CH961 · Rewrite
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Chapter 961: Two Plans

“What do you think?” Roland asked, eyes fixed on the light curtain on the wall. Of all the people in this room, the Taquila survivors were best qualified to read the demons’ intentions.

“An old trick,” Alethea said, her voice sharpening to a point. “Intimidation failed, so now comes force. They’ve always combined the two—fear first, then blades. Against a city of witches, they wouldn’t bother with half-measures. They’d slaughter every last citizen and be done with it.”

“But you estimated it would take them half a year before they pushed toward us.”

“Ahem.” Alethea’s tone went slightly awkward. “That estimate was based on their average time to establish a large camp. Perhaps they’re moving faster this time. The war situation is always changing—only a fool clings to fixed calculations. I never told you to let down your guard.”

“Are you serious?” The irritation in Roland’s chest was real, though he kept it off his face. The entire counterplan had been timed around her estimate—the railway would have reached its position before the demons settled in. Armored trains and railguns would have made their outpost construction impossible. Half a year had mattered.

“Alethea didn’t intend to mislead you. I agreed with her assessment at the time.” Agatha’s voice was measured, almost deliberately calming. “The Union paid heavily for that intelligence on the red mist supply line. It held true until the Holy City fell. Half a year was always the minimum period they needed before their next advance.”

“So the intelligence that cost so many lives is now worthless?” Edith shrugged. “Four-hundred-year-old battlefield data becoming obsolete is understandable enough.”

Roland felt his eyebrow twitch. The Pearl of the Northern Region was, without question, the only ordinary person in this room who would confront an ancient blob-creature without flinching. He certainly wasn’t a typical inhabitant of this world, but even so—Edith remained singular.

As expected, Alethea’s voice rose. “Common person, how dare—”

Pasha spoke before Alethea could fully ignite. “Perhaps it’s the giant skeleton accelerating the red mist expansion, or perhaps the demons are planning something we haven’t anticipated. If their aim isn’t immediate attack, they could establish an outpost earlier than usual—the supply of red mist determines the outpost’s final size. There’s no need to quarrel. His Majesty decides how to address this.”

Roland found himself nodding internally. That was how a genuine leader handled a room—quelling conflict while returning authority to the person who held it. Pasha had earned her title.

The problem remained unchanged regardless. Whether the demons were plotting something deeper or pushing toward Neverwinter ahead of schedule, the result was the same: Roland could no longer afford to watch the ruins of the Holy City from a distance. The phantom instruments couldn’t locate targets precisely enough to buy him more observation time. He had to move the obstacle—now, not later.

“Get the First Army ready to march.” He drew a slow breath and turned to Iron Axe.

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Iron Axe answered the same way he always did—without decoration.

“A bold choice,” Alethea said. Her approval had the briskness of a woman who had watched too many hesitating commanders die for it. “Remaining passive before an advancing enemy is no better than suicide. Only by keeping close watch on their movements can we properly prepare.”

“General Staff.” Roland looked deliberately at Edith. “Have at least one plan on my desk by tomorrow night. I want to see your full reasoning, not just the conclusion.”

“Your Majesty.” Ferlin Eltek—Knight Morning Light, formally transitioned into his new role—spoke with the careful gravity of a man raising an objection he knew was necessary. “According to Lady Sylvie, the Devilbeasts have already taken dominion of the air above that region. Marching the First Army without being spotted is nearly impossible. The moment we’re seen, we’ll be pinned.”

Roland already knew this. That was precisely why he needed the plan laid out before they moved—he who had designed the army’s weapons understood exactly what Ferlin was saying between the lines. The anti-aircraft machine guns lost most of their effectiveness if the soldiers couldn’t set them up and take careful aim in advance. Unlike a defensive battle on city walls, threats in open terrain could come from every quarter—there was no way to pre-configure an adequate barrage.

The railway wasn’t finished either. Moving war materials on foot over 400 kilometers—170 of which lay outside the Misty Forest’s cover—meant a vulnerable supply line. A supply line cut by the demons would not just slow the advance; it could strand the army entirely.

He could not let any of this show on his face.

“I need to see the plan. We work out everything else afterward.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.” Ferlin placed his hand on his chest.


The night slipped away without anyone noticing.

The General Staff delivered two plans the following afternoon. Edith Kant would present them.

“You stayed up?” Roland asked, noting the faint swelling beneath her eyes.

“Everyone else was working. I couldn’t rest alone.” She shrugged. “Call it compensation for the mistake I made last time.”

Is she complaining? He waved it aside. “Give me the conclusions.”

“The first plan.” She pointed to the left sheet. “A standard march. The Devilbeasts will spot the main body before we reach the combat zone—there’s no way around it. We’ve assumed the worst-case engagement, since the General Staff doesn’t have reliable intelligence on the demons’ current numbers. Our conclusion: the First Army can accomplish the mission, but will be routed in the process. Approximately 2,500 men—half the force—manage to retreat to Neverwinter. The witches are not in serious danger; all of them escape cleanly as long as no one makes a rash move.”

“That’s not a good result.” Roland rubbed his forehead. “Logistics?”

“The core failure point,” Edith said. “Once the demons hit the supply line, the First Army has to divert men to defend it—but can’t seal the threat completely. Casualties mount, morale erodes, the front line begins to lose heart. After roughly a week, the main army reaches the outpost and destroys it—that part succeeds. But behind them, the Misty Forest is on fire.”

“The Misty Forest?”

“A fire the demons start deliberately, after noticing unusual activity in the forest. It destroys the safe corridor Lady Leaf opened for the transport corps. The alternative route is three times the length. Supply to the First Army is severed, the army loses its operational advantage, and withdrawal becomes the only option.” She cleared her throat. “The number of demons in this scenario is admittedly estimated on the high end. But given their urgent recent activity, it seems unwise to assume they’ll abandon the outpost without a fierce fight.”

Roland let out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “The casualty numbers I can accept. But who came up with the burning forest?”

“Knight Morning Light.” Edith’s voice remained perfectly steady. “After analysis, the General Staff concluded it was operationally plausible if the war continued long enough for the demons to identify the forest corridor.”

He had been prepared for difficult conclusions, but the adverse inference still settled heavily. “The second plan? Tell me it isn’t the same result. You didn’t lose a full night’s sleep to hand me two identical answers.”

Roland already understood, somewhere in the back of his mind, that if he ever intended to fight the demons on the Fertile Plains, the limits of land transport would eventually force a reckoning. The railway’s urgency hadn’t been arbitrary.

“No, Your Majesty.” A small smile crossed the Pearl of the Northern Region’s face—barely more than a shift in the set of her mouth. “The second plan is different. Since we cannot guarantee the safety of a supply line, we make the supply line disappear.”

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