# EP49. Meteor Shower.
"We're almost there! Just a little more effort!"
At Lundis's voice, Elizabeta forcibly pushed open her closed eyes. Two days of battle, followed by another two days of marching.
The past two days.
The underground passages had been occupied by goblins, and the dwarf engineering corps were isolated in various sections of the tunnels, locked in desperate battles with the goblins.
Unlike the surface, enemy attacks underground weren't linear. Some emerged from beneath their feet, while others broke through the ceiling or demolished solid walls to appear with spears and swords.
Their short stature gave them extreme efficiency underground. Knights had to abandon their spears and defend themselves with daggers and shields.
For two days, they advanced while slaughtering countless goblins that could appear from anywhere at any time. Being superhumans, none of the Tilles knights died, though some were injured. It was a miracle.
After rescuing the isolated dwarves, consolidating their forces, they continued southward.
And now, the fruits of their labor were visible.
"Ah..."
The king, who had been traversing underground for a long time, groaned while shielding his eyes from the sky.
Dazzling sunlight welcomed them, almost too brilliantly to bear. A blue early autumn plain stretched out before their eyes.
The Karbinsk Great Plains.
To the south lay Pritzenkaya, and to the east and west were vast farmlands. The lifeblood of this country.
The Arta Great River, originating from the west, flows through these plains and Pritzenkaya. Along the riverbanks, numerous sheep and cattle would normally be grazing on the pastures.
Not now.
Military banners stood in rows. Countless military camps stretched across the horizon. War horses in armor grazed on pastures that once fed cows and sheep.
The king slowly gazed at the wave of military banners blocking the horizon like a wall.
Lorencia, Bellacriya, Leonor, Albinia. Knights of the Six Southern Nations.
The Tilles royal family's military banner fluttered from the highest point in the largest encampment, flanked by the Eastern Knights Order and House Etakrihi banners.
Beyond that, trains that had been rebuilt were arriving at temporary railway platforms on the southern railway line. Most of the unloaded goods were military rations and weapons, clearly marked with the Equitania emblem.
It was no longer painful to look at the sky. Not because their eyes had adjusted to the sun, but because the sun was being obscured.
A massive shadow covered the midday plains.
"Aah..."
The king sighed quietly. What floated in the sky was not clouds.
Five airships were docked, transferring supplies to the ground. About half of the Kalion elven schools had arrived here.
And below them.
Her corps was visible. The 2nd Corps Artillery, the "Harvester Battery" that had to be protected at all costs, gleamed in the sunlight.
The deployment was as precise as if torn from a military manual illustration. The artillery corps, capable of collapsing an entire region simultaneously, was now fully deployed.
Those moving between them were races smaller than humans.
Dwarves were maintaining her corps, building moats and palisades, digging trenches, and supervising construction.
Before all of this, at this place where all the power of the United Kingdom had gathered, Elizabeta sighed and said:
"It's a miracle."
Lundis grinned. The Tilles knights lined up beside her, led by Oskar, smiled with her.
Indeed, this was a miracle.
What were the odds that forces and supplies from different countries and different monarchs would arrive at the same place at the same time?
All monarchs of this era are selfish and greedy. What were the chances of willingly receiving corps, troops, and supplies from such people to form a united army?
Now that all of this had succeeded, what should today's landscape be called? There was no word other than miracle.
And Elizabeta knew more clearly than anyone who had created this miracle.
All of them had been saved by Ivan over the past two years. The man who prevented Tilles from splitting apart, saved the collapsing Kalion, liberated the subjugated dwarves, and rescued the Six Southern Nations from the clutches of the Seven Dragon Generals.
If there was the greatest miracle, yes.
Wouldn't it be that this man was from Krasilov? That such a man was loyal to this country, fought for it with his life, had fought, and would continue to fight?
She quickly wiped her moist eyes, composed herself, and walked with dignity.
As the ruler of Krasilov and the woman of the man who achieved today's miracle, she had no intention of showing weakness at any moment.
Ivan had spent most of his life on battlefields. From the lowliest conscript to an officer directly commanding military operations.
In other words, he understood every role in Krasilov's military operations, from the lowest soldier to the highest commander.
Therefore, it was not difficult to infer Krasilov's grand strategy when given even minor clues.
Let's take an example.
Q. At the point when the Northern Great Gate collapsed, with a Seven Dragon General-level enemy leading an enormous number of demon troops southward, and the 1st Corps having evaporated, what is the best course of action for the 2nd Corps?
A. Retreat quickly and establish a battlefield environment where the 2nd Corps' maximum firepower can be surveyed.
Let's expand the situation a bit more.
Q. Having abandoned all northern territories, the morale of the 2nd Corps is gradually declining. When will desertion reach levels that could collapse the corps?
A. As encounters with the enemy approach the south. If the 2nd Corps' movement radius is the central plains, desertion frequency will increase proportionally to travel distance. Considering the standard marching speed of Krasilov corps including artillery, maximum one week.
Q. Given these conditions, what is the most precise tactical judgment the corps' highest commander should make?
A. Use high-value targets that the enemy would consider as bait to force a rotation. This rotation must occur at the point where our forces are most vulnerable, thus requiring preparation of an escape route the enemy wouldn't expect. Delay the enemy's advance as much as possible, then withdraw from the battlefield with minimal losses.
Q. What is the optimal battlefield to carry out this operation?
A. Considering the alliance with the dwarves and the results of previous campaigns fought together, a basin formation is most suitable. The enemy can occupy the highlands, making it appear as if the battle situation is disadvantageous, and the basin can easily conceal the existence of underground tunnels.
Also, to guide the enemy's offensive endpoint to the central plains, this campaign must be located in the southern part of the northern territories, in the northern part of the plains.
Additionally, to prevent complete encirclement, one side of the battlefield must face natural terrain such as a river or cliff, and the battlefield should be adjacent to terrain like forests or swamps to disrupt enemy movement.
It didn't take long to reach these conclusions. Even before crossing the Great Gate, before Elizabeta had established the "bait operation," Ivan had anticipated the best course of action she would take.
So, this is it.
This place is Elizabeta's best option. And he had rushed here determined to support her retreat and, furthermore, to annihilate the Seven Dragon General at this very spot.
What could be accomplished when Yuri's "ability" and Ivan's "judgment" were combined had already been proven in Droan. They had successfully executed an impossible operation without communication between them from opposite ends of their countries.
So Ivan believed without doubt that this time would be the same.
Indeed, until he arrived.
"..."
Everything in sight had been turned into wasteland.
The forest was torn apart, burned, and among the unrecovered bodies, none had limbs intact. Whether human or demon.
Since demons don't consider supply capacity in their march, their provisions depend on the number of humans they kill. In other words, the scattered, mangled corpses meant...
"The demons won."
Ivan didn't respond to Grand Duke Volonovin's words.
These were the traces of a battle won by demon forces. The torn human corpses meant just that.
"Have we come too late? How many died here?"
Even a rough estimate of visible human corpses exceeded a thousand. Considering that most would have been eaten by demons, at least three times that number.
Three thousand soldiers died here. And considering the 2nd Corps' organization, with no traces of artillery, that was virtually the entire infantry of the 2nd Corps.
The 2nd Corps infantry was essentially annihilated here.
"Uncle...? Uncle!!"
"Uncle!!"
Ivan suddenly realized he was kneeling when he saw the children holding onto him. Extreme fatigue and stress were consuming his strength.
The human body differs from steel. Even for superhumans, continuous consumption eventually leads to collapse. Ivan knew this, and while he forced rest upon his companions, he didn't do the same for himself.
He would inevitably collapse someday, but it would suffice if that collapse came after the end. If he could hold on until the final moment of the story prepared for him, what did it matter what came after?
With the mindset of just needing to endure until then, he acted as if he would live forever. He consumed himself frantically each day, moving as if he never even imagined conserving his strength.
All his driving force was, ridiculously, "hope." Hope alone.
The belief that tomorrow would be better than today. The hope that life in this cursed pre-modern fantasy world would someday end. If not that, then at least.
The belief that the life connected to his bloodline, the former king who had shown him grace, the woman who sustained his country, would remain by his side until the end.
Yes, he might have given up hope of escaping this world. And he thought that was fine.
He might have thought so while brushing hair from the cheek of the woman sleeping beside him.
That this woman could be a reason for him to stay here.
That perhaps there might be more things in this world worth attaching his heart to.
Though everything he had loved died before him, at least he hoped this country, this woman, and this world would not.
-Crack.
Ivan absently looked down at his hand. Blood vessels had burst, staining it red. His skin was tearing, unable to withstand the grip. Below, distinct drops of blood fell and flowed.
What remained was, as always.
Revenge.
As always, too late and too meaningless. But as a tribute to those who died meaninglessly, the most appropriate.
Maximillian. What did you want to commit such acts? Why did you bring calamity to every country in this world, throw countless people to death, and still not stop, killing former comrades again and again?
The day to understand him would probably never come. But, he didn't even want to understand. What remained was... yes.
Revenge. That's all.
"Colonel, are you giving up?"
Grand Duke Volonovin looked at Ivan with sunken eyes. Beside him waited numerous troops worn with fatigue.
The time these troops can engage in combat is also limited. There's no time to stop. So, if you want to stop and be immersed in sorrow, don't follow us, he was saying.
The human heart is more fragile than one might think, and even the seemingly strongest person can easily crumble in the face of tragedy. These old avengers knew this fact. From experience, because they too had been there.
So, if you're going to crumble before tragedy, do it behind us, he meant. Because they could empathize, they feared they might crumble too.
Ivan stood up, shaking the blood from his hand. He closed his eyes and placed his trembling hand on his brow. When he removed it, a bloody mark streaked across his cheek.
"Even if the day comes when the last person among you gives up on revenge."
He opened his closed eyes. Under his shadowed face, blue eyes blazed with fire.
In a gloomy, cracked voice, he spoke softly, almost whispering:
"I will not."