“…Did you say civil war?”
At Aslan’s question, Frida quietly nodded her head. Watching her nod and uneasy expression, Aslan swept his hand across his face in agitation.
It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but to Aslan, it had happened far too early.
It was something they weren’t prepared to confront immediately.
Aslan was in Berzotov.
This wasn’t what Aslan had expected or planned for.
Aslan’s plan was simple: to bring up the topic of alliance before Frida even mentioned Belus Alphen.
He intended to press the issue before any other proposals could arise.
To draw in the Calus Empire and the Helsing Earldom, and eventually welcome the Vida Kingdom into their fold as well.
That was Aslan’s current goal.
So Aslan took action. Separating from the traveling party, he sought out Frida and interrupted her as she was about to race toward their next quest with a proposal.
Aslan’s stance was firm. In the fight against the Evil Deity and the climb to the throne of deities at Kehil, all humans must unite—a claim to which Frida partially agreed.
To her, the Calus Empire, the Helsing Earldom, and the Vida Kingdom were undoubtedly ‘disagreeable sorts,’ but she concurred that their power couldn’t be overlooked.
The problem wasn’t Frida’s resentment.
“Calus Empire… civil war?”
“Yes.”
Frida said it as if expecting him just to accept it without question. Aslan furrowed his brow, pondering her words.
“Do you know the reason?”
“The reason?”
Frida stared silently at her stepbrother as if searching for the right answer, then leaned back into a fur-covered chair. Beyond the creaking wooden chair, a sigh spread through the air.
“On the surface, it’s because the Emperor is disregarding the empire’s traditional values, pushing aside the local lords, and acting autocratically, thereby attempting to destroy the empire.”
Surface. A pretense. Aslan looked up at Frida with raised eyebrows, and after observing her brother’s gaze, Frida continued.
“Of course, everyone knows that’s just the disagreeable ones’ nonsense. The real reason hasn’t been revealed yet, so opinions vary, but most believe it’s the Supreme Divinity’s meddling.”
While examining her fingernails, Frida spoke. Given her role as the grand chieftain of a tribal confederation and queen of a mountain kingdom, her casualness made Aslan quickly grasp the situation.
Aslan had killed the emperor—twice. Traditionally, the emperor had been a loyal servant of the Supreme Divinity, and the Calus Empire had served as fertile ground for maintaining the Supreme Divinity’s vast influence.
In essence, Aslan had severed the neck of the worker tending this fertile land twice, and to make matters worse, had blown empty winds into the third worker.
You wouldn’t know unless you fought.
If you didn’t fight, you would inevitably lose.
Whispering such determination, he even incited her ambitions and desires.
Aslan had already seen the result.
Cornil Ashuld, who had ultimately fled power and was captured by another deity’s priest, had become a priest of the Formless One before meeting his end at Aslan’s hands.
Predictably, Ilyena must have started rooting out the Supreme Divinity’s influence, attracting unnecessary attention from the Supreme Divinity.
The result was civil war.
Though it had occurred within the realm of expectation, the timing had been too early, leaving Aslan flustered. He paused to steady his breath, closing and reopening his eyes.
A dull headache that had been rummaging through his mind finally subsided.
“Are you alright?”
Frida asked casually, seemingly seeing Aslan’s condition for the first time. Aslan lightly nodded, lowering his hand from his mouth.
Gathering his hands together and placing them loosely between his legs, Aslan sighed.
“Yes. Thank you for your concern.”
“Concern…”
Muttering while picking up the cup on the low table, honey-colored liquid flowed from the wooden cup to the edge of her lips.
After gulping down the drink with her throat moving, Frida extended the cup towards Aslan, who waved it off and asked,
“How long has the civil war been going on?”
“I don’t know exactly. It’s been a few weeks, probably.”
Don’t know exactly? Aslan looked up at his sister, who blinked with an expression reminiscent of their father and replied.
“The Baramunz don’t interact much with outsiders, you know well enough. Moreover, our exchanges with the Calus Empire were rare to begin with. Since hearing about the outbreak of civil war, there hasn’t been any contact at all.”
No interaction at all. Aslan interpreted that as a bad sign. It didn’t seem like anyone was gaining the upper hand in the civil war.
Upon reflection, it was a natural outcome. Among the priests of all gods, the Monks of Martial Arts were specialized for war, and Aslan knew they were the most powerful entities on the battlefield. Martial arts and weapon techniques were created to be used in battle.
Naturally, the situation couldn’t be good. As Aslan mulled over this fact and tightened his expression, Frida, having set down her cup, spoke.
“For now, how about we only bring in the Helsing Earldom or include the Vida Kingdom along with Helsing? It’d be awkward to touch the Calus Empire until the civil war ends.”
“…No, that won’t do.”
Aslan firmly shook his head.
His opponent wasn’t just a simple army or a couple of countries.
His enemy was the world itself.
To fight the entire world, corresponding military strength was necessary. Without gathering the whole world on his side, there was no chance of victory.
Moreover, the Calus Empire held great value as an ally and was indispensable.
The diverse range of troops produced from its vast territory and varied terrains. Its geographical position that could serve as a central hub once an alliance was established.
Perhaps it was a nation of even greater worth than the Baramunz.
“The Calus Empire must absolutely be brought into the alliance.”
“Well, how do you plan to do that?”
Frida responded listlessly to Aslan’s resolute tone.
She felt somewhat irritated by his apparent prioritization of the Calus Empire over the Baramunz she ruled, and perhaps harbored a childish desire to elevate the Baramunz despite everything.
Only after speaking did Frida realize she had acted uncharacteristically.
She also knew well that the Calus Empire would become a necessary ally and friendly nation in the future.
Attempting to retract her words belatedly, she found Aslan already smiling awkwardly, having noticed.
“Annoying guy.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“How could you not know with that look on your face? Anyway… there’s nothing we can do.”
Frida couldn’t lead the Baramunz soldiers to assist in the civil war. The two nations had rarely interacted to begin with. They had even engaged in several wars.
Since even the second emperor was assassinated by Aslan during a war, she thought it unlikely they’d accept assistance now.
Rather, Frida believed the accumulated regional animosities might escalate into minor disputes, and those disputes might further escalate into war.
As the heir of an ancient imperial legion commander and more importantly, as the grand chieftain, she couldn’t act rashly.
“The Baramunz will not participate in the civil war. We’ll wait until it ends.”
Instead, she looked at the man who inherited the ancient imperial legion commander’s mana tattoo.
A man who possessed the ‘qualifications’ to potentially secure the position of grand chieftain but remained an outsider.
A man who, regardless of his actions, couldn’t officially represent the Baramunz.
“Then, write a single letter for me.”
Fortunately, the thoughts of this man aligned with those of his stepsister.
As Aslan smiled subtly, Frida snorted.
*
Sunlight slanted in, illuminating faces that, though clean, lacked vitality. Amidst the sunlight, murmurs emerged.
“How is the battlefield faring?”
The clear voice of a girl. An elder among those present, likely several times older than the girl, bowed his head and answered.
“Count Scherlukunde and Count Worfel have allied. Because of this, our forces are being pushed back.”
Count Scherlukunde and Count Worfel.
Until the assassination of the former emperor, these two nobles had constantly checked each other and frequently engaged in territorial battles. Now, they had formed an unprecedented alliance in the history of the empire, opposing the empire itself.
At this unusual situation, the girl rested her chin on her hand on the throne. Her delicate golden hair scattered and flowed amidst the sunlight.
“That those two rivals have joined forces is surprising. How far have they advanced?”
“From the Faya Jungle onwards, we’ve been retreating continuously, and currently… the front lines have retreated to the ruins near the Talea River.”
“About half of the Ashuld barony. Not a good sign.”
The girl’s calm statement. Her recent demeanor was unrecognizable compared to her previous image, causing the ministers to bow their heads while looking at her strangely.
The girl’s name is Ilyena of Ma’Kel.
The new empress of the Calus Empire and one of the rare empresses in the history of the Calus Empire.
Unlike her weak and inconspicuous appearance from some time ago, she now exuded charisma fitting her position.
“While the battlefield has stabilized, the situation is not favorable, Your Majesty. Retreat to Belus Dasaer and hold a defensive position there…”
Belus Dasaer. The term referred to the massive island at the southernmost tip of the Calus Empire and the fortress located on that island.
Given that Counts Worfel and Scherlukunde lacked proper naval power due to their location, it was a place they couldn’t easily attack.
Generally, it seemed like a reasonable suggestion, but the girl shook her head gently with her youthful face and solemnly declared,
“That cannot be done. If Belus Ma’Kel is lost, we will excessively diminish our influence within the imperial territories. Leaving prematurely would also negatively impact morale.”
The minister who suggested the retreat bowed his head, and the girl nodded slightly before continuing,
“That concludes discussion about my movements. How are things progressing regarding the monks of martial arts?”
At the mention of this, the ministers’ faces darkened.
The reason the imperial side was struggling despite having superior military strength lay here.
The monks of martial arts mixed among the Scherlukunde-Worfel count armies.
Experts on the battlefield capable of altering its dynamics single-handedly.
Such beings couldn’t be stopped by regular armies. At best, a mage battalion might stand a chance…
“With the significant reduction in mages following Cornil Ashuld’s defection and the internal strife within the Ashuld family, we have no means to counter the monks of martial arts, Your Majesty. We’re barely maintaining the front line as it is.”
Following Cornil Ashuld’s departure and the ensuing internal conflict within the Ashuld family, the number of mages had drastically decreased. Within the emperor’s direct jurisdiction, there was no way to counter the monks of martial arts.
Maintaining the front line was the best they could hope for. Upon hearing this, Ilyena sighed deeply and sank into her throne.
Thinking about the monks of martial arts, Ilyena recalled someone.
Someone who had instilled fighting spirit and courage in her.
Her thoughts didn’t linger long. As the ministers’ gazes turned to her, the doors of the grand hall opened, and a courier entered.
“Your Majesty. This is a direct letter to you… from the Baramunz.”
The Baramunz. Long-standing adversaries who had continually contested territorial disputes with the Calus Empire. Recalling the name, the girl gestured, and at her gesture, a knight holding a black spear stepped forward to take the letter.
Careful not to activate any magic inscribed on the letter should he unfold it, the knight maintained distance from Ilyena as he opened it.
Fortunately, there was no magic etched onto the letter paper. It simply contained quietly written content. After confirming the letter’s safety, the old knight carefully folded it again and presented it to the young empress with precise gestures, his expression slightly troubled.
Whether it was due to the troubling contents read while confirming the letter’s safety or otherwise, the old knight’s expression remained unchanged even after handing it over.
The young empress observed his troubled expression as she unfolded the letter to read its contents.
Her eyes moved lightly up and down, pausing briefly before continuing. The content wasn’t lengthy, so her pupils didn’t move much.
The ministers alternately observed the young empress and the troubled knight, curious about the letter’s contents. What kind of unpleasant mockery might it contain? Their speculation didn’t last long. The young empress quietly smiled.
Surprised by her gentle smile, the ministers looked at her, and the young empress met their eyes while holding the letter.
“I have a simple question for you all.”
It came out of nowhere. Without seeking their opinions, the girl spoke.
“Can veterans be killed by an army?”
It was incomprehensible. While the ministers exchanged glances, the troubled knight elegantly turned to the girl, bowed, and answered.
“Of course. Any veteran can be killed by an army.”
“Hmm.”
Ilyena wore an indiscernible expression upon hearing the knight’s response and continued.
“Then, can priests be killed by an army?”
This question was more direct. One of the ministers assessed the situation before answering.
“Judging from the current battlefield conditions, it seems difficult. The number of soldiers required to capture just one priest…”
Although still unclear about the intent behind the questions, the minister steadfastly expressed his opinion. How many soldiers were needed to capture one priest, how much magic had to be expended. He intended to discuss such averages.
But the girl cut him off before he could finish.
When the minister stopped speaking at her lightly raised hand, the girl flipped her hand to reveal the letter.
“There is a letter here. As you’ve heard, it’s a direct letter from the Baramunz. And the owner of this letter is a veteran of combat.”
Veteran of combat.
The eyes of those who heard this renown widened as the girl half-opened her eyes and smiled.
“My older brother, the late emperor, and my father, the former emperor, were both assassinated by this emperor assassin… known as the Priest Slaughterer.”
Only then did a few ministers with sharp eyes despite their age read the letter. The content was brief but clear, causing their eyes to widen.
“Let me rephrase the question.”
As the girl flipped her hand to hide the letter again, the ministers who had read it glanced at each other, bewildered.
“Can priests be killed by a veteran?”
No one answered. They merely exchanged glances in confusion and shock.
“If a veteran is on the battlefield, can we win?”
“Your Majesty, the emperor assassin is an enemy of the empire…”
Finally, one of the ministers who had been gauging the situation began to speak, but Ilyena glanced at him with half-open eyes and blinked.
It was a look as if asking why he was saying such an obvious thing.
When the minister closed his mouth upon receiving that glance, silence fell among the ministers. An oppressive silence enveloped the grand hall and drifted aimlessly.
That silence was affirmation.
Under that silent agreement, Ilyena folded the letter. With the sound of parchment folding—”saek”—Ilyena spoke.
“Prepare pardons and replies. Swift horses and couriers too.”
Then she handed over the letter. When the old knight received it, the girl added maturely beyond her years,
“The Priest Slaughterer is coming to kill priests.”
