Chapter 62: The Starving Imperial Army

Vargas’s vanguard force had become isolated.
All supply from the rear had been completely cut off.
They could not contact the main army.
In the middle of the vast Silva Plains, it was as if they had been abandoned on an island of land.

For the first few days, the soldiers still maintained some composure.

“Ha! Cowardly tricks. But such foolishness means nothing before the might of the Imperial Army!”

“When the main force arrives, they’ll crush those bastards in one stroke!”

They cursed the Berstein Kingdom’s underhanded tactics, but still believed in victory.

However, that optimism faded with each passing day.
Their stockpiled food began to run out.
Rations per soldier were reduced day by day.
Two meals became one.
Eventually even that became a thin, tasteless gruel watered down to stretch what little remained.

Hunger.
It was an invisible enemy that most effectively eroded a soldier’s morale.
The once-fierce Imperial soldiers lost their energy, and their eyes grew dull and lifeless.
At night, the sound of rumbling stomachs echoed like a mournful chorus throughout the camp.

“General…! If this continues, the soldiers will starve to death!”

The adjutant pleaded with a pained expression.

“We must take action…!”

“I know that!” 

Vargas roared.
Even his robust frame looked a size smaller from hunger.
His pride tormented him.
Retreat?
No—showing one’s back to the enemy was the disgrace of an Imperial soldier.
Then a decisive battle?
But ordering starving soldiers to fight an enemy at full strength was nothing short of madness.

Cornered, Vargas finally made the most vile decision—exactly the one Zenon had predicted.

“…We will ‘requisition’ food from the nearby villages.”

The adjutant gasped.
Requisition.
A word that sounded noble, but in truth, it meant plunder.
They would seize food from enemy civilians by force—an act strictly forbidden by military law.

“…General, are you certain? Such an act would stain the honor of the Imperial Army—”

“Silence!!”

Vargas’s shout thundered through the tent.

“Can honor fill our bellies!? Should we just sit and watch our men starve!? This is war! We do what we must to survive! Do not hesitate!”

That afternoon.
Vargas assembled several hundred of the most violent mercenaries and sent them toward the nearest village—Timber Village.

Timber Village was a peaceful farming settlement.
They knew two armies were facing off on the plains, but never imagined their own village would be dragged into the fire.
Then the Imperial Army descended upon them.

“Food! Bring out every scrap of food in this village!”

“Anyone who resists will be cut down!”

The mercenaries attacked the villagers like starving beasts.
They kicked down doors, ignored the screams of women and children, and ransacked storehouses.
A young villager who tried to resist was mercilessly cut down.
The village became a living hell of chaos and screams.

And all of it— was being watched from the nearby forest by a single unit, their eyes cold and unwavering.

It was Zenon and Gray’s Arkwright Army Second Unit.

They held a farspeech magic device in their hands.

“…Zenon-sama, are you sure about this? If we let this continue, the village will be destroyed.”
Gray ground his teeth. His knightly sense of justice screamed for him to charge out and save the villagers immediately.

“…Not yet.” 

Zenon shook his head.
His blue eyes were fixed not on the tragedy before him, but on the overall war beyond it.

“…It isn’t enough.”

The screams of villagers.
The destruction wrought by the mercenaries.
Every sound was transmitted in real time through the far speech device—to one place.

The main camp of the Berstein Kingdom Army stationed on the Silva Plains.

Field Marshal Gerhardt, General Gustav, and fifteen thousand soldiers—

They were forced to listen as their fellow countrymen were brutalized before their very ears.

“Help…! Someone…!”

“My daughter…! My daughter is—!”

Screams one wanted to block out.
They pierced directly into the soldiers’ hearts.
At first, confusion.
Then sympathy.
And finally—uncontainable fury.

“…Damn those Imperial dogs…!”

A young knight bit his lip so hard it nearly bled.

“How can we stand here while our own people suffer like this!?”

“That’s right! Aren’t we knights sworn to protect the people!?”

Their frustration was no longer simple distrust toward Zenon’s cold-blooded commands.
It was helplessness—
the pain of being unable to act—
and the humiliation of having their knightly pride trampled.

These emotions mixed and accumulated across the camp like explosive magma.

Gerhardt and Gustav felt it as well.
They, too, were knights.
To ignore the suffering of their people— it was the one act their lifelong creed could not forgive.

Zenon von Arkwright.
That man meant to corner not only the enemy… but their own hearts as well.

For what purpose?
They still did not understand the true meaning of his terrifying strategy.

And then, finally—

When the church in Timber Village was set ablaze and black smoke billowed into the sky—

The soldiers’ rage exploded.

“I can’t stand this anymore!!”

General Gustav drew his sword and shouted.

“To hell with the commander’s orders! We are knights! We will not abandon the people! Who will follow me!?”

“OOOOOOHHHHH!!”

The unified roar of fifteen thousand soldiers shook the Silva Plains.
It was righteous fury—unstoppable.

Exactly as Zenon had planned.

The kingdom army’s morale was no longer driven by fear or duty.
It burned with pure anger and righteous indignation.
Zenon had used the enemy’s atrocities to awaken the strongest, most primal emotions within his own soldiers.

This was the final stage of his psychological warfare.

Hearing the roar from the forest, Zenon quietly set down the far speech device.
He turned to Gray and spoke.

“…It’s time.”

A cold, calculated smile—like a mathematician whose perfect formula was complete—formed on his lips.

“Shall we begin the show?”