Never War Again! (1)
In the office, I gazed out the window while taking a sip of wine.
Commands echoed from the parade ground, and the lights in the officer academy classrooms showed no sign of dimming.
Bodies in the training camps, minds in the academy, weapons in the factories.
Eisengrad was transforming into a massive military base.
I closely examined the map laid out on the desk.
The more our territory advanced, the fiercer the scrutiny from our neighbors would become.
Above all, what gnawed at me was the mood in the empire's heart—the capital.
Too quiet.
Lately, administrative orders from the capital had dried up completely. It was the hush before a storm.
Knock knock.
At that moment, the office door creaked open cautiously.
It was Ella.
“Milord, a guest is here.”
“A guest? At this hour of the night?”
“Yes. But… their outfit is kinda weird.”
“Who is it?”
“They said they’re… an informant from the Roselin Trading Company.”
Roselin? Out of the blue?
Puzzled but nodding anyway, I said,
“Send them in.”
A moment later, the man who entered wore ordinary merchant garb, but his eyes darted sharply around the room.
He bowed politely and drew a wax-sealed letter from his breast pocket.
“To Lord Kyle. An urgent dispatch from the head of the Roselin Trading Company.”
“Urgent dispatch?”
I took the envelope. The seal bore the red wax crest of the Roselin Trading Company.
I tore it open hastily and scanned the contents.
Dear colleague Kyle,
First off, my apologies. I had to rush to the capital on urgent trading business and left without a proper goodbye—sorry about that.
Next time I’m back, I’ll bring a bottle of fine wine, so forgive me.
But thanks to being here in the capital, I can relay this critical news swiftly.
Rumors are swirling through the imperial social circles lately.
The atmosphere in the palace is far from normal.
Whispers abound that His Majesty’s health is failing, yet the audience chamber remains firmly shut. No one has laid eyes on the emperor in over a month.
And… this is the real issue.
The Papal Inquisition’s inquisitors are unilaterally mustering a crusade to “judge the demons.”
Their target: Eisengrad.
Intel confirms their vanguard has already mobilized.
Officially a crusade, so the empire won’t lift a finger to protect you.
Right now, only your own strength is reliable.
I wish you the best of luck.
— Roselin
“…Hah.”
I crumpled the letter and shoved it into my pocket the moment I finished reading.
As expected.
The worst-case scenario I’d feared had come to pass.
Glare into the darkness outside, I muttered coldly,
“Inquisitors, huh…”
Arrogant power-mongers borrowing divine authority to rival the emperor.
Those rigid zealots who branded science as blasphemy—they’d be the first guests.
“Good timing, actually.”
We were bound to clash eventually.
With the empire at a standstill, now was the perfect chance to test what I’d built.
“Ella.”
“Yes, milord.”
“Fetch Boris. And relay the order for emergency muster.”
I picked up the revolver from the desk. The cold metal pressed reassuringly into my palm.
“Time to prepare the welcome.”
I swept the map aside and eyed the tattered imperial flag on the wall.
The empire’s banner wouldn’t protect us. Only steel and gunpowder would.
Dong—! Dong—! Dong—!
The massive bronze bell atop the lord’s manor roared to life.
A heavy, urgent clamor that shredded the otherworldly night’s silence.
The view outside shifted in an instant.
Lights flickered on one by one in the pitch-black barracks until it blazed like midday.
Sounds of groggy soldiers bursting out, lockers slamming, officers bellowing—all swirled into a massive vortex of chaos.
Right in the eye of it, the staff officers burst into the office.
“L-Lord! What in the hells is going on?!”
Administrator Hans asked, pale as a ghost.
Behind him trailed Boris, Serina, and Grody rubbing sleepy eyes.
“No time for reports. Straight to business.”
I tossed Roselin’s letter onto the table.
“Papal inquisitors inbound. Target: us.”
“…!”
They all froze at the words.
Hans especially—he collapsed into a chair like his legs had given out.
“Th-The Papacy?! Inquisitors are coming?!”
“Yeah.”
“We’re done for! We’re all dead! They’re fanatics without a drop of mercy or tears! Once they brand you heretics, they burn the whole territory alive!”
He babbled in terror. To medieval folk, the Inquisition was a horror worse than death.
“Calm down, Hans.”
“Calm down?! We need to fling open the gates and beg forgiveness now! Smash the machines and grovel—it won’t even be enough…!”
Bang!
I slammed the revolver down hard; Hans’s mouth snapped shut.
“Hans. In my territory, I am the god.”
I snapped coldly.
“Who dares judge my people without my permission? The pope? God himself?”
My sheer arrogance left Hans gaping dumbly.
“Boris. Troop status?”
“All personnel roused. Distributing personal weapons and ammo now.”
Unlike Hans, Boris’s eyes burned fierce.
The enemy didn’t matter.
Just give the order, and he’d shoot.
“Any unrest among the men?”
“To be frank… hearing it’s inquisitors has a lot of them spooked. They’ve lived their whole lives under the Papacy’s shadow.”
“Figured.”
I nodded understandingly.
Even with guns in hand, deep-rooted religious dread didn’t vanish easily.
Shattering that fear was the key to this fight.
“Enemy position?”
“Reports say they’ll cross the Mist Plains around noon tomorrow.”
“Mist Plains, huh…”
Perfect open flatland for their cavalry charges.
“Fine. We don’t hole up behind walls.”
I jabbed the command baton at the Mist Plains on the map.
“We meet them here. Crush them on the very ground they’re strongest—make it a slaughter.”
Grodi piped up cautiously then.
“Hey, boss. Prep the Iron Bulls too? Strip the plows, slap on steel plates—they’d make decent shields.”
The steel bulls. This world’s first tanks.
But not yet. No need to reveal my ace for a few hundred knights.
Save the game-changer for the flip.
“No. Keep the bulls in reserve.”
“What? Then what blocks ‘em? They’ll charge cavalry—infantry alone’ll take heavy losses…”
“We’re not blocking with infantry.”
I grinned wickedly at Grody.
“We block with your machine gun.”
“Ah…! Wait, we got just the one! Prototype only!”
Grodi yelped in panic.
“What if it jams? No spare barrel!”
“One’s enough.”
I clapped his shoulder firmly.
Then turned to Boris.
“Boris, listen up. Before they can draw steel or pray to their god, we send ‘em straight to hell.”
“Got it!”
“Hans. You quell unrest in the territory.”
“Y-Yes, sir…”
Orders done. Staff scattered.
I turned back to the window.
The parade ground already filled with fully geared troops in formation.
“Come on, inquisitors.”
Coat flapping, I strode from the office.
“I’ll nail lead into you ‘til your god comes to save ya.”
Clunk! Clunk!
Heavy wagon wheels rumbled across the parade ground.
A hulking metal mass lay under canvas atop a cart pulled by two horses.
The one and only machine gun.
Our army’s sole heavy weapon.
Soldiers whispered, stealing glances at the wagon.
“What’s that? Cannon?”
“Nah, too small for a cannon…”
“Block a knight order with that? Insane.”
Anxiety spread like plague.
The foe was God’s army—the object of lifelong awe and terror.
Their eyes flicked between the shrouded metal and the guns in their hands.
Gulps. Trembling fingers clutching crucifixes over rifles.
To them, invisible divine curses still weighed heavier than the machines before their eyes.
“Attention.”
All eyes locked on me.
“You’re scared right now.”
They flinched at my bluntness.
“Because it’s the Papal knights? God’s proxies?”
I smirked confidently.
“Fear not. Strip off that shiny armor, and they’re just flesh like us.” I met their gazes squarely. “Flesh that bleeds the same, screams the same, and dies just as weak.”
I yanked the cover off the machine gun.
The barrel gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
“God’ll protect them?”
I stroked the chill barrel, voice brimming with assurance.
“Don’t make me laugh. You’ve already proven it.”
“…!”
“Remember those hideous monsters last time?”
Their pupils quivered.
Memories of shredding overwhelming monster hordes with firepower.
“Even those thick-hided beasts died equal before lead.”
If monsters fell, how could mere men stand?
Terror faded from their faces, replaced by rising, grounded confidence. I drove it home.
“If they call for their god, we’ll send ‘em right to his side—the god we’ve all been praying for.”