Chapter 56: The Signal Fire of War
Under Zenon’s command, the border defense system of the Kingdom of Berstein was rapidly reorganized.
The veteran generals resisted bitterly, but before the king’s absolute authority—and the overwhelming logic of Zenon’s strategies—they had no choice but to comply.
Communication magic tools were deployed to every border fortress, allowing information to be relayed to the capital’s command center in real time.
The main army was stationed in the central region of the kingdom, kept in a state of readiness to march at any moment.
The royal army, having gained Zenon as its new and unnatural “brain,” was transforming into a modern force unlike anything it had been before.
But that transformation had only just begun.
And the enemy was not foolish enough to overlook the vulnerabilities that come with a period of transition.
Half a month after Zenon’s new strategy began moving, on a stormy night—an earth-shaking report struck the command center.
Communication with Black Eagle Fortress, which guarded the northeastern border, had been completely severed.
“…What!?”
Shock rippled through the generals gathered in the command center.
Black Eagle Fortress was supposed to be an impregnable stronghold, protected by natural terrain.
“It’s just interference from the storm, surely!”
“No… according to scouts sent toward the fortress… it is flying not our banner, but the twin-headed eagle of the Galian Empire…!”
The devastating report plunged the command center into chaos.
Black Eagle Fortress had fallen— without any battle report, without any request for reinforcements.
In a single night.
“Impossible! Ridiculous! To capture that fortress from the outside would require at least ten thousand troops and a month of siege!”
Marshal Gerhardt shouted, unable to believe it.
“…It was not taken from the outside, Marshal.”
At the center of the chaos, only Zenon remained cold as ice, staring intently at a single point on the tactical map.
“The fortress was opened from the inside.”
“…What?”
“Black Eagle Fortress’s commander, Viscount Cornelius. He is a supporter of Prince Alphonse.
And he carried enormous gambling debts.…As for who paid those debts… I trust you understand.”
Zenon’s calm words revealed a terrifying truth: betrayal.
Treason against the kingdom.
The generals were speechless.
The worst scenario Zenon had predicted— that Prince Alphonse, during his confinement, might be colluding with the Empire— was now becoming a horrifying reality.
“…The Empire exploited our internal divisions with masterful skill. From the beginning they had no intention of using brute force. They targeted the rot within us—our corruption—and with money and sweet promises, placed a blade at our throat in the most efficient manner possible.”
There was no emotion in Zenon’s voice.
Only the cold, professional evaluation of a strategist recognizing an enemy’s flawless execution.
Gong… gong… gong…
From every church in the capital, the bells announcing a national emergency began to ring.
Their tolling signaled that the Kingdom of Bernstein had entered full-scale war with the Galian Empire.
The grand conference hall of the royal castle was filled with a tension and despair utterly unlike anything before.
King Edward IV sat upon the throne, his face pale.
Before him knelt Prince Alphonse, freed from confinement only to be dragged into this room.
“…Alphonse.”
The king’s voice trembled.
“Speak. Is this the truth? Did you hand the fortress to the Empire?”
“…”
Alphonse said nothing.
He stared at the floor, lips pressed tightly together.
His silence spoke more clearly than any confession.
“Why!? Why would you do something so foolish!?”
“…To eliminate Zenon.”
The prince murmured the words as if they were falling out of him.
“That man will destroy this country. You and everyone else have been deceived by him.
So I… I had to stop him. Even if it meant borrowing the Empire’s power…”
It was a sad confession born from a warped sense of justice.
To the very end, he believed he was right.
But his self-righteous justice was now dragging the entire kingdom to ruin.
“…Enough.”
The king raised a trembling hand.
He no longer had the strength to condemn his own son.
Every gaze in the chamber shifted to a single person.
The only one who might still save them.
Zenon von Arkwright.
He accepted the mixture of fear, expectation, and desperation directed at him, and spoke with chilling calm:
“…Your Majesty. We have no time for sentiment.”
Even in this extreme crisis, his voice did not waver.
“What we must do now is simple: predict the enemy’s next move, and act before they do.”
He stood before the tactical map— no longer a mere financial advisor, but a supreme commander carrying the weight of the nation on his shoulders.
“The enemy has secured Black Eagle Fortress. They will use it as a bridgehead and send a large army south. Their goal is the capital, Londinium.”
Zenon drew a red predicted route down the map.
“…We have very little time.”
He spoke quietly.
“I request that Your Majesty issue a general mobilization immediately. And that all military command authority be temporarily placed in my hands.”
It was an outrageous demand.
Yet no one objected.
They had no choice but to entrust everything to this terrifyingly capable boy.
The Kingdom of Berstein now faced its greatest crisis—an invasion from without, and betrayal from within.
A double catastrophe.
And in the heart of that storm, one rational strategist was about to be tested beyond anything he had imagined.