The Cornered Empire
Three months had passed since the Emperor had returned to the imperial capital. Yet the situation could only be described in one word: disastrous.
Alicetia had already conquered four cities and seven forts, continuing to ravage the Empire at a breakneck pace.
The Emperor held his head in his hands. After barely making it back to the capital from a crushing defeat, he found the city already bombarded from the air—and Alicetia, having overtaken them, was running rampant through the Empire.
When she seized a city, she freed the slaves, sent those who wished to go to Arland, stripped the Empire of all its assets, blew up the city walls, and disappeared.
When she captured a fort, she seized all its supplies, then completely demolished it before vanishing.
The generals insisted the Imperial Army must dispatch interception forces from the troops that had returned to the capital.
But to the Emperor, such a thing was unthinkable.
They had assembled more than two million soldiers on land alone, and yet they had been defeated by a single girl.
“Three million! I deployed a force of three million—the largest army in the history of this continent—and still we lost to just one girl! What good would sending a few thousand reinforcements do? More importantly, should you not be protecting me instead…?”
The Emperor had been utterly convinced that the Arland campaign would end in conquest. For years, the Empire had expanded its territory and strengthened its military, all for the sake of destroying Arland. The last invasion was meant to be the culmination of those efforts.
He had believed that once Arland was destroyed, and the princess and her band of technologists absorbed into the Empire, continental domination was assured. The great Granzur Empire, foremost among superpowers, would then not only wield the sharpest sword but also claim the wings that reached for the heavens.
It had all been nothing but delusion.
“Your Majesty.”
The old butler entered the chamber.
“Well?!”
The Emperor leapt from his chair. But when he saw the butler’s expression, his hope collapsed, and he sank back down.
“… So it has failed.”
“They say that under those conditions, Arland could not agree. The envoy returned with only his head.”
The Emperor had chosen not to engage Alicetia’s army, but to pursue peace. The Granzur Empire still possessed formidable military power. Though far from its peak, it still outnumbered tiny Arland. At least, it had more troops than Arland’s pre-war army.
And so, in this situation, he attempted a peace treaty tilted in the Empire’s favor.
But Arland refused.
The envoy, still looking down on Arland as barbarians, had become enraged at being mocked—and was decapitated on the spot by Gilbert. The head was returned, but the body had apparently been burned in the capital square. It seemed they had no intention of forgiving him, not even in death.
Their anger was understandable. The Empire’s proposal had demanded:
1) That borders return to their pre-war state.
2) That Arland accept full responsibility for the war.
3) That Arland pay reparations.
4) And that Arland enter an alliance with the Empire, which would include transferring the blueprints and construction techniques for armed airships.
It was a negotiation so absurd that even knights beside Gilbert couldn’t help but laugh.
When Arland refused, the Empire tried to threaten them by warning that other nations would intervene. But in truth, peace was impossible.
The Alicetia Army was like a kite whose string had snapped. Even if Arland itself were willing to settle, if her clones disapproved, the campaign would not stop. And the terms Alicetia herself demanded for surrender cast the Emperor and the entire Empire into the depths of terror:
1) The handover of all royals, nobles, and high-ranking officers who had unlawfully entered Arland. Naturally, under Arland’s law, this meant death without exception.
2) Reparations equal to roughly half of the Empire’s annual tax revenue. No installments—only a lump sum, since the Empire would surely invent excuses to avoid payment later.
3) The cession of territory to Arland and its allies.
4) The forfeiture of ownership over everything looted by the Alicetia Army.
5) The liberation of all slaves demanded by Alicetia, without exception.
By any measure, these were terms of unconditional surrender.
If the first demand were accepted, the Empire could no longer exist—major nobles, even the Emperor himself, would face execution.
If the second were accepted, the Empire would go bankrupt. In fact, it no longer had the funds to pay such an amount. Only by seizing the nobles’ assets could they even attempt to scrape it together, and that would guarantee rebellion.
The rest of the demands were equally ruinous. The Empire was vast, with enormous territory and population—but its economy depended on slavery. No one knew how many would be freed, but once freed, they would inevitably flee to Arland. Almost none would choose to remain in the Empire.
The Emperor had sent envoy after envoy, desperate to find a compromise. But the Granzur Empire had grown too accustomed to victory. It had expanded through conquest after conquest; it lacked the foundation to accept defeat. As a result, it could not break away from demanding favorable terms, while Arland, for its part, had no intention of conceding. To compromise now would only enrage the Alicetia faction (a name they gave themselves; Alicetia herself was unaware).
Even now, many wished to rush to Alicetia’s side as reinforcements, but she had ordered them to remain in place. The Alicetia faction was unusual: bound more by devotion than by interest, they would never act against her will. At first, some feared that as the faction grew, they might clash with Crown Prince Gilbert for power—but since Alicetia herself had no desire for the throne, they instead pledged loyalty to him, reasoning that supporting the Crown Prince was the best way to serve Alicetia. Thus, they became a strange group belonging to both camps.
That said, if her will were denied, they would erupt in fury—handling them was no easy task.
For reference, the so-called “Princess-less Princess Faction” had once schemed to enthrone Alicetia as a puppet queen, but because their base of support was the Noble Council, they were annihilated. At present, they were suffering “sermons” from the newly formed “Angel Faction” of Alicetia supporters, sermons that included torture—and surely regretting ever being born. (Personal cults are really not a good idea.)
These factors, along with Gilbert’s discovery of the existence of a mysterious “Grisaia Project,” ensured that no peace was possible. Gilbert had detected it, but not even he could find the slightest clue as to its nature. Only Alicetia herself and her clones knew. With her clones evading him out of fear of interrogation, Gilbert now looked like a dead man, believing his sister hated him. And when Albert—who had just returned from the battlefield only to discover his daughter had taken a man and even borne his child—saw him, he too wore the same dead-eyed look as he consoled him.
“Anyway… no matter what it takes, we must secure peace. I’ll stop at nothing for that.”
The Emperor requested that the Avia Theocracy mediate peace, including by sending reinforcements. However, within the Theocracy, the Darth Fluffman Rebellion had thrown the nation into turmoil. Even if the Pope declared that they should capture or kill Alicetia here, his subordinates were all in “Kill Darth Fluffman at all costs” mode, and the country itself was on the verge of splitting. As a result, no reinforcements came.
“Your Majesty! The allied nations of Arland have declared their intent to reclaim their former territories and have formally declared war on us. It appears those lands have already fallen… and also—”
The Chancellor trailed off. The Emperor had foreseen this much. Since the peace conditions demanded territorial concessions, it was inevitable that they would press for the return of land taken from Arland’s allies. Of course, he had no intention of simply handing it over for free. To him, Arland’s allies were filthy traitors. He fully intended to exact revenge.
“Well? Speak the rest.”
Wiping sweat from his brow, the Chancellor delivered the words that drove the Emperor into a fury.
“The Prince of Zamdo and the Princess of Tifania have wed and proclaimed the founding of the Kingdom of Zania. They have already retaken their old capital… and seized the Ulerea Gold Mine!”
At those words, the Emperor understood that the Empire had no future.
Like Zamdo, the city-state of Tifania had originally been part of a single kingdom.
But then a gold mine was discovered on the Empire’s border. Not only was its yield vast, but the purity of its ore was extraordinarily high. In fact, 40% of the continent’s gold came from this one mine.
The previous Emperor rejoiced at this discovery—and simultaneously began to see his neighboring vassal kingdom as an obstacle. That nation was obedient to the Empire, so there was no justification to destroy it. Thus he turned to schemes.
That small kingdom had three princes. They weren’t especially close, but neither were they enemies. The Emperor arranged the king’s assassination, then circulated a forged will claiming the throne was bequeathed to all three princes.
Blinded by ambition, the princes quarreled. However, they weren’t so hostile as to kill each other. For the time being, each retreated to territories that supported them, with the First Prince remaining in the capital—thus splitting into three factions. Still, they only distanced themselves for negotiations; no war had broken out.
This peaceful approach disgusted the previous Emperor. He had slaughtered relatives without hesitation in his own succession struggle, yet these princes chose dialogue.
He ordered spies within the Crown Prince’s faction to stage a deliberate attack on the Empire. Using that as justification, he destroyed the capital.
Only then did the Second and Third Princes realize they had been deceived—but it was too late. Their bitter grudge lingered, and their descendants carried it into the two city-states.
Now, with only a prince and a princess left as direct heirs, the timing was perfect. Their marriage unified the divided royal line. Together they retook their old capital and, riding that momentum, seized the gold mine—the very root of their suffering.
Losing this mine would deliver a devastating blow to the Empire’s finances. The Emperor collapsed, stunned that the Empire’s future had been stolen by such a small kingdom.
The soldiers of the Granzur Empire were also deeply shaken.
“With the fall of Fort Sokyule, their next target must be Duke Charles’s domain nearby. That’s the breadbasket region.”
One staff officer traced possible routes on the Empire’s detailed maps.
“That would be a rational prediction, yes? Which is exactly why it may not apply to the princess.”
Another officer shook his head.
The Alicetia Army was the absolute worst possible match for the Imperial Army. Granzur was the continent’s hegemon, commanding the largest territory and populace. This power was achieved not through government but through military might. Successive emperors left the military largely autonomous, intervening only to ensure their loyalty.
As a result, the Imperial Army remained neutral in succession disputes—whoever became Emperor, the army didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t interfered with. Imperial princes fought succession wars using only the forces of supporting nobles. The victor then assumed authority over the army.
Thus, the Granzur Imperial Army was formidable: an efficient organization, equipped with superior arms, and accustomed to conquest.
The Imperial Army always acted with logic and strategy.
But Alicetia’s army moved by intuition alone. They marched through pathless terrain, attacking whatever city or fortress happened to fall within sight.
In captured cities, they freed the slaves, seized noble and government property, blew up the defensive walls, and immediately vanished.
At fortresses, they either forced surrender—or else mercilessly attacked. If surrendered, they looted all supplies, then blew the fortress itself apart before disappearing.
In short, the Alicetia Army loved explosions. They sometimes blew up highways or caused landslides to block them, just for good measure. Truly detestable foes.
“Where on earth will they strike next!?”
A staff officer slammed the table so hard that it cracked. The depth of his rage was clear.
All his carefully honed intellect was useless. As a soldier, as a strategist of the Imperial Army, this was humiliating.
“For forty years! Forty years I have served as a strategist! And now I’m to be trampled by a little girl who hasn’t even lived ten!? Unforgivable!”
With another blow, the table shattered completely. His fist bled from the splinters, but he wept in helpless frustration.
“We must convince His Majesty to block the roads the princess’s army might use. Do not let that brat run rampant any longer… and I swear, I’ll kill her myself. No matter what His Majesty says, I’ll kill her!”
Originally, the invasion of Arland had been to obtain Alicetia. But now, after one strategist’s outburst, the others exchanged approving looks.
After such humiliation, capturing Alicetia was impossible. Better to kill the so-called Saintess of Arland and at least claim revenge.
But in doing so, they had lost all composure. Such an act would enrage not only Arland’s army, but the entire Arland populace.
Thus, while the Imperial government sought peace, the Imperial Army festered with the determination to kill Alicetia and erase its shame, deepening the rift between them.
“Report! Fort Lyon has fallen!”
As the staff raged, new intelligence about Alicetia’s army arrived.
“Damn it all! Why attack a worthless fort like that!? And how are they moving this fast!?”
Traveling from Sokyule to Lyon normally took nearly half a month. Yet only five days had passed since the fall of Sokyule—and they had brazenly crossed Duke Charles’s domain to get there.
Fort Lyon had once been of some importance, but after the neighboring kingdom was annexed into the Empire, it had lost its value. Now it was a dumping ground for disgraced officers, garrisoned by barely a hundred men.
Why ignore such a rich ducal domain to strike at a backwater like this? The strategists could not comprehend it. Of course they couldn’t—the Alicetia Army had the Empire’s detailed maps, but her clones never consulted them, simply marching at random. The more one applied common sense, the less sense their actions made.
Yet this was precisely the point. Alicetia’s clones possessed her same intellect—no more, no less. If her army moved with logic, the Imperial staff would instantly predict their objectives and next targets. Therefore, she moved only by instinct. If even Alicetia herself didn’t know where she was going next, then the Imperial Army could never anticipate it.
The strategists clutched their heads, as if hearing in their minds the mocking laughter of a little girl echoing all around them.
What do you think about this chapter?
