The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

#Chapter 394 Tyrant (21) - That Which Was Unleashed Trisha knew of the nations once called great powers back in her original world. The Empire, which possessed the widest territory, immense resources, and talented people, was one such nation. The Alliance, which had a Guardian that had evaded the world's expulsion at the cost of immobility, was one such nation. The Holy Nation, though fallen into decline, still led by beings each of whom was divine in nature, was one such nation. The Liu Empire, where the strong grew rampantly in the special environment of a royal family that inherited the blood of dragons and the Murim, was one of them. By comparison, at least as far as Trisha knew, the Republic was not a nation held in such high regard. An ideology that, beyond mere conscription, gave every young person of eligible age in the nation a reason to fight. A mindset that treated mana not as a talent leading toward Transcendence, but merely as one resource among others, to be used like gunpowder. It was watched warily only because the nation's own strangeness could, if mishandled, become a conflagration spreading across the whole continent, and because the scale of the country it had devoured and established during the Revolutionary War wasn't small — but in a pure contest of strength, it hadn't received such a high evaluation. And now, having actually clashed head-on with the Republic, Trisha realized something. Ah. Once I get back, I need to beat some sense into all those self-proclaimed Republic experts first!! "Weakest great power, my ass. If it were the weakest twice over, it'd crush the Empire to pieces with a single right straight punch." The moment Premier Nathan realized a strategic victory through command had become all but impossible, he changed his plan. He placed every one of the few strong individuals within the Republic directly under his own command, then simply began advancing by brute force toward the Imperial capital as a single tactical unit, smashing through the enemies before him himself. Naturally, it was insane. From the standpoint of war, a 6th Rank's very existence is unreasonable. They can smash down a fortress single-handedly, trade firepower with an entire corps, and if a headquarters' location is ever exposed, charge in and slit its throat — and because all of this is the action of a single individual, their mobility is absurdly light compared to an army's. A battle only comes together after grinding through food, gunpowder, and countless lives, yet even after wearing them down that much, if the 6th Rank simply slips back to recover their stamina and mana, that's the end of it. Meanwhile, the lives lost and resources spent on this side never come back. That is why the Republic dealt with this at the strategic level. They avoided direct confrontation, and when that wasn't possible, they sacrificed decoy units to lessen the damage, or conversely banded tightly together to make it difficult even for a 6th Rank to approach. If one front was pushed back because of a 6th Rank, they would win on a front without one, surround them, and sometimes even force the 6th Rank to accept losses in order to help their own allies. But Premier Nathan's decapitation attempt was something that denied every one of these strategies. An evasion strategy made for dealing with a 6th Rank? Unusable. After all, they themselves were the ones who had to charge forward. Then was everywhere else fine? No, it wasn't. Until now, because Premier Nathan had been exercising overall command, they'd managed to roughly match the Imperial Army wielded by the Emperor even with inferior means of command — but now the Premier was out on the front lines himself. And on top of that, he'd even pulled out every unit's aces. To put it very simply. "This man has given up on the war." Empire VS Republic. Great power against great power. Nation against nation. The Premier had boldly abandoned that fight where both sides poured in everything they had and collided. "There must be an enormous amount of talk within the Republic too." And that was only natural, since it hadn't even been a week since the Emperor had completed his new command system. To most of the National Army or Republic soldiers, it might well feel as though a war they had kept the upper hand in was suddenly being abandoned just because they'd been pushed back for a day or two. No — it certainly would feel that way. If the National Army's losses had grown a bit more severe and the shift at the front had become clearer, everyone would have understood the situation. At that point, they would have accepted whatever the Premier chose to do. But the Premier acted immediately, while most people still hadn't truly grasped the change. Because only then could he make use of the advantages he'd already "won in advance." While the army was still intact, while the distance remaining to the enemy capital was short, while the enemy's forces were scattered here and there such that it would take time for them to join the capital's defense — if not now, while there was still strength left for an offensive, even the decapitation operation couldn't be carried out at all. Neither his speed of judgment nor his capacity for action belonged to the human category. It was a boldness that seemed to say this much was required to play the role of a great power's leader... or so Trisha thought, before soon correcting herself. Wasn't there a clear counterexample in Mihail, to say that every leader of a great power was necessarily capable? In this case, it would be more accurate to call it "the competence of a founder who built a nation called a great power with his own two hands." Just as the first Emperor, who was said to have founded the Empire long ago, had been. And the Emperor standing against him was, back in her original world, a monster who had been judged the closest thing to the founding Emperor even before he'd ascended the throne. "Your Majesty. You must take shelter even now. Their reckless attack won't last long anyway, so if you simply take shelter for a while..." "I cannot do that. The fact that the Emperor fled without any regard for his people is exactly what they would want most. Besides, it seems far better in every way to spend the time I'd use fleeing on giving that much more command instead." Turning down his retainers' advice, the Emperor devoted himself wholly to command. He abandoned command of every other front entirely and poured all his concentration into intercepting the decapitation force alone. "This monster. Is he learning my command style while fighting me right now?" On a plain two days' distance from Kalastia. The Premier, now cutting down enemies himself with a cavalry sword in one hand, spat out a curse. "He's not looking down from the sky like I am, so his reconnaissance should have limits. Has he grasped even the surrounding units' deployment just from the movements of the forces in front of him?" The depths of the Celestia Imperial Palace. The Emperor, having failed the eighth interception, let out a sound of admiration. "Everyone, give it your all one last time!! The Emperor we must cut down is right before our eyes now!!" In an outlying city a day's distance from Kalastia. The Premier, his whole body drenched in blood, rallied the morale of his allies, now reduced to about a quarter of what it had been at the start. "Everyone's done well. I'll handle the rest myself." In front of the Celestia Imperial Palace. After ordering the two archmages, who had to pour out immense mana and energy to maintain the eyes and mouth that observed and commanded the entire Empire, to rest, he took up his sword. And at last. The two of them took each other into sight. "....." "....." There was no special introduction. No praise, no condemnation, no threats directed at one another, either. Partly it was because they were facing off at a distance with their soldiers between them, hardly a situation for conversation — but even if the conditions for talking had been in place, they wouldn't have exchanged much conversation anyway. That was so because the Premier had never considered the Emperor human to begin with, and it was so because the Emperor understood exactly that mindset of the Premier's. KABOOOM! Cannons transported in with weight-reduction spells roared to life. The mages' spells intercepted the shells. Slice! Bang! The knight order charged in, coating their great shields in aura, while grenadiers and light infantry threw the enemy ranks into disorder, and the line infantry's volley fire struck them down. Shrapnel and blood scattered through the air, flames blazed, and smoke billowed upward. Screams, cries, shouts, cannon fire, explosions. Starting with the Golden Cloud Palace, the buildings of the imperial palace, said to be the most beautiful in the entire Empire, spat out ruin after ruin in succession. "Your Majesty!!" The latter half of the fierce battle. The moment Balduer von Lairenol — whom he had once driven off in defeat — returned to the battlefield now missing one eye, the two leaders' joy and despair diverged. The Premier sensed it instinctively. Not enough. He had lost. The Emperor was certain of it. Enough. He had won. The two heroes, or perhaps monsters, were watching each other. And because of that, they failed to notice in time. The moment of resolution. —Thump! Something awoke. *** "Nngh." When a certain soldier of the National Army opened his eyes, his vision was filled with nothing but darkness. Had night fallen while he was unconscious? Or had he been buried under the rubble of some collapsed building? Or could it be — had he actually gone blind? He couldn't know the answer. But one thing was certain. Ground made slick and sticky with some kind of fluid. A body growing colder, as if the heat were steadily draining out of it. He was going to die soon. "Hnnngh...!!" The instant he realized that fact, the soldier trembled with sorrow and fear. Revenge against the nobles, the ideology of spreading freedom across the world — before death, all of it was as light as dust. That Emperor who stood in the way of the revolution was both hateful and terrifying. The Premier, who had dragged him here with such a reckless operation, was cruel and resentment-worthy. More than anything, he wanted to live. With a body that could barely move at all, he crawled along the ground. Not knowing where he should go or how far he could make it, he simply crawled and crawled. How long had he been doing that? The soldier suddenly realized that a single book lay fallen right before his eyes. Amid the pitch darkness where nothing could be seen properly, that red book alone appeared strangely, vividly clear. No, wait — was he really seeing it at all? Were his eyes even open? The soldier didn't know. Not knowing, he reached out for the book as if entranced by something. Then the book asked. Whether he had a wish he desired. The soldier answered. Save me. The book— No, the demon smiled at him. It was a smile beautiful enough to leave anyone enraptured just from seeing it. And it said. "—What a boring wish." He had no time to ask "What?" in response. Because an immense heat suddenly began surging up through his body. "Well, a wish is still a wish, though. All right, I'll grant it. Do try to live hard." The demon whispered in a sweet, alluring voice. Even as he listened to that voice, the soldier's body kept growing hotter. Something was flowing into him. -AAAAAAAH! -Save, save me, gahck! -Mom, Mooom!! Those who had fallen just like the soldier. Those left behind amid the war, who simply craved to live. Every life that had been in the area was pouring wildly into the soldier's body. Screaming and crying out, pleading for their lives to be spared. The soldier shuddered at the horrifying sensation of other people's lives becoming part of himself. The fear of death had already vanished at some point without his noticing. But an entirely different fear was now striking through his mind. This was not power a human could bear. If this went on, the soldier himself would disappear within this raging torrent. And so the soldier begged the woman. Stop. Please stop now. The woman smiled and feigned innocence. "Even if you say that, you're the one who made the wish, aren't you? I only granted it." The soldier said. Then take this away. If any more comes in, I'll disappear. The woman answered. "Really? You're really going to make another wish? Won't you regret it?" The soldier agreed. The terror of his very self being erased was simply too immense for an ordinary soldier to bear — he didn't even have room to think anything complicated. "All right. Then I'll grant your wish." At that answer, the soldier felt joy. And along with that joy, he melted away, soul and all. It hadn't been a lie. Because the woman, just as he'd wished, had taken away what was overflowing from him. Even if he happened to get swept away as an incidental side effect of that taking, that was nothing more than a secondary matter. Fwsshh—! The building that had trapped the soldier until just a moment ago disintegrated into sand and scattered into the air. It was sand of death, utterly parched, the kind that seemed incapable of nurturing even a single small plant's sprout. "W-what is this?" "What on earth...?" Even those who had been killing one another couldn't help their bewilderment at the enormous circular pit of sand that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the battlefield. To call it an enemy attack didn't quite fit, either — even the very enemies they were fighting wore faces blank with shock before that pit. "Haaahm." At the center of the pit. With a languid stretch, a woman twisted her body alluringly. Clothing of a strange sheen covered a body with curves so vivid they bordered on venomous, and skin pale white. Wings with membranes reminiscent of a bat's, red horns, and a long tail. Glossy black hair, and eyes as red as jewels. A beauty who would make anyone walking down the street turn for a second glance gazed out over a battlefield filled with blood, fire, and steel. "Hello there." —With the eyes of a guest looking over a banquet.