# The Victory Banquet
The victory banquet didn't end until late at night. Only after completely draining the last of the alcohol remaining in Fort Findvalt did the warriors finally collapse one by one onto the floor and fall asleep.
Except for a few sentries, everyone was sprawled out, snoring loudly. Ivan was sitting on the watchtower, massaging his stiff neck while gazing out at the eastern front.
*Whoosh.*
The wind swept through his hair. It was a dry, cool breeze unsuitable for late summer. Ivan narrowed his eyes, quietly watching beyond the darkness.
*Thud, thud.*
He felt someone climbing up the watchtower stairs and approaching him from behind, but he didn't bother to turn around. He could tell who it was just by the sound of their footsteps.
Sure enough, the person plopped down beside him and asked, "What are you doing?"
"Standing guard."
"Without rest."
"Everyone else is resting."
"Haha, you diligent bastard."
Since everyone else was sprawled out sleeping, someone had to keep watch. It was unlikely that anyone else would willingly do it, and in this festive atmosphere, whoever was assigned probably wouldn't do a proper job anyway, so he might as well do it himself.
This implied meaning was easy to understand.
Einarr grinned and tore open the mouth of his water flask.
"Want a drink?"
"Was there alcohol left?"
"I saved the last sip. I've been saving this since we left our clan... No, slowly, drink it sparingly, you bastard."
Ivan grabbed the flask and immediately gulped down about half of it. Einarr clicked his tongue and took the flask back, taking a small sip himself.
"How is it? Killer, right?"
"Bitter."
"Mead is always like that. I have some I've been brewing for when Essie gets married, so come by for it later."
"Hmm."
"...Damn it."
Einarr awkwardly scratched the back of his head, then looked up at the night sky and said, "Kid. Take good care of her."
"I don't understand why everyone keeps saying that."
"Who else said this?"
"Elfihera."
"Should I really kill this bastard?"
He touched Elfihera too...? Einarr stared at Ivan with a blank face and said, "You're a complete playboy. If you were in Droan, you'd have been castrated."
"Fortunate that I'm from Krasilov, then."
"You've only gotten better at talking while I wasn't looking."
Einarr chuckled and took another sip of alcohol. After a while, he quietly asked while looking at the sky, "Did Beolgrin go peacefully?"
"He went satisfied."
"I see. And Gil Ber?"
"...At least he achieved what he wanted."
"Stupid bastards."
Beolgrin, Gil Ber. Patricia who lost her power, Enrique who ultimately chose seclusion.
And Maximillian, who was now gone.
"The older you get, the fewer friends you have."
Einarr looked as young now as he did ten years ago. His body always maintained the condition of his prime years.
It seemed as if even aging couldn't overcome his boiling rage and wildness. He alone appeared to be living beyond the reach of time.
However, this ancient warrior, whose only visible change was the length of his beard, at this moment had a face wrinkled from weathering storms.
Not so much aged as exhausted.
The warrior continued, "We accomplished much and did our best in everything we could. We ran toward unreachable places and fought until our last breath."
"..."
"Now I have only one goal left."
Einarr's eyes remained fixed on the sky. Here at Droan's frontline, there was no light pollution from cities or smoke from munitions factories, revealing a piercingly blue sky.
The nights in Droan are never dark.
Those countless stars illuminating the night like day, the Milky Way stretching across the sky—these were their ancestors.
Through eternal day and eternal night, one could see the ancestors endlessly battling the darkness. Forming legions and marching toward the heart of the night.
The heaven of all Droan warriors was always illuminating the sky above them.
"Are you thinking of dying?"
"I'm not sure."
"Don't die."
"Huh?"
When Einarr suddenly looked to his side, Ivan was already looking straight up at him.
Unlike Einarr, Ivan had directly faced the ravages of time. That awkward, rigid soldier's face from the old days was no longer there.
The once fresh, almost innocent look in his eyes had been replaced by a heavy, tired glow. What remained unchanged was the sharp edge within—a sharpness that seemed capable of cutting just by touch.
"Don't die anymore."
"Kid."
You said you directly faced the deaths of Gil Ber and Beolgrin. It's not hard to imagine what that felt like. If it had been Einarr, he would have burned down an entire city in rage.
Einarr grinned and nodded.
"You've grown a lot, kid. Yes, this big brother needs to live long enough to see his grandchildren."
For a moment, Ivan thought that non-blood-related grandchildren might be possible soon, but quickly dismissed the thought. He was a sensible person, after all.
Instead, he pulled out some dried snacks from his pocket and offered them.
"You still make these?"
"It's a complete food."
"More like animal feed. Give it here."
Einarr munched on the nutrition bar and said, "Leave as soon as the sun rises tomorrow."
"..."
"You've already figured it out, haven't you? This is a trap."
The battlefield had reached a stalemate. The demon folk had retreated beyond the eastern front, unable to sustain their losses, making it seem as if the war was over.
But the very few who remained on this battlefield knew otherwise.
The composition of the invading demon forces was bizarre. All sorts of races mixed together, forming a well-organized army. Goblins, orcs, taurus, and even rare species—at least one of each was seen.
Such a composition could only mean one thing: one of the Seven Dragon Generals was present on this front. Without that level of authority, maintaining such a disciplined group would be impossible.
Though conveniently lumped together as "demon folk," they were races that could never be unified. It was like classifying horses and cows all as "livestock."
Without the authority of a Dragon General, it would be nearly impossible for them to form a united front. It would be like keeping lions and tigers in the same cage.
But why, even in defeat, had the Dragon General not appeared in person? Why hint at their presence but not actually show themselves...
"They're stalling for time."
"Yes."
Einarr nodded at Ivan's words. But it wasn't quite the complete answer.
"They're stalling to prevent us from hastily disbanding the legion and returning. To keep us from turning our backs, from abandoning this front. Do you know why?"
"Two-front... war."
"Correct."
Droan's legion, along with Krasilov's, constitutes the Allied Kingdoms' most powerful military force. Moreover, these two nations have formed a solid alliance, each responsible for different fronts.
If one side falters, it's not difficult for the other to provide support. They are neighboring countries right next to each other.
So deliberately tying down one side means...
"The northern front of Krasilov must be in danger. If there's one Dragon General here, and we assume another has gone to the other front..."
"..."
"Go, kid. This big brother will be fine."
If we assume Maximillian is behind all this, which is probably true... but for now, let's just "assume."
He was essentially forcing Ivan to make a cruel choice.
Protect Krasilov, or stay here to support Einarr.
Assuming Dragon Generals have appeared on both fronts, at this moment, Ivan's whereabouts could guarantee victory on a particular front.
In this era, it's hard to say there's anyone else who could directly face a Dragon General and survive.
Einarr would display tremendous power against an army. However, one-on-one combat with someone as powerful as a Dragon General wasn't his specialty. He could easily buy time, but guaranteeing victory was an entirely different matter.
His will wouldn't work on a Dragon General. And if Ivan were Maximillian, the Dragon General deployed here would probably be...
"The Sovereign Tanasimor... Can you handle him?"
"Well, it's a bit disadvantageous."
Einarr shrugged. The Lord of Pride, Tanasimor. That demon was practically Einarr's natural enemy. If anything, he could be considered a perfect superior counterpart to Einarr's will.
They would need to march toward the demon realm beyond the eastern front where he was hiding. Otherwise, they would have to permanently fix their forces on this front and wait.
That wasn't possible. Especially in a situation where supply capacity was critically insufficient. The battle needed to end as quickly as possible. Within just a week, half of the warriors gathered here would attempt desertion amid starvation.
Unlike during the Great War, rear supply support from the Allied Kingdoms could no longer be expected.
"Ivan. Look at me."
"..."
Einarr was now looking down at him with a face devoid of any smile.
"I'll protect this country, you go save the world."
"Einarr."
"Damn, that gives me the creeps. This kind of crap should have been said by Gil Ber, not me."
He soon shuddered and gulped down the last sip from his flask. He threw the flask toward the distant horizon and said,
"Protect everything you care about, and while you're at it, save the world too, and if you still have energy left, kid."
"..."
"Save yourself too."
If Krasilov falls, what would happen to this man? It's not hard to imagine. Even back then, his loyalty was unusually strong.
He would probably become a wandering ghost, even more broken than he is now.
So, before more time passes. Before it's too late, he needed to send him away. That was necessary.
"Follow the sea route. If you follow the open sea, you should be able to pass through the demon realm and arrive at the rear of the northern front. You should be able to reach Krasilov alive even on that path."
Following the open sea toward the Central Sea would lead to the northern coastline connecting Tilles and Krasilov. If he could just reach that freezing plain of glaciers that remains frozen in all seasons, that would be good.
From there, going south, crossing the Northern Demon Realm, he could reach Andgrund. The massive mountain range that marks Krasilov's northern boundary.
If he could just reach the headquarters of Krasilov's 2nd Corps from Andgrund, that would be enough. At maximum speed, it would take four to five days. If he did nothing but travel all day, it would take about that long.
This would be much faster than traveling by train.
Krasilov's military power should be able to hold out that long. In this summer season, Krasilov would be too muddy for infantry marches, so if they engaged in delaying tactics, it wouldn't be difficult to stall for even longer.
So, don't worry and go.
Einarr concluded with a smile,
"Let's each save our homeland. Don't make that face. Do you think your big brother would die in a place like this?"
"When it's over, bring better alcohol than this, at least."
"Is that a dowry? I look forward to it, kid."
Einarr slapped him on the back and got up to leave the watchtower. Ivan watched his retreating figure for a long time before turning away.
A binary choice.
Ivan consciously unclenched his fist. Under his tight grip, the stone railing of the watchtower had been crushed beyond repair.
"Maximillian."
Under the night sky, he quietly muttered,
"I will no longer consider you a comrade."
The next morning, the Hero Party departed amid the grand cheers of the Droan warriors. Since navigating the open sea was a specialty of Droan, their distinctive small speedboats quickly cut through the summer sea, heading toward the horizon.
EP46. Attack from East and West.