# Chapter Five
When Ivan penetrated the fifth military camp, his sense of smell detected something different from usual. It was a trace barely picked up by nerves that had been pushed to their limits since entering the demon realm.
Ivan brought his axe down, shattering the skull of a writhing demon. The orc, three times larger than the others, collapsed without even screaming.
He slowly raised his head. The smell was a terrible stench. While demons naturally lacked cleanliness and their foul odor wasn't surprising, this stench was different in nature.
It wasn't the smell of demons or beasts. It was the scent secreted from human sweat glands. The distinctive odor of humans who hadn't rested for a very long time.
The unique smell emitted by humans under tension, stress, and extreme situations.
"Who's there."
Ivan stood up straight from the half-destroyed camp and spoke. From the western bushes, directly opposite from where his companions were, came rustling sounds and signs of human presence.
With his hand on his pistol, he took a moment to catch his breath. From where his gaze fell, a figure rose unsteadily.
"..."
Ivan paused briefly after identifying the person.
A frame so thin it was almost frail. Height 178cm. Most of his armor was shattered and gone, with only the shoulder plates and the emblem below them remaining in pitiful condition.
Shaggy hair and unkempt beard covered his face. If they had met in Pritzenkaya, he would have looked like a drunkard from the slums.
But Ivan silently gave a military salute. After a moment of silence, the man returned the salute.
Only then did Ivan finally speak.
"So you were alive..."
"Like you."
The old man's eyes gleamed beneath deep wrinkles. His gaze was like a well-honed sword. Though it was unclear how long he had wandered here, there was an undimmed spirit that had not tired despite hunger, cold, and the fear of survival.
"Grand Duke Volnovin, Your Grace."
"Colonel Ivan Petrovich."
The two men bowed to each other once more.
This was the man responsible for eliminating threats from the demon realm beyond the Northern Front's grand gate, controlling the demon population, and running the colonial military government.
The nobleman who possessed the most extensive territory in this country, yet a soldier who owned not a single piece of land within its borders, a war hero who had been loyal to the state even before he opened his eyes in this land.
The reason the Emperor had been able to expand the country's territory threefold.
Mikhail Arturovich Volnovin, the "Gallows Duke." Or by his more familiar names: "The Conqueror's Sword," the Reaper of the North...
A figure Ivan had been certain had died in the line of duty the moment control of the Northern Demon Realm was lost.
And the fact that such a figure now appeared here in such a state meant...
"Remaining troops?"
It meant he had preserved at least minimal combat forces.
After all, he wasn't the type to throw himself into a demon camp in despair to commit suicide. He was someone who would fight until death.
Unless he had been preparing to raid the demon camp and had his achievement stolen. Ivan turned his head to look at the bushes. The stench emanating from the Grand Duke was flowing more strongly from beyond the forest.
The Duke answered calmly.
"Seven thousand."
"That's... more than expected."
"Is it really?"
The Duke smiled bitterly. It was indeed a large number. Maintaining an armed force of 7,000 while isolated in completely hostile territory without supply lines or rear support was itself a miracle.
However, considering the cost, this miracle could be seen as proof of his incompetence rather than his capability.
"Most of Krasilov's subjects in the colony died in the first attack. As soldiers with nothing left to protect, our tactics became simpler. We could have survived longer if survival was our only goal."
"You don't look like it."
"I suppose not. Because we didn't live solely for survival."
He grinned with his gaunt cheeks. It was a smile that reeked of blood.
"Wasn't that your oath? Not to mourn those who departed first, right?"
The Duke waved his hand as he spoke. Soon, disguised men began to appear one by one from among the bushes, from the branches above, and beyond.
Men with the appearance of defeated soldiers gradually revealed themselves. Thin, unsightly, none without injury, and few with intact weapons.
Yet they carried a killing intent stronger than any elite troops.
"Our oath when we established military camps and colonial government in this land was different from yours, Colonel Petrovich."
The Duke turned around and took a deep breath. Then, a tremendous voice erupted that seemed impossible for a man well over seventy.
"ONLY—!! DEATH—!!"
-ONLY DEATH—!!
The forest trembled. The defeated soldiers who had been waiting for the Duke's orders throughout the forest howled. With voices unwavering even in the harsh northern wind, they shouted at the top of their lungs despite hunger and thirst.
"ONLY DEATH SHALL—!!"
-BE OUR FINAL DUTY!!
The echo resounded for a long time. The Duke turned around only after coughing dryly several times. He was smiling. It was a smile that hadn't broken despite the fear of death and the struggle for survival.
A twisted, distorted smile. As if someone who had never smiled in his life was forcibly turning up the corners of his mouth.
The Duke and his warriors were smiling like people who knew no other way to express their directionless anger.
"Did you see, Colonel Petrovich? The First Corps is still alive, will remain alive, and as long as we live, we will not stop."
"Yuri."
Ivan briefly called behind him. His companions were hurriedly approaching after hearing the enormous shout just moments ago.
Hearing Ivan's voice, Yuri quickly ran toward him.
"Is this the advantage you saw?"
"I, I... can't be certain, but..."
Yuri hesitated as he looked at the Duke, then slightly nodded after a moment.
"The next path does lead south."
Meaning there was no longer any point in wandering the demon realm. Ivan laughed, "Ha, ha," upon hearing this.
Yes, that's right.
It felt like new vitality was surging through his nerves, which had been worn ragged from overwork. His nervous system was heating up with excitement, forgetting fatigue.
'Not simply disrupting the follow-up demon corps coming down from the north...'
The process of recovering the Grand Duke and the isolated First Corps itself was the "victory condition"?
It meant more than simply gaining reinforcements. It meant more than securing time that was in short supply.
This was about the direction of victory.
'Krasilov will not fall...!'
If the direction of Yuri's "victory condition" had been focused solely on disrupting the demons' rear, he would have been operating under the assumption of Krasilov's downfall.
That would have meant there was no need for him to personally assassinate the Seven Dragon Generals right now, given that troops beyond Krasilov's capacity to handle had already moved south.
In that scenario, Krasilov would have crumbled as a breakwater. A heroic breakwater holding back the storm of the demon army, the Seven Dragon Generals, and the Demon King.
And Ivan would have had to stand amid the ruins, witnessing that noble yet futile end. He could imagine it too easily. The image of Elizabeta fallen beneath the collapsed pillars of Pritzenkaya...
But not anymore.
If Krasilov were destined to fall, there would be no reason to rally the Northern First Corps and march south. While 7,000 was certainly a powerful force, it wasn't significant enough to influence the great war.
Only if this war were to conclude as a localized conflict at the national level could a force of this size be included in the "victory conditions."
Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. It could be a misjudgment or speculation. It might be a pitiful fantasy in a tragedy desperately seeking hope. But.
But. Would he give up because of that? Would he lament, saying everything might be meaningless?
No. His long training process was not for surrender and regret, but for the will to move forward even with his feet dipped in death amid despair.
Not for the excuse that he tried his best but failed. But for the mindset to do his best despite the possibility of failure. Though it may seem like mere wordplay, such wordplay could encompass the entirety of this world's principles.
So, Ivan walked toward the Duke.
"There won't be time to gather stragglers. Though the time you've spent until now must have been sufficiently painful, the battles ahead will be no less so."
"You're audacious, Colonel. If you're coveting command with such threats, wake up from your dream. I have no intention of allowing it until your marriage to our Majesty."
"...Are you ready? If you need time, say so now."
"All we've been doing until now is preparing."
The Duke smiled sharply. Ivan's face reflected in his pupils wore the same expression.
"Ah, yes. Colonel. I forgot to ask this. There's a procedure that must be followed when encountering friendly forces in enemy territory."
Grand Duke Volnovin spoke with a joking tone.
"Where does your loyalty lie?"
"To my homeland, and to the greatest monarch upon this land."
"Welcome to the service, Colonel. As of this moment, you are commissioned into the First Corps."
Ivan grasped the hand the Duke extended. Beneath the thin grip, he could still feel powerful strength.
"Your Majesty, an envoy... an envoy has arrived."
"...An envoy? Whose?"
Elizabeta asked the voice outside her tent with tired eyes. They hesitated, unable to speak.
It was strange. In this country, only one man had the right not to answer her questions.
It meant something unusual had happened. Elizabeta smiled bitterly as she lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.
Under the sky with its pale sun, her soldiers were surrounding someone in a circle. Spears, swords, and guns protruded toward the outskirts of the camp.
With her appearance, the ceremonial guard quickly stepped aside. Like reeds parting in the wind, the crowd instantly made way for her.
In a straight line all the way to the open space at the edge of the camp. Elizabeta walked through, furrowing her brow.
Five goblins were looking at her weakly.
"Goblins?"
"They are envoys from the Seven Dragon Generals, Your Majesty. They requested an audience while unarmed."
"Demons as envoys. Has there been such a precedent?"
"Not in the records, Your Majesty."
Listening to Dmitri, who had begun to attend her, Elizabeta walked up to the goblins. The goblins looked at her and smiled but did not pay their respects.
The atmosphere in the camp rapidly grew turbulent. Killing intent erupted as if the soldiers wanted to cut off the demons' heads and crush their flesh right away.
The goblins, though terrified, did not lose their smiles. Seeing this, Elizabeta stopped in place and nodded slightly.
"Speak. What did your chieftain tell you to convey?"
"Hehe, human king. We, we are not versed in etiquette, so we will convey our lord's words exactly."
One of the goblins, laughing vilely, stepped forward. Clank, click. The soldiers all aimed their weapons at it. Despite the threat, the goblin shouted with its head held high.
"If you give up your head, half of your country can be spared."
"How dare—!!"
The ceremonial guards all raised their spears. In the midst of momentum that seemed ready to shoot forth at any moment, Elizabeta raised her hand.
At the same time, the spear tip that had approached the goblin's Adam's apple stopped. Drops of blood trickled down the blade.
Looking down at the frightened goblin, Elizabeta spoke softly.
"Sending envoys means you intend to respect human culture. I understand your chieftain's intentions."
"Y-yes?"
"Now you no longer see us as prey."
Elizabeta turned her head to survey the soldiers as she spoke. In the aftermath of the recent defeat at the grand gate, the long retreat, and having to abandon all the cities in between, the soldiers looked like they were on the losing side.
Her cry spread toward them.
"Look! They fear us! Even those who were once called gods follow our culture and ask for 'dialogue.' Does a predator converse with its prey? Does an executioner converse with the condemned! Envoys! Their god asks for peace as an equal!"
"H-human—!!"
Interrupting the goblin's words, Elizabeta's cry continued.
"There are no more gods in this land! Did the Lord abandon us? No, no! He acknowledged that we are no longer children in need of His embrace! He merely judged that those 'false gods' remaining in this land are no longer a threat to us! My most excellent men, look. Now the gods are begging us for dialogue!"
-Krasilov! Krasilov! Krasilov!!
The soldiers shouted in unison. The goblins' necks shrank at the resounding echo that filled their pupils.
One goblin screamed out amid the commotion.
"I-is your answer refusal, h-human!!"
"You said you wanted my head!!"
Elizabeta turned to look down at the goblin. The goblin that met her gaze turned pale and stumbled backward.
"If you want it so badly, come and take it!! Tell that to your false god!!"
The camp gates opened wide again. While the goblins retreated staggering, no soldier directly attacked them.
It was the law not to harm envoys between nations. This was the principle of the United Kingdom. At this point, when they had begun to distinguish the humans of this world not simply as "humans" but as "humans of Krasilov," the soldiers had to observe the same principle with the demons.
That they were not an unstoppable disaster or calamity. That they were merely an "enemy nation." They had proven this, and would continue to prove it.
And they would prove that this was not the most severe threat Krasilov had faced, and that throughout its long history, Krasilov had always endured.
Elizabeta could walk back to the camp with a much lighter step.