Elfihera massaged her stiff shoulders as she rose from her seat. Lord Montblanc panted around her feet. Scattered nearby were chewed-up Ivan-brand dog treats.
Outside the window, children were laughing, chattering, and playing. It was still a strange sight. She could hear their voices but not their footsteps.
St. Vasilisha Orphanage was surprisingly peaceful. It meant there had been no damage despite the chaos of the past few days. Even when the Pritzenkaya City Defense Force, the administrative office, and the noble residential district had all been thoroughly destroyed, this small fortress remained intact.
Was it because of its relatively remote location? No. If that were the reason, it wouldn't explain why the city slums had taken direct hits.
The further from the center, the lower the population density, the more corpses appeared. This was like the fate of cities. Even in Pritzenkaya with its good security, they couldn't save the poor at the city's outskirts.
So there was a terrifying reason why this orphanage remained intact. A deep, dark truth. Among outsiders, she was probably the only one who noticed this horrifying truth.
"Indeed, worthy of Lord Yeremov's agent training facility."
This place was the cradle for agent trainees that Ivan Petrovich Yeremov cultivated with great care.
Even when she activated boundary spells, eight out of ten would appear beyond the detection range. She didn't know how it was possible, but by their senior year, these little ones would move without leaving any "presence" at all.
Just like watching Lord Yeremov himself... They mimicked his every behavior pattern while maintaining the vivaciousness appropriate for children their age, making them unpredictable time bombs.
What maintained this fortress of terror was Lord Yeremov's presence, strange teachers wearing odd hats, and food of surprisingly good quality.
"Children, time to eat!"
"Yaaay!!"
Though she thought she had a full view of the playground, she saw numerous children silently emerge from outside her field of vision and rush to the dining hall.
They appeared from bushes, treetops, and occasionally from completely empty walls. If she hadn't been a mage, she would have suspected ghosts or evil spirits.
Elfihera loosened her shoulders, finished her simple grooming, and stood up. She had no appetite, but she had made a promise after all.
To always keep her meals. That advice, probably from her father, was the only condition Ivan had set when accepting her into this orphanage.
Even if she didn't keep it, he probably wouldn't throw her out, but elves, unlike humans, were civilized beings who understood the weight of promises.
Elfihera smiled wryly as she headed to the dining hall.
On a small blackboard at the entrance to the dining hall, today's menu was written in elegant handwriting.
-Potato soup.
-Wheat bread.
-Pie with minced meat.
-Pickled mushrooms and salad.
"No matter how I look at it, it's strange."
Though the menu was utterly ordinary, how many people were here? As a sensible elf, Elfihera knew about churches that occasionally provided free meals.
But no church in this world provided meals beyond thin porridge. This was a welfare facility that didn't charge the residents a penny, and the children weren't even forced to engage in economic activities typical for their age.
Even children in rural farmhouses would work in the fields at that age to earn money, but not the children here. They just played, ate, attended classes by visiting instructors, went to church, or slept.
"Hey, Michel! You need to eat your vegetables!"
"Yuck!!"
In one corner of the dining hall, a child was being scolded for picking out vegetables. Goodness, an orphan being picky about food. It was a scene she found hard to imagine.
The diet that Ivan claimed was "nutritional science" (just fresh ingredients crammed together by type), and the facility built by pouring in all his pension, personal assets, and donations.
The food provided to the children was always surprisingly good, education was completely free, and even those who didn't want to graduate were provided accommodation for a nominal fee...
She couldn't reconcile the Ivan who would immediately drag someone to the torture chamber to interrogate them if they so much as bumped shoulders with him, with this place. Looking at just the orphanage, he seemed like a patron saint of orphans who had descended upon the human world.
And the decisive part was...
"Why on earth does Lord Yeremov eat such things?"
As Elfihera soaked her bread in soup and chewed it slowly, she couldn't help but recall Ivan's cursed dog treats.
"...Olega."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Ivan answered with a calm face. The rope binding his arms could be broken with just a bit of force, and Elizabeta probably knew this, but he needed to play along with her tantrum.
Being arrested at Isabelle's residence seemed to have fueled her anger. Isabelle had been imprisoned in the underground dungeon. The charges were blasphemy and obscenity. In other words, it was close to the crime of displeasing the queen.
"So the former king has awakened, and because of that, the royal tomb is in that mess."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Vampires gathered en masse and cast necromancy throughout the city, and the city sky was covered in darkness for nearly two weeks."
"That is correct, Your Majesty."
"Call the royal physician..."
Elizabeta slumped weakly in her chair and muttered.
"Call the physician... tell him to bring stimulants. I need something, anything to wake up from this nightmare."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Don't 'Yes, Your Majesty' me!! Ugh... ugh...!!"
As Elizabeta grabbed the back of her neck, a maid ran out in a panic.
"Physician!! Call the physician!!"
After much commotion, while receiving the royal physician's pulse diagnosis, Elizabeta looked at Ivan with gloomy eyes.
"I've already... received reports from those useless military officials. They just said undead caused a disturbance, so yes... Olega's direct lineage."
From the moment the incident occurred, the military, unable to handle the entire city, chose silence. They had to consider their role fulfilled just by blocking the gates and isolating the inside from the outside.
The City Defense Force had been neutralized during the last civil war. The 3rd Corps was disbanded and replaced by the counterintelligence headquarters.
Originally, Krasilov's 3rd Corps were descendants of the royalist army. While they might have been useful during the former king's era, from Kirill's time, the royalist army was practically Alexandr's limbs, so it would be ridiculous to utilize them now.
Under the pretext of military reduction, the 3rd Corps was mostly disbanded except for the minimum required for capital security. Massive military funds were allocated to the counterintelligence headquarters, which had joined this expedition.
So the capital being physically empty was Elizabeta's fault, but...
"How could I possibly have predicted that!!"
"Your, Your Majesty. Please calm yourself!!"
The royal physician prostrated himself in shock. Seeing this, Elizabeta gritted her teeth and sank back into her chair.
"Tilles was crushed, and the northern front could be sufficiently handled by the 1st Corps and the dwarves. Even if the demon race collectively went mad and moved south, they couldn't possibly reach Pritzenkaya..."
From the northern front to Pritzenkaya, marching on foot in this season would be suicidal. After all, Krasilov is more dangerous in summer than in winter.
The Rasputitsa makes supply routes a mess, infantry struggle in the mud, and war machines sink into swamps, losing mobility.
And would the northern lords just stand by and watch? No. The "surviving nobles" of this era were all veterans of the Great War, so the stranded demon race would only wither away in isolation within this country.
Both the north and east were stable. Tilles had no way to target Krasilov, Einar of Droan had no plausibility of raising an army to attack Krasilov, and the northern demon territory was safe in summer.
Then the only threat was from the south, which is exactly where Elizabeta had marched. The Southern Six Nations had now become refugee camps.
In such an era, how could anyone predict that Pritzenkaya would be ravaged by enemy hands? This could not be considered a military blunder...
Elizabeta felt wronged.
She could only glare at her husband with eyes brimming with tears. This monster in human form who caused destruction, regime collapse, and mass slaughter wherever he went, (somewhat appealing) though he was...
"Your Majesty, you must send a dispatch to the 1st Corps. Even if the entire northern front hasn't collapsed, it means there was an infiltration route from Olega's Great Rift to here."
"I've already handled that. I sent an urgent message via the underground railway, so it shouldn't take too long."
Elizabeta brushed away the physician who kept annoyingly checking her temperature and pulse, and tapped the table.
"Vanka. Is there any other information?"
She spoke while looking at the most capable spy she had brought with her.
The man who excavated underground ruins when asked to secure the academy basement. Who prevented a civil war when sent to Tilles. Who infiltrated Kalion and defeated the Seven Dragon Generals. Who started a holy war in the Southern Six Nations and brought down the papal office.
A man who identifies, predicts, and resolves information that is "unknowable at that point" in common sense.
Could anyone in the Southern Six Nations have known that Olega's minions would attack Pritzenkaya? That's impossible. Yet Ivan had rushed out saying he needed to return to the city as soon as possible.
And now. He was reporting in detail circumstances that even the military, which had defended this city for two weeks, had failed to grasp. Information he had obtained by slaughtering all the ringleaders who had infiltrated this city on the very day he arrived.
This man could read the big picture even from fragmented information. As she had done so far, she trusted this man's "information."
Though she couldn't trust his "methods of action." Anyway.
Indeed, Ivan bowed his head to his queen and opened his mouth.
"The 1st Corps is likely not in a position to move."
"Why?"
"Because if I were to attack Droan, I would first neutralize Krasilov's 1st Corps."
Ivan calmly looked at Elizabeta and continued.
"If the 1st Corps is neutralized and the northern territories are under attack, this country loses the capacity to deploy troops to other countries. It's already more than enough to deal with the offensive right in front of us."
"Droan will be attacked?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
There are only two "Hero Parties" in the United Kingdom right now. Enrique and Einar.
Targeting Enrique among them means intending to break intelligence capabilities for the upcoming large-scale war. Since losing the dwarves, vampires are the best intelligence resource that demon armies can employ.
And if war intelligence is needed, it naturally means war is imminent. Where would it start? If it were Ivan, he would target Droan first.
If Einar and the Huskarl disappeared, Droan would inevitably collapse on its own. The jarls don't listen to those weaker than themselves, and they firmly believe other competitors are weaker than them.
That means something similar to what happened in this city is now happening to Einar. However, since Einar and the Huskarl wouldn't fall to just this level of force, perhaps the Seven Dragon Generals themselves might have appeared there.
And if Droan collapses, the western front could expand throughout the continent using Droan as a bridgehead. It might be difficult to directly attack Tilles, but all the borders of western Krasilov and the vast plains leading to the south would fall entirely to the demon race.
To stop the war with minimal losses, they must stop them in Droan.
If all of Droan's territory is lost to the demon race, well.
The next frontline would be Krasilov, and if they bypass the half-ruined Southern Six Nations, they couldn't handle all those fronts simultaneously.
A trained agent should always assume the worst in every situation and devise the best course of action.
Ivan had spent these days preparing for the fall of Droan.
"Send me to Droan, Your Majesty. You must support the 1st Corps and defend the northern front."
Elizabeta looked down at him with tired, gloomy eyes.
Thinking that this monster was finally going to stamp his mark on all civilized nations of the continent.
And that this inadequate man was ultimately trying to break away from her embrace and, as always, volunteer to rush into dangerous territory.
Yes, the academy genre is over. It clearly wasn't that kind of story anyway.
Then she must consider clichés from other genres.
The clichés of hero stories. Most typically...
'Allied nations are destroyed as soon as war breaks out.'
While there's still time to act, save Droan.
Save Einar, an old friend.
That was the core of the operation Ivan had been preparing for days.
EP43. The Academy is Closed for Business.