The elves' arrogance was an inborn temperament, and their wickedness was the nature of their race.

Elves were dreadful egoists who could not empathize with another's pain.

Nevertheless, the elves known to the world were beings who were somewhat arrogant, yes, but as beautiful, good, and gentle as angels.

Only a very few warned others about their wicked nature.

That was because elves were skilled at concealing their wickedness.

Kind and beautiful faces, innocent expressions, voices as soft as a spring breeze.

Gentle speech and humble manners.

It was no easy thing to grasp the ugly nature hidden behind them.

That was how they hid their inborn wickedness.

Elves also rarely revealed their true thoughts, nor did they show their emotions.

The thoughts they let slip from their hearts were shown deliberately, and the emotions they displayed were nothing more than the result of expressions and gestures learned over long years.

If you were taken in completely by that angelic bearing and refined etiquette, they would strip you down to the soul.

But elves were not born skilled at hiding themselves and deceiving others.

They, too, like every living creature in the world, were pure and clumsy when they were first born.

It was only that such a period was far too short compared to their lives.

And during that brief time, the tiny scrap of pity and goodwill given to them was worn away until it vanished without a trace, until they were left as beings faithful to the traits and nature of their inborn race.

There were individual differences, but the time required for them to become that way was roughly fifty years.

But that was a story that applied to ordinary elves.

The case was different for High Elves.

They were beings whose lifespans were three times as long at the shortest, and four times as long at the longest, compared to ordinary elves.

The time it took for the hypocrisy and worldly tact unique to elves to be perfected was longer by exactly that much as well.

And yet the High Elf before me was only a little over a hundred and fifty.

I looked at him again.

A haughty expression, a discontented gaze.

He had innate status and arrogance, but he had yet to acquire the skillful worldly tact and hypocrisy unique to elves.

And despite that, the sight of him acting arrogant about his age before me.

A laugh came out of me on its own.

Where had a sucker like this crawled out from?

But the laughter did not last long.

I soon sank into thought.

For a young High Elf to come out into the world, he absolutely had to receive permission from the other High Elves.

That was why I could not understand it.

They should have known that this blood-warm infant was not ready to step into the world.

Yet they had given him a mission and sent him out beyond the world.

And as an envoy to a human prince whose grudge against the elves must have sunk into his bones, no less.

It was not normal.

I pondered it again and again.

And at last, I found the answer.

"A scapegoat, is it."

He was a gift the sinister elves were offering me.

So that the hatred and anger born from Sigrun might be soothed, and so that my hatred and anger would not be directed toward the entire elven race.

He was clearly a sacrifice offered up to me.

For confirmation, I asked him a few questions.

What his mission was, and what he intended to do after that mission ended.

To this, he answered that his mission was to convey his clan's regret over the mistake committed by Executor Sigrun, and to remain under my command and assist me for the sake of friendship between his clan and the kingdom.

He also added that he had been told to spare no care for his own body in order to restore trust, and to obey any order whatsoever.

My guess became certainty.

The king of the elves had even kindly left instructions behind, in case I failed to understand his intent.

Roast him or boil him, kill him or spare him.

Do with him as I pleased.

"Good. I don't know about the apology, but I'll gladly accept your assistance."

I was not the sort to refuse a gift given to me for no reason, so I decided to accept him.

When my attitude abruptly changed, he looked at me with doubt in his eyes.

Even that was immature compared to the other elves I knew.

"Name?"

"I am Arnand, captain of the Whispering Wind of the Sword-singers."

To the man who proudly listed even his affiliation, which I had not asked for, I said,

"Good. Arnand. I will permit you to enter the citadel."

"Thank you."

Only belatedly did he offer me his thanks.

He had no idea what might happen to him from now on.

He might be worked like a draft animal, then butchered like a pig and hung in a butcher's shop.

"No need to thank me."

I smiled at him.

With the heart of a butcher looking at a plump, well-fattened pig.

* * *

They were equally unexpected guests, but their treatment was entirely different.

The dwarves of the Iron Legion were welcomed fervently by the Rangers, and I, too, received them as friends and honored guests.

They were guaranteed the freedom to do whatever they wished inside the citadel, and even their lodgings and meals were cared for as much as possible amid our poverty.

But the case was different for the elves.

Their lodgings were temporary barracks set up on a windswept open ground, and they could not leave that open ground without my permission.

"Anyone, no matter who they are, who makes contact with the elves will be punished severely."

The Rangers on the walls and spires watched them day and night.

Thus, their freedom was restricted, and they were thoroughly isolated.

For a while, there was much talk about my measures.

"Is it not too harsh to treat so coldly those who came to help the kingdom?"

"I understand that goodwill should be repaid with goodwill."

A few knights and commanders of the Southern Army even came to me and suggested that I improve the elves' treatment.

It was fortunate, at least, that they were not bewitched by the elves' beauty and exercising useless chivalry and philanthropy.

"They are beings we will use because they are necessary, but we must never lower our guard or surveillance."

In response to their requests, I explained the elves' insidiousness and warned them not to be deceived by their angelic appearance.

I repeatedly urged them to be wary of the viper-like nature lurking behind it.

Though they did not fully understand, they did not dare ask me again to improve the treatment.

They seemed to think I surely had something in mind.

While the talk about the elves' treatment was thus made to disappear, the dwarves finished installing the iron guns on the eastern, western, southern, and northern walls.

The Mages from the White Night Tower had also finished their deployment.

Amid that, news arrived that the enemy reinforcements that had reached the border had begun their march.

The Silver Lion Citadel quietly prepared to face the enemy.

"The Paladins are threatening as well, but the real problem is the Empire's Mages. The kingdom's knights and soldiers have no experience fighting Mages."

Meetings were held day after day, and the topic that came up most often among them was, of course, the Imperial Army's Mages.

To the kingdom's army, whose combat Mages had been wiped out by the Empire, the power called magic was far too unfamiliar.

Even the fearless knights and commanders revealed vague fear and anxiety toward that unknown power.

"Unlike our Mages, who have trained for two or three years at most, the Empire's Mages are people who have devoted themselves single-mindedly to magic for ten years at the shortest and for decades at the longest. My greatest concern is whether our Mages will truly be able to properly oppose the enemy's magic."

There were Mages among our allies as well, but most of the commanders distrusted their abilities.

It was only natural.

Just as they said, compared to enemy Mages who had trained hard for decades, the training period of our Mages was only a few years at best.

But I believed in Ophelia.

When it came to magic, she was an extremely arrogant being, and a being who knew no compromise.

If she had sent Mages to the front, it meant they had already reached a level sufficient to do one person's share.

Of course, saying that would not work on them.

After all, there was no longer anyone left who knew the name of White Night, famed throughout the world four hundred years ago.

So I brought out another measure.

Before the commanders, I recited an old tradition that had now been severed.

"The fair folk are supreme in magic and gathering, and dwarves are the finest in fortification and metallurgy. Orcs excel most in combat and hunting, while giants stand above all in martial might and wisdom."

The commanders' faces were bewildered as they looked at me, who had abruptly recited a tradition they had never heard or seen before.

But they soon realized that the fair folk in the tradition I had spoken of meant elves, and their faces brightened.

"Elves are the natural enemies of human Mages."

Elves were beings born with senses that allowed them to perceive the completion of magic faster than anyone else, and in some cases, they possessed a special ability that allowed them to intervene in the manifestation of magic and twist the result.

To manifest magic before such beings, one had to be at least a Mage-class spellcaster who had woven six circles.

But Mages did not simply fall from the sky, so even if there were any among the enemy's Mages who had reached such a level, there would be only one or two at best.

And if it was only that many, the Sword-singers could keep them in check to some degree.

Though he was somewhat lacking, their leader was a High Elf, after all.

"Besides, the citadel also has the iron guns installed by the dwarves. The power of the iron guns is no less than the flames and lightning produced by Mages."

Until my mouth hurt, I went on and on before the commanders about how outstanding the Iron Legion's abilities were.

The commanders still seemed half in doubt, but much of their anxiety had eased compared to the beginning.

It was truly frustrating.

For the soldiers of a citadel guarded by the fair folk and dwarves to fear Mages—if the parties concerned had heard it, they would have flown into a rage.

After explaining this and that to the commanders and giving orders, the meeting ended before I knew it.

Having led a meeting by saying all sorts of things against my nature, I felt as exhausted as if I had been tormented by battle for three days and nights.

I was left alone in the place the commanders had departed, slumped limply, when a blunt voice reached me.

"How frustrating. I can't stand to watch."

I turned my head toward the voice and saw Percival, who had attended the meeting in the capacity of a guest commander.

"Is what Lord Malcoy said."

Just as I was about to ask what was so frustrating, Percival passed the answer to his superior.

I looked at Malcoy.

His face was clogged tight, as if he had eaten a whole basket of sweet potatoes without a sip of water.

Percival lightly tapped Malcoy on the shoulder.

"Speak. Why are you not saying what you want to say?"

"What is a mere guest commander supposed to say?"

"You said the citadel's commanders and His Highness the Crown Prince were all too frustrating to watch."

At Percival's blunt words, Malcoy's face crumpled.

I straightened from my slumped posture and urged Malcoy to say whatever he had to say.

At my repeated words, Malcoy reluctantly stepped forward.

"Everything is far too passive."

Once Malcoy's mouth opened, he poured out his opinions.

Most of them were criticisms of the kingdom army's response.

He said it was like playing a card game where, whenever the opponent put down a card, we looked at that hand and struggled to make a corresponding hand.

He said that because we had no thought of moving first and were busy merely following the opponent, the best we could do was break even.

"I understand it to a certain degree, since we are on the defensive, but the current kingdom army has gone too far."

My brow furrowed on its own.

I, too, knew that the kingdom could wither away after a war of attrition.

That was why I was waiting for an opportunity to reverse the situation.

But in the current situation, I could not deny that, just as Malcoy said, we were being dragged around by the Imperial Army's movements.

I crossed my arms and jerked my chin at Malcoy.

"Go on."

"This will not do. Even if we win ten times and defeat thirty legions, if we continue in this manner, the kingdom will ultimately have no future to look forward to."

"So?"

"We must move first. We must strike where the Empire does not expect it. We must make the Empire move in response to the kingdom."

Malcoy looked straight at me as he spoke.

It was a provocative expression.

It was a face that seemed to say there was a way, but he did not know whether I could do it.

"Stop with the pointless provocation and just continue what you were saying."

At my rebuke, Malcoy looked awkward and opened his mouth again.

"We must shift to the offensive."

"You do know what the current situation is, I assume?"

"I do. I heard it until I was sick of it today. The Empire's eleven northeastern legions and more than twenty newly arrived reinforcements are marching toward the border, are they not?"

"And knowing that, you are telling us to shift to the offensive?"

When I asked with a frown, Malcoy grinned.

"The enemy will be thinking the same thing."

Saying so, Malcoy pointed here and there on the map as he explained the operation.

"That is all."

Without even realizing it, I had uncrossed my arms and glued myself to the map as I listened to his explanation, and only then did I come to my senses.

"Whether you accept it or not is entirely for Your Highness to decide."

The Malcoy who had passionately explained his operation until just now no longer existed.

With an impassive face, he said he had said all he needed to say, so I should do as I pleased.

And I made my choice.

"That explanation just now. Can you give it before the others as well?"

There was no reason to insist on a tedious war of attrition after hearing such a good operation.

"It is not that I cannot, but they will not be very pleased. Perhaps they may even think an imperial spy is trying to pull something."

"I will handle that."

Saying so, I immediately summoned the commanders.

Looking at the commanders, who wore bewildered expressions at the sudden summons, I gave Malcoy a glance.

With a reluctant face, he rose from his seat and began explaining, just as he had earlier, the method for striking the Empire where it did not expect it.

And when the entire explanation was over, the kingdom's commanders wore complicated expressions.

Some seemed displeased by the very fact that a man who had been a prisoner until recently was drawing up an operation, while others seemed impressed, thinking it quite a usable plan.

And others seemed to feel a sense of shame that, in a situation where they had pondered for days on end and still failed to produce any proper measure, a man from among the prisoners had drawn up such an operation.

"What do you think? I believe it is a good opportunity to strike where the Empire does not expect it."

But though the emotions that appeared on each individual's face were different, their answers were all the same.

"It is worth attempting."

"If it succeeds, the tide of war will turn."

When the commanders expressed support for his operation, Malcoy was instead left flustered.

It was a natural reaction.

Percival had once told me that even when his superior had served as a Legion Commander, his background and young age often caused his operations to be ignored.

And now, he was not even a Legion Commander, but a guest commander in name only, and in truth in a position little different from a prisoner.

It was no wonder he was dazed that his opinion had been accepted.

Perhaps it was the first time.

The first time his operation had been accepted by people.

An indescribable emotion appeared in Malcoy's eyes.

Seeing that face, the moment when people had first acknowledged my existence suddenly flashed through my mind.

I recalled once more the dizzying elation I had felt in the gazes that looked at me when I held up the standard I had harvested at the end of battle.

It was not difficult to guess what Malcoy was feeling.

He must have been bewildered, but also pleased and proud.

Had someone not said it before?

A man gives his life for the one who recognizes his worth.

And from what I could guess, this seemed to be that moment for Malcoy.

In truth, Malcoy passionately drew up several more operations on the spot.

There were operations that were not accepted, and there were operations that we decided to revise and put into action.

Malcoy offered opinions without rest.

While he talked at the commanders with spittle flying like that, I exchanged glances with Percival.

'Did I not tell you he would come around in no time?'

'So you did. You were right.'

After moving our lips and exchanging a few words, we curled up the corners of our mouths at the same time.

The prince of a fallen kingdom who had hated war no longer existed.

What remained was only an enthusiastic novice commander whose abilities had just begun to be recognized by people.

"So what will you call the operation?"

Malcoy, who had been talking for a long while, suddenly asked.

"An operation name? Is something like that necessary?"

"It is absolutely necessary to correct an operational system that has been close to slapdash and for the sake of security."

I felt as if laughter would burst out.

The man who, until only a little while ago, had been going on about war this and war that was now spouting absurd nonsense about naming the operation he had proposed.

I barely swallowed my laughter and sank into thought.

"An operation name..."

I still questioned whether we needed to give it an operation name, but if we had to give it one,

"Let us call it Requiem."

There could be no name more fitting than a song for one who chose death over life.