Day 1: Scouts Return with an Ominous Report
The scouts had returned on the first day with the enemy intel that, for the first time in this war, truly gnawed at her mind. Where exactly had the Demon King's army set up their base? Was it really at the mountain's peak? Or was it just a ploy to deceive them?
She hurriedly summoned the scouts. But weren't they too unscathed? Not a single hair out of place. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration—truth be told, aside from a few scrapes from tripping on the way back, every last one of them had returned with all limbs intact.
Is this even possible? Normally, if they'd run into the enemy during reconnaissance, at least one would have died or come back gravely wounded. Yet here they were, exhausted but otherwise perfectly fine.
And the information they brought was even more astonishing.
"There was truly no one at the base of the mountain?"
"Yes, ma'am! That's right! We scoured every mountain and path around here, and there was no one at the bottom. Instead, we spotted them moving around higher up the slopes! I stake my life on it!"
Silvaria marked the crude map on the table—roughly sketching the local terrain—with quick jabs as the scouts spoke. She pressed further.
"Their commander? Did you see him?"
"Not sure, but we heard them chattering excitedly among themselves, using the words 'Red Bear.'"
"Red Bear?"
Some monster related to bears? She couldn't pin down what it was, but it had to be someone leading them, right? Her thoughts deepened into a frown when one scout hesitated, fidgeting as if debating whether to speak, then boldly raised his hand.
"There was something odd, though."
"Odd? What do you mean?"
"Well... I'm not sure if it's just my imagination..."
"Spit it out!"
Silvaria shot a glare at the staff officer snapping at the dawdling soldier, calming him with a look, then turned her steady gaze on the man. For that fleeting moment, pinned under the dazzling beauty's eyes fixed solely on him, the soldier flushed crimson and bowed his head.
"Their composition was all over the place."
"Composition all over the place? What does that mean?"
"It's... hard to explain, but simply put, we never saw two or more of the same kind."
"What?"
Everyone stared as if he'd spouted nonsense, but the soldier—head still ducked to avoid Silvaria's earlier gaze—missed their looks and pressed on.
"I'm not great with words, but you know how units are usually all goblins if there are goblins, all orcs if there are orcs? These guys were every race under the sun, each one different."
The staff officers and knights eyed the soldier pitifully, as if to say, That's your big intel? But unlike the rookies on their first outing, Silvaria and her direct subordinates fixed him with suspicious stares.
"Lift your head."
"Y-yes, ma'am!"
"Is that true? Truly every single one a different race?"
The same situation as before, but now her gaze was icy enough to make the North Wind weep. The soldier who'd blushed moments ago went pale as a ghost.
"Y-yes! If what I saw is right! I-it's true! Absolutely!"
The others looked at him like, So what? But Silvaria sensed it herself. Something was off. The green rookies might miss it, but she'd clashed blades with those monsters on the northwest frontlines firsthand—her body bore the scars of experience. This was definitely strange.
The Demon King's army doesn't operate mixed-race units like that.
More precisely, they can't. Throw different races together, and cohesion—the lifeblood of any army—falls apart. Those beastly hordes form natural bonds within their own kind (barring a few exceptions), rallying under a single tribal leader who directs them all. But that same tribal pride runs so deep that mixing races turns the camp into a brawl pit until one side wipes out the other.
That's why they avoid mixed units. Just look back at the Demon King's forces Silvaria had butchered herself—no battlefield ever had goblins and orcs together. Even an army ruled by brute force couldn't wrangle mixed cohesion.
Yet now, a mixed unit? She wanted to grill them more, but doubting them after they'd spilled their guts felt wrong. She dismissed the scouts. The trembling one promptly fainted dead away, hauled out by his comrades.
The moment the tent flap closed, the staff officers and knights erupted in chatter, buzzing like kids on an outing. They swarmed Silvaria with their takes.
"Looks like those idiots climbed the mountain to get the high ground! They must've heard somewhere that overlooking us gives them an edge!"
"What strategy could those brutes even have? Just surround 'em and starve 'em out!"
"Even if they send reinforcements, we can block the paths—no sweat!"
"Why delay? Give the order already!"
Had she overestimated the enemy? Silvaria fell silent amid the fidgety officers and knights. Something was there. Dangerous. Not from any report or tactic—just the gut honed across countless battlefields.
Tactically, seizing the side paths to cut their supply lines was textbook perfection. But it felt wrong. Ominous. Terribly ominous.
She was humbly called a "Hero" now, but she'd never forgotten she was a soldier and commander. Orders could save lives—or send them to death. Caution was key. She couldn't ignore this prickling instinct!
The debate raged on.
"Give the order!"
"No need to hesitate, Lady Silvaria!"
"Even if they come down, they'll be starved, parched weaklings from the heights—too cautious, if you ask me."
So ominous, yet no other options. They'd come to claim this place; the enemy had foolishly retreated to bad terrain. Her gut screamed danger, but the situation favored them overwhelmingly. And even if her instincts were spot-on, what could the enemy do?
Ignore gut feel and miss reality? Steel yourself, she shoved aside the sharp warning stabbing at her and issued orders to her expectant subordinates.
"All forces! As of now, seize and blockade the side paths! Not a single rat escapes!"
""""Yes, ma'am!"""
Right. Even if the Demon King's dogs schemed, she'd lop off their heads like always, celebrate victory, and return a hero.
"Boss! Those ants are scurrying around our base!"
"How long we gotta sit here?"
"Just charge down already!"
The impatient bastards started yapping at me again today, zero patience as usual. Whatever—bark all you want. I ain't listening.
We're hunkered down precisely to tire ourselves out, so why the hell would I go down there fighting with you idiots?
I snorted and rolled on the ground. They glared with eyes full of gripe, but whatcha gonna do? Beat me if you're mad. They knew they couldn't take me physically—that's why they griped but obeyed.
Those memories etched in their bodies: getting pummeled by me day in, day out. So they followed my every word, gripes or not.
Sit tight like this, our crew wears down, can't fight. Humans ain't dumb—they'll notice, climb up, and mop us out. Then I sneak away! Perfect!
My flawless discharge plan—no one stops this genius scheme! I rolled around demonstratively for them to see.
"Huff... huff... See all those humans..."
"Mouth's watering, whee!"
They'll tire out, right? Just for now? I ignored the faint unease watching my boys—not cowed by the humans sealing us airtight from below, but excited.
Thing is, they outnumbered us ten-to-one easy. If they seriously assault uphill, we're done! Old tactics say siege needs three times the defenders—and this ain't even a fort. Ten times? Unwinnable. Gotta lose.
Right now my thick-skulled crew's hyped seeing humans, itching to fight. Few days of this, hunger and thirst'll have 'em collapsing or turning on each other.
...Or not?