A ruler's view of war differs from a soldier's. This isn't about abstract principles like purpose, cause, compensation, or loss.
Simply put, war is about results, not process. Direct combat occurs only in war's final moments.
Until then, rulers and military leadership engage in intense "desk work" - managing supplies, transportation, march routes, response strategies, grand strategies, and field army organization.
Meanwhile, soldiers have little use after conscription until battle begins. They might transport goods, guard, or patrol, but these aren't their primary roles. Each such task incurs non-combat losses and costs.
So at this point, Ivan had nothing to do.
To be precise, he could offer tactical advice or perhaps predict enemy invasion routes based on experience.
However, his position was limited to "saintess escort" and "guest," and Equitania's king was a sufficiently wise man. Ivan knew that rather than excessive interference in internal affairs, having a single commander develop strategy was more conducive to victory.
Wasn't it a common saying on Earth? "An army led by one incompetent commander is better than an army led by many competent commanders." He didn't want to create variables through potential command disputes.
Besides, he had neither talent nor skill in commanding large-scale forces.
At this point, with the Saintess immersed in strategic meetings with Equitania's king and ministers...
Ivan decided to spend his remaining time on a hobby.
Contrary to many people's misconceptions, Ivan clearly understands the importance of hobbies and leisure activities better than anyone.
This is common sense. Since humans aren't machines, they need the lubricant of leisure activities to consistently maintain performance.
The same applied to himself. However, considering that a trained agent should be able to perceive all actions undertaken for mission execution as "leisure"...
"Ugh...?"
Ignoring the maid beside him who stepped back with a pale face, Ivan was carefully measuring flour.
"What... what is this...?"
"Call someone, quickly!"
"Who?! The... the Saintess...?"
"She's in the royal audience now! The... the other people who came with this person...!!"
The maids scattered in panic. Ivan clicked his tongue softly. Being in the medieval age of barbarism and darkness, they lacked basic hygiene knowledge.
In the kitchen, especially when cooking, one should keep their mouth closed. Saliva tends to contaminate food, and sterilization is essential, particularly for long-term preserved food.
Clean hands, a headscarf preventing any hair from escaping, a mask covering the mouth, firmly rolled-up sleeves, and a sanitized apron boiled multiple times proved this.
In this perfectly civilized modern cooking attire, Ivan was seriously measuring flour and mixing it with pork fat.
'Precise.'
There's a saying that baking is a battle with numbers. Precise measurement without error guarantees accurate results.
But this uncivilized world lacks electronic scales. In this fierce war fought at decimal places, one cannot win with a graduated scale.
However, a superhuman, especially a well-trained one, can detect even the weight of a goose feather.
Ivan narrowed his eyes, carefully scooped flour without exhaling, assessed it, and placed it in a bowl of pork fat to begin kneading.
'Even added nuts for taste and texture. Perfect.'
Ivan is an understanding person. If he were eating alone, food preferences wouldn't matter, but this was food to be eaten "with companions."
Therefore, for his companions who could taste flavors, Ivan chose "cooking" rather than mere "production." Food isn't just about calories and nutrients.
Ivan was particular about cuisine, even making lists of foods he wanted to eat upon returning to Earth. Basically, he could eat anything, but he could distinguish between good and bad food.
Therefore, his creation appropriately matched universal taste standards...
"Mister!!!"
Isabelle was noisy again today. Ivan clicked his tongue, washed his hands clean, and pulled out another mask.
"What on earth are you... why do you look like...?"
Isabelle stammered with a sickened expression as she looked at Ivan.
"Are you going raiding somewhere? With that headscarf and mask, you look just like a bandit. With only your eyes showing, and the way you're staring, you're scaring everyone!"
Ignoring Isabelle's shouting about how his face was his only good feature and now he looked like a thief with it covered, Ivan quickly spread his hand and swung it through the air. It was so fast it was barely visible, making startled Isabelle step back.
"What, what are you doing?"
"Removing saliva contamination."
"What?!"
As Ivan wiped off the saliva droplets on his hand and offered her a mask, Isabelle's face turned bright red.
"Did, did, did I spit when I talked?! Are you insulting me?!"
"That's an exaggeration."
"Really... I... feel dizzy..."
Isabelle murmured blankly as she fumbled with the mask Ivan handed her. Having removed the contaminant for now, Ivan nodded with satisfaction and washed his hands again.
"So... what are you doing now?"
"Essential resource supply."
"Can you explain in our language? I can't understand demon language."
"I was making combat rations."
"Combat rations...?"
Isabelle looked at Ivan's hands with trembling eyes. Seeing his hands immersed in the brownish viscous liquid sloshing in the metal bowl, she slowly rubbed her eyes.
After taking a deep breath, she stepped closer and began observing again. She soon noticed the crushed nuts on the cutting board and burst out in frustration.
"No wonder it tastes like chewing sand!! Why did you put this in?!"
"...Texture..."
"What texture?! And what else, what else did you put in? What's this? Flour?"
Isabelle dipped her pinky finger in the pile of white powder and tasted it, then frowned.
"The quality...? When was this milled? Why does it taste like this? Does such merchandise even enter the palace?"
Considering Equitania's vast farmlands, this seemed impossible. To Isabelle's question, Ivan proudly straightened his chest and answered.
"I can't misappropriate an allied nation's resources. I bought it myself."
"Why such...?"
"It was the cheapest."
Typically, cheap flour is either rancid or mixed with sand or sawdust during milling. But Ivan's sharp eyes could thoroughly distinguish such low-quality items.
A trained superhuman can extract gold dust from sand with the naked eye. Using such techniques to select the highest quality from the lowest-priced flour truly demonstrates discernment.
"Throw it all away. It's gone bad!"
"Hmm."
"What do you mean 'hmm'! Really!! Waaah!! As a person from Tilles, I cannot tolerate this. Why did you mix in flour? If you're going to mix and make dough, you should have properly heat-treated it. The flour is still grainy!"
"..."
The three elements of combat rations are "ease of production," "ease of consumption," and "ease of storage." This means they should be cheap and easy to make, store for long periods, and be easy to eat.
But mixing in honey or sugar drastically increases the cost. It becomes something that can hardly be called "supply combat rations."
However, Ivan, having completed higher education in civilized society, knew that carbohydrates are polysaccharides and that sugar intake is possible through mastication.
Therefore, even without honey and sugar, people can sufficiently taste "sweetness" from grains alone.
After hearing this explanation, Isabelle bowed her head with a devastated expression and covered her face.
"Get out."
"Hmm."
"If you really don't want to die, get out!! I'll! I'll make it!!"
"If you want to learn, I can tell you the recipe..."
"I'll never need to learn cooking from you!! Get out!!"
Ivan had to leave the kitchen due to Isabelle's illogical and uncivilized assertions.
Now what should he do with his remaining time?
Weapon maintenance was complete, his luggage was packed sufficiently for immediate deployment, and he had planned to make extra combat rations with the remaining time.
In fact, his recipe had been personally praised as "excellent" by the great former king, the only person of common sense in this world. The former king's insight transcended time and world, so denying it was simply ignorance.
The former king himself represented Krasilov, so his recognition could be considered equivalent to KC (Krasilov Certification).
"Why are you looking so gloomy and grumbling?"
"I wasn't."
Ivan looked at another illogical medieval citizen and answered sharply. Asidis was approaching, stretching.
"Are you bored? The kids are practicing a bit now, would you like to watch?"
"Practice?"
"Marksmanship!"
Asidis raised her finger, said "Bang!" and smiled brightly.
"We should learn anything we can use right away! Like Uncle!"
"Excellent."
Ivan nodded as he looked at this upright, excellent junior with a good heart.
"An attack? In the middle of Pritzenkaya?"
Elizabeta looked at Yu-jin kneeling before her, then turned her gaze to Pavel. Pavel immediately buried his head to the ground and shouted.
"It is not this humble servant's fault!"
"In your own opinion, that's really not something a loyal subject would say, so please restrain yourself."
"This humble servant is wronged!"
"Enough joking. I am serious."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
As if he had never bowed his head, Pavel raised it and stroked his chin as he spoke.
"It must be the priests. The only ones with HUMINT capable of infiltrating someone into Pritzenkaya are those fellows."
"That's right. The Council, the Great Excommunication, and now they've attempted to assassinate this child. Ha, the Pope has gone too far."
Elizabeta tapped the table and fell into thought.
"Pavel."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Has the identity of the assassins been determined?"
"After interrogating the survivors, they were from Lorencia."
"...Did they confess willingly?"
"They denied it to the end, but their accent was from that region. We have no evidence beyond circumstantial."
"That's good."
Elizabeta nodded and said.
"Then we'll say those fellows attacked from Leonor. Omit the Papal Curia story and send an official diplomatic protest letter to the King of Leonor. I'll write it myself."
Lorencia and Leonor are old rivals. Both share the same interests. They are the centers of land logistics moving from south to north.
In fact, just before the Council, the two countries had friction at the border. It was interrupted when Ivan appeared, but the fact that there was friction is true.
It's obvious that these two countries, which will gain the most interests from the Great Excommunication, would compete. If Lorencia's crime is pinned on Leonor, there will certainly be resistance.
"The Papal Curia won't stay quiet."
"Ah, the Papal Curia. Yes, they won't."
A holy war has been declared now. If someone attacks a country participating in the holy war, the Pope will certainly respond officially, and if things go wrong, they could be entangled in the Great Excommunication.
The impact of excommunication doesn't simply end with war. Unlike the small countries of the Southern Six Nations, with Krasilov's status, a royal excommunication could cause everyone from administrative nobles to local nobles to turn their backs.
No, they would actively turn their backs. The royal family currently holds power through authority. Not just a nominal "constitutional monarchy," but a true "constitutional monarchical government" would be their aim. The nobles aren't fools. They're just keeping quiet because there's a knife at their necks.
However, they couldn't attempt royal excommunication right away.
If the Pope is in his right mind, he couldn't antagonize the northern powers before the perfect conquest of Equitania and the execution of the Saintess. Especially Krasilov, which had stockpiled the most military power among the powers.
The crusaders couldn't handle a two-front war.
So they couldn't issue excommunication orders just because they were angry at the moment, so they would have to prioritize persuasion mixed with threats and work on winning over the nobles within Krasilov...
Unfortunately, the distance from the Papal Curia to Krasilov is too far and treacherous.
To the extent that state-operated trains are derailed by bandit attacks.
"Even if our Pope 'His Holiness' is enraged, if we didn't hear his edict, we wouldn't know, would we?"
Elizabeta looked at Pavel with a smile. Since the two military ministers shared the same intention, there was no need for additional comments. Pavel bowed his head with a smile identical to Elizabeta's.
"It shall be done according to Your Majesty's will."
Watching this scene, Yu-jin made the sign of the cross, feeling terror toward the two thuggish national leaders of the militaristic state who were smiling vilely.
Pavel, having left his position, immediately began detaining all foreign priests entering Krasilov.
"I am a priest of the Lord!! To dare detain us without evidence! This is heresy!"
"Ah, so you're priests?"
Pavel looked at a priest shouting while tied up in a train cargo car and smiled coldly.
"Then please cast any holy spell."
"...What?"
"Healing, flash, judgment, whatever. Just try one."
"What, what!! Do you not understand the situation? Priests' holy power..."
"Well then, how will you prove yourself?"
"I have the Pope's appointment certificate and entry application in my possession!! I was entering through proper procedures!"
"You'll have to stay at our headquarters until we determine if there was any forgery in the documents. If you truly are a priest, the state will compensate you adequately."
"...How long will it take? I am in a hurry, carrying His Holiness's edict."
"Ah, well."
Pavel smiled as he admired the priest's reddened face.
"At least three years, I'd say."
After all, Krasilov's administrative procedures are famously complex, cautious, and thorough.
The King of Leonor glared at the envoy before him with an agitated face, then crumpled the letter the envoy had handed him and ground his teeth.
"This is slander!!"
"Your country's opinion will certainly be conveyed to our Majesty."
"To dare such fraud against me...! That young Elize, do you think you'll be safe after doing this to the crusaders?"
"Your country's opinion will certainly be conveyed to our Majesty."
The envoy simply repeated the same words quietly without changing his expression.
The King of Leonor ground his teeth again and unfolded the crumpled letter. Roughly summarizing, excluding the long rhetoric, it read:
-To King of Leonor, Ramiro II Lucabello di Belmonte.
-Your citizens' assassination attempt 4 days ago was quite interesting.
-After thorough investigation, I learned it was your doing.
-Prepare to die.
-Thank you.
-Queen of Krasilov, Elizabeta Kirillovna Krasilov.
"Recently, Lorencian knights were dispatched to the border under the pretext of training. It must be their doing! Or it's your self-created drama!!"
"Your country's opinion will certainly, be conveyed to our Majesty."
The envoy answered with a polite bow.