The Allied Kingdoms’s Strategy and Decision
“This time, Arland has achieved a complete victory in its war against the Empire.”
That declaration quietly echoed through the council chamber.
The war had come too soon. It had begun before the Allied Kingdoms could strengthen their relations or establish proper coordination. Because of that, the allied nations hadn’t been able to send reinforcements to Arland.
The main reason was the Imperial State’s involvement behind the scenes. Their interference temporarily crippled the intelligence networks of every nation, causing them to misjudge the timing of the war.
However, even as the meeting began, Arland did not accuse or blame anyone. They simply reported the outcome in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.
From the start, Arland hadn’t expected joint operations or cooperation from the allied nations. What mattered to them was increasing the number of allies, not relying on them. Given Arland’s geographical position, they had already assumed that receiving reinforcements would be difficult. Moreover, the war itself had been unexpected, and most allied nations were already struggling domestically to expel the remnants of the Holy Church’s influence—leaving them unable to dispatch troops abroad. Arland understood these circumstances, which was why they chose not to reproach anyone.
“We did send reinforcements,” said the King of Ostland, his complexion pale, “but I did not expect our forces to be that frail.”
Indeed, while Ostland was a nation rich in culture, it had long placed heavy restrictions on its military to avoid provoking the Empire’s suspicion. As a result, it was often called one of the most militarily fragile powers on the continent.
Still, even the King of Ostland hadn’t imagined that, in a war waged with the entire nation’s strength, some of his noble-led armies would ignore orders, recklessly charge the enemy for personal glory, and end up collapsing into complete disarray.
Had it not been for Anon’s Sheffield Army exploiting the confusion, lifting imperial morale too high, and forcing a counterattack on the remaining supply units—which ironically allowed Ostland’s forces to retreat—the campaign would’ve ended in total disaster.
In truth, Ostland’s regular army merely had slightly better discipline. Neither its soldiers nor its generals had ever fought a proper war against human armies—only skirmishes with bandits. It couldn’t be helped.
And even as defeated remnants, the Imperial Army that once sought to dominate the continent was on another level—its equipment and training unmatched. The fact that Ostland managed to retreat at all was pure luck.
“I wish to train the soldiers of my country, who’ve grown soft in peacetime. I would like to borrow instructors from Arland, if possible.”
“Well, our own military’s half-ruined, so we can’t lend too many… but sure, that’s fine.”
Ostland’s army was far too weak, despite being an important member of the alliance. While Arland was the de facto leader, Ostland—being well connected with many nations—served as the coordinator between them. Seeing it easily destroyed would be disastrous.
Strengthening Ostland’s fragile army had therefore become one of the alliance’s top priorities. Geographically, it was more exposed to attack than Arland. That said, Arland’s Aerial Fleet—the most powerful on the continent, now numbering four ships—was currently conducting drills along the imperial border. Any attempt to invade Ostland would likely repeat the Imperial Air Force’s nightmare during the aerial battles with Arland.
Arland’s armed airships had doubled in number. At this point, no air force on the continent—save for the Magic Kingdom and the Avia Holy Empire—could hope to defeat them. Even a victory would come at devastating cost. Arland could mass-produce new ships so long as supplies existed, thanks to Alicetia, whereas other nations could only rely on ancient relics recovered from ruins. The gap was overwhelming.
Arland’s aerial power now thundered across the entire continent.
The meeting continued in a calm atmosphere. The delegates discussed each nation’s economic situation and the state of territories reclaimed from the Empire—most of which were in terrible condition.
“To think they pillaged that thoroughly…”
The new young king of Zania sighed wearily. Behind him, his two predecessors—now acting as his advisors—wore the same dark circles beneath their eyes.
“My kingdom’s breadbasket is a wasteland,” said Gazette, the young king of the Dorum Kingdom. “It seems the Empire really went all out this time. I’m too exhausted to even curse them…”
Every king who had reclaimed their ancestral lands looked equally worn out.
For years, the recovery of their old territories had been their dream. But the reality that awaited them was despair. The people who had once been their citizens now stared back with hollow, hopeless eyes, having been stripped of all goods to the point of starvation.
The Granzur Empire had mobilized three million troops—the largest army in recorded history—but it had neither the experience to move such a force nor the industrial base to sustain it.
To maintain their campaign, they had resorted to requisitioning everything from lands not yet fully subjugated—especially from the territories of Arland’s allied nations. They believed that by crushing resistance through brutal plunder, they could restore order. Whether they actually managed to sustain themselves that way was doubtful.
The root of this lay in the Empire’s fear of Alicetia. Unpredictable and unfathomable, she was a complete joker—no one, not even Arland, could anticipate what she might do. To prepare for any possibility, the Empire decided it needed overwhelming numbers.
The result, of course, was their utter annihilation at Alicetia’s hands—proving she truly was the joker. But even for Arland, she was a double-edged sword. Had Alicetia fallen in battle, the people—driven by rage and grief—would have invaded the Empire in a suicidal wave of vengeance, heedless of the kingdom’s survival. There would’ve been no stopping the cycle of blood for blood.
Tragically, Alicetia herself remained unaware of just how beloved she truly was.
“For now, we’ll have to focus on consoling and rebuilding our people, little by little.”
“Ostland’s in a good spot, huh? You gained new territory, but it’s undeveloped land—no inhabitants to deal with.”
“Indeed. We’ve no need for troublesome ideologues. And to my delight, we’ve already found resources there.”
Ostland had seized territory from the Empire—lands that were still uninhabited and undeveloped. A resource survey had been conducted immediately, and by great fortune, a rich iron vein was discovered.
Arland’s own metal resources were being rapidly consumed by a certain princess, meaning any new supply would be in high demand and highly profitable. Even if they mined that vein dry, it still wouldn’t be enough.
“I’ve reclaimed my homeland too… though it’s basically just ruins. At least there aren’t any undead wandering about.”
Arland had also gained a small strip of land—Draconia’s homeland near the border. It was barely the size of a cat’s forehead, but symbolically important. It had once been a fierce battlefield during the collapse of the Multispecies Federation, its inhabitants slaughtered, its restoration long forbidden.
For Draconia, reclaiming it was a deeply personal matter—he couldn’t stand to leave his birthplace in imperial hands.
Everyone sighed, lost in thought about the future.
“We’re broke…”
That was the one thought shared by all. Though Arland’s economic boom had slightly lifted their own nations, the reclaimed lands were completely drained. Rebuilding them would take an absurd amount of money.
Only Arland, Zilbit, and Ostland—flush with funds thanks to the mysterious “donation incident”—had any real financial breathing room. The Land of Tranqulity, meanwhile, was still recovering from its disastrous kraken invasion, which had ravaged its coasts.
“If it’s money you need, we can manage that~”
Said Sylphy, the head of state of Zilbit, her voice as gentle and leisurely as ever.
“Oh? You’ve got a plan?”
“Let’s just get it from the Empire~”
“… Somehow I doubt they’ve gone mad enough to hand over money to the nations that betrayed them.”
“Not exactly~ I’ve just made a few adjustments~”
“Speak normally. That tone of yours makes my head hurt.”
Said the King of Ostland with a grimace. He knew full well that Sylphy’s airy tone was deliberate.
“How cruel~ But it’s simple, really~ The Empire’s in the middle of a civil war right now~ All we need to do is intervene~”
Ignoring the king’s complaint, Sylphy continued.
“Waging a war yourself is costly~ But selling goods to other countries at war? That’s very profitable~”
“So you mean to make the Empire into a friendly state? I can’t imagine that happening…”
Arland had won too decisively. Reconciliation with the Empire was unthinkable—or so everyone believed.
What they envisioned instead was helping install a sympathetic faction—or perhaps an already-friendly group—at the top of the Empire’s power structure.
“Nope~ What I mean is~ we sell things to all sides at high prices and rake in the profits~”
“But won’t that end the civil war quickly? Once it’s over, they’ll turn on us again, even if we’d helped them.”
Indeed, the Empire’s nobles and citizens were prideful. Once the internal conflict ended, they would undoubtedly resume viewing the alliance as their enemy.
From the Allied Kingdoms’s perspective, it would be best for the Empire to remain in prolonged chaos—just long enough for their own nations to rebuild and prepare.
“We don’t need any side to win, you see~”
And with that, the blood in every king’s veins ran cold.
Zilbit, with its vast trade networks across the Empire, would sell goods to all factions—and intentionally keep the war going.
It was a devil’s scheme. Whenever one faction began to gain the upper hand, Zilbit would sell to the losing side, helping it recover. The civil war would never end.
The Alliance would then profit endlessly—supplying both sides, growing rich off the chaos, while ensuring no single faction could unify the Empire.
It was ruthless. The Empire’s strength would rot away, its wealth devoured from within. Alicetia hadn’t taken all of its riches—so the Alliance would seize the rest.
Without Zilbit, such a plan would be impossible. But Zilbit was a nation of merchants—profit over patriotism. Everyone knew that. By maintaining the illusion that its merchants acted independently, driven only by gain, they could operate freely. Any Empire noble who accepted their goods would believe they were simply being used for business—not manipulated for politics.
A merchant’s loyalty lasted only as long as their coin. The Empire’s princes would never suspect a trap.
“Well, fine by me. If the Empire falls or ends up miserable, I’ll sleep better for it.”
Said King Gazett, resting his chin on his hand.
The others nodded. For the Alliance, the Empire’s survival was meaningless. They only needed it to buy them time—and if they could strip it of wealth in the process, all the better.
The motion passed unanimously. Each kingdom would sell goods to Zilbit, who would then distribute them across the Empire’s warring factions. The Alliance would monitor the balance of power, ensuring the conflict dragged on indefinitely.
Most thought the meeting would not end there. Only Draconia was mistaken.
As he rose to leave, the other kings stopped him—and presented a new proposal.
“What’s this supposed to mean?”
Draconia folded his arms, his expression dark. The air itself seemed to tighten. Once hailed as the strongest adventurer of his generation, the hero’s sheer presence made the other kings hold their breath.
King Gazett stood.
“King of Arland, please understand. We need a banner to rally around. Once the Empire’s civil war ends, the Central Nations Alliance will rise next. We need a symbol.”
“We hold barely a third of the continent’s lands, the Empire will never submit to us. That’s why we need an unshakable flag—and your daughter is the only one fit to bear it.”
They had already agreed among themselves in secret.
Their proposal: to name Alicetia as a Sage.
Normally, the title of Great Mage represented the pinnacle of magic—a being equal to a nation. But for the Alliance, mere equality was not enough.
They needed a symbol that made others hesitate to fight them. A hero.
And no one embodied that better than Alicetia, whose might in the last war had rivaled that of a great nation.
Of course, Draconia’s doting love for his daughter was well-known. None expected him to agree. That was why they had already secured the votes beforehand—even the King of Ostland had joined in.
Ostland’s reason was simple: the armor Alicetia had given to Anon was her own invention—it had already changed the balance of power.
“Please, King of Arland, try to understand.”
Said the Ostland King. He didn’t truly wish to turn a young girl into a hero—but they needed a symbol.
A short silence followed.
“… Hah. Then don’t sneak around behind my back next time. I don’t mind.”
Draconia wasn’t opposed. His daughter had said herself that she aimed to become a Great Mage someday—if only because she thought defeating Madame Smith would finally make her “free.”
What really passed through his mind now was something else entirely:
(I can already see it… Alicetia leading a parade of cats through the capital… and the citizens joining in, thinking it’s a festival…)
In his imagination, she was grinning proudly—until Madame Smith appeared, furious, and Alicetia picked a hopeless fight and was dragged away in tears. It was almost endearing.
Alicetia wouldn’t care about being made a “hero.” Even when called a Saintess, she’d done nothing to stop it beyond a token denial.
The only real victim of her newfound title would be Madame Smith’s stomach. Without question, Alicetia would get carried away again.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t mind. She’s been saying she’ll be a Great Mage someday—this is just a step higher.”
The title of Great Mage required recognition from multiple nations, but none had been appointed since Eibon’s time, thanks to the Magic Kingdom’s fierce resistance to sharing that honor.
To go beyond that—to name a Sage—was a declaration of independence, even defiance, toward the Central Nations and the Magic Kingdom itself. It would enrage them.
But it had to be done. The people needed hope.
“Very well.”
Said the Ostland King.
“Then I propose that Princess Alicetia be granted the twin titles of Great Mage of Creation and Great Mage of Destruction.”
Creation and Destruction.
The intellect to build nations—and the power to obliterate them.
Together, those dual powers defined Alicetia as a being worthy of the title Sage.
“The Commercial Nation of Zilbit agrees.”
“The Kingdom of Dolm agrees.”
“The Knight Nation of Fafur agrees.”
“The Kingdom of Ostland agrees.”
“... The Land of Tranqulity agrees.”
“The Kingdom of Arland agrees.”
All kings spoke as one.
“Then it is decided! Princess Alicetia shall be recognized as the Great Mage of Creation and Great Mage of Destruction—making her a Sage, a power equal to the great nations themselves!”
And so the motion passed, to be announced immediately throughout the Alliance. The rise of a Sage marked the dawn of a new era.
People would soon call her this:
Creation and Destruction—together, they are Genesis.
And thus, Alicetia would be known as the Sage of Genesis.
Meanwhile—
“My sweets are gone.”
Alicetia, having completed her purification ritual, went to the storage room for a well-earned feast—only to discover that almost all her sweets had vanished.
Trembling with despair, her motivation gauge plunged into the negatives, and she collapsed, eyes lifeless and dull like a dead fish.
What do you think about this chapter?
