply knowing a top-tier military secret was enough to get a man killed. They wanted no part of the knowledge. But the emperor, well aware of their dread, laughed with lazy abandon and called out.

"No need for any of that fretting. Do you truly think I would gather people of your worth and waste your time on nonsense? I only wish to share the glad tidings of the Caelon Empire’s victories. Raise your heads and look at the records."

It was not a suggestion. It was a command, and not a soul in that hall failed to understand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. The moment Emperor Lukan finished speaking, every eye turned to the classified document. There, laid out in exhaustive detail, was the full accounting of the war: how many troops the Caelon Empire had committed to each front, how many knights had fallen, how heavily the enemy had suffered.

More than anything, the concentration of current forces was plain to see. Over a million soldiers were massed in the central region. The sheer, overwhelming numbers still at their disposal, and the victory markers stamped across every battlefield, wiped the unease from their hearts in an instant.

The guests stared at the strategic map and cried out.

"Once again I am reminded that none can match Your Majesty’s foresight! To think we are winning with such overwhelming results! To serve as a loyal subject under so great a commander fills me with awe — awe beyond measure!"

When one man praised Emperor Lukan with excessive fervor, the emperor waved a satisfied hand.

"Once the occupation of the Fibron Empire is complete, see that he is given a suitable parcel of good land."

Emperor Lukan spoke to Brifen, Commander of the Imperial Knights, and Brifen bowed his head in reply.

"Understood."

The man singled out by the emperor dropped to his knees without a thought for the stares around him and shouted.

"Your Majesty’s grace is boundless! Even if I die now, I die without regret!"

Brifen ground his teeth and hastily lowered his head, terrified that the contortion of his face might be seen by Emperor Lukan or anyone else. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth.

Disgusting animals.

Countless knights had died in this war. Not as many as those of the Fibron Empire, but the Caelon Empire’s losses were far from small. And yet look at how these men behaved.

Out of the emperor’s earshot, the officials’ chatter drifted to Brifen’s ears.

"Extraordinary. A battlefield where we lost a mere five hundred and killed over two thousand of the enemy. Truly, the Caelon Empire must be favored by the goddess Luasta."

They reduced a soldier’s life to a number. They ran the arithmetic of profit and loss ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as if those men were not living beings like themselves, but expendable stock.

Nausea rose in Brifen’s throat. Knights had died by the thousands in a war without just cause, and still these fools celebrated killing more of the enemy — and worse, threw themselves at the emperor’s feet for a scrap of conquered land. He wanted to crush those filthy mouths shut.

Brifen, Commander of the Imperial Knights of the Caelon Empire, kept his head bowed to hide his face, but he could not still the tremor running through him.

At last, after calling his name several times without answer, the emperor approached the man shaking with silent rage. He clapped Brifen on the shoulder and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leaned in to whisper against his ear.

"Brifen. In case you have forgotten, allow me to remind you. The only one who can treat your sister’s incurable disease is a Saintess under direct imperial command. For now she receives regular treatment and still draws breath — but the moment my mood changes and I have that Saintess killed, your sister will die in agony. Do not forget it."

"…I am aware."

Emperor Lukan kicked Brifen in the shin where no one else could see, sneering as if he were dealing with an insect.

"Look at you, putting on airs just because you swing a sword a little better than most. You are nothing but refuse, and the way you play at nobility on your own makes me sick."

The emperor scraped the shoe that had struck Brifen’s shin against the floor, then spoke quietly again.

"Do you truly think you are any different from those beasts spouting garbage over there? In the end, every one of you puts your own interests first. That is why I prefer stupid people. Whatever their principles, humans always want to protect the things that matter to them — money, family, whatever it is — and that makes them easy to handle."

It was unusual for Emperor Lukan to say so much to Brifen. But then, Brifen was the emperor’s greatest insurance.

Brifen possessed a martial power on an entirely different level from ordinary knights. At first, the fatal flaw of his useless principles had made him hard to control — but once the emperor learned that only an imperial Saintess could ease and cure his sister’s illness, that knowledge became the leash that held the man in check.

"If you try anything foolish during the war, your sister dies at once. So wipe that look off your face. Do this again and I will not let it pass."

Brifen lifted his head and smiled brightly.

"How could I ever do anything to harm Your Majesty? I was merely unwell. That is all that twisted my expression."

His body still trembled behind that empty smile, but Emperor Lukan no longer cared. This was enough. The man’s true feelings did not matter. So long as he remained a blade that could be swung at will, his heart was of no consequence.

Brifen looked at the strategic map once more.

The battlefield was stable.

Everything is unfolding as planned.

On the front, the knights of the Caelon Empire were cutting down those of the Fibron Empire in droves. By revealing the strategic map to the officials, the emperor had spoken without speaking.

And, beyond that, he had tightened the reins on Brifen once again, whose discipline had been growing strange of late.

Everything was smooth. Far too smooth.

The emperor breathed in the fragrance of the fine wine set upon the round table and celebrated his victory in advance. For on the map, the enemy forces that had fled into the central region were dwindling before his eyes.

"Come, raise a toast as you watch the strategic map. Those fools of the Fibron Empire, ignorant of their place, poured into the central region and chose the worst possible course — a full frontal engagement. The result is as you see. Even now, the knights of Fibron die by the score, while our forces — the forces of the Caelon Empire — remain intact."

The emperor savored the wine’s aroma, drained a glass, and cried out again.

"Once that wretched Fibron Empire falls, we will absorb their manpower, their resources, and everything else of value. When our stores grow fat, the officials who contributed most to the war will receive my generous reward."

The officials immediately began murmuring instructions to the attendants and knights they had brought with them — no doubt preparing to commit their hidden residual forces to the field. The fall of the Fibron Empire was as good as certain, so they meant to throw as many of their own troops as possible into a war already tipping in their favor, maximize their contributions, and claim the spoils.

The emperor paid them no mind. He swirled the deep red wine filling his glass once more, drained it, and shouted.

"Laugh, talk, and enjoy the party, all of you. To the fall of the Fibron Empire — and to the eternal prosperity of the Caelon Empire!"

"To that!"

"To that!"

"To His Majesty the Great Emperor!"

The crowd echoed the toast, celebrating a victory still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to come. And yet —

"What is that? Something’s wrong…"

The map displaying the battlefield in real time. The dots on the projected screen began to vanish. The green dots marking allied forces, above all, were disappearing in an instant.

"Some kind of error?"

"Don’t be absurd. An error on the strategic map?"

"But look there! Those dots keep vanishing!"

Only then did those who still failed to grasp the situation turn their eyes to the map. The green points that had marked over a million troops — the nauseating swarm of green that had blanketed the display — were vanishing in real time. As if some colossal catastrophe had struck them.

And that was not all. Around the imperial grounds, a shrieking siren began to howl without end. The sound, amplified by magic, tore at the eardrums as it spread.

The evidence before their eyes. The sound in their ears. The grounds for judgment were few, but their reliability was absolute.

"R-run…"

"Run!"

"Stop right there! How dare you seek safety alone—!"

"Get out of my way! I am going to live! I will not die like this!"

The high officials began to flee outdoors. It was the sort of behavior that could earn them summary execution if the emperor later held them to account — yet they chose to run. After all, the death before them was more pressing than any punishment to come.

In the estate plunged into chaos, the emperor could not even react. He stared blankly at the strategic map and muttered.

"Impossible… In a little more than an hour, that many troops are simply… dead…?"

In that moment, a single word clawed through his mind.

The word he had dismissed as empty rumor, as a phantom spun by idiots.

A cold, gleaming blade was already descending toward the throat of the man who had been certain that even a god could not kill him.